Page 63 of Rok's Captive
And the worst part is, I’m still stuck with him. Still dependent on him for survival in this hostile world.
A sob builds in my throat, but I choke it back, unwilling to show any more weakness than I already have. My free hand moves automatically to my ear, feeling the spot where the translator had been. There’s a small cut there, where his claw must have caught my skin when he tore it away, but it’s not deep. Just another minor injury in a catalog that’s growing longer by the hour.
I become aware of movement and open my eyes to see Rok approaching, his steps slow, as if trying not to startle me. In his hand, he holds one of those bitter leaves, its orange-blue hue vibrant even in the cave’s subdued light.
My first instinct is to lash out, to tell him to get away from me, but I’m too tired. Too defeated. And my headache is fully on now. I just want to lie down.
I watch as he crouches beside me, his massive form somehow managing to look less threatening despite his proximity.
He extends the leaf toward me, his golden eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes me actually feel…regretful for my outburst. There’s something in that gaze—not an apology, exactly, but…a plea? A request for understanding? Or am I just projecting again? Like that time under the sand when I thought he spoke to me?
“I don’t want your stupid plant,” I mutter, looking away. “I want my translator back.”
But he persists, gently pressing the leaf into my hand—the one still clutching the broken pieces of technology. When I reflexively close my fingers around it, the sharp edges of the translator fragments dig deeper into my palm, and I wince.
Rok notices immediately. His hand moves to mine, carefully uncurling my fingers to reveal the bloodied mess of my palm—cut not just from the crystal shard but from how tightly I’ve been gripping the broken pieces.
Before I can pull away, he takes my hand in his, his touch surprisingly gentle for a creature with such strength. With his other hand, he begins removing the translator fragments, setting them aside one by one until my palm is empty except for the blood welling from the cuts.
I watch, too stunned by the gentleness of his actions to resist, as he crushes the fire bloom leaf between his fingers, then applies the resulting paste to my injured palm. The liquid stings at first, then numbs, just as it did when he used it on my arms earlier.
“Why?” I ask softly, not pulling my hand away. “Why help me if you won’t let me understand you?”
He doesn’t answer, of course. But his eyes never leave mine as he finishes treating my palm, his thumb brushing once, lightly, across my wrist before he finally releases me.
The gesture is so unexpectedly tender that it breaks something in me—some final barrier holding back the flood of emotions I’ve been trying to contain since I first woke up on this fucking batshit planet.
“I’m scared, Rok,” I whisper, my voice barely audible even to my own ears. “I’m so fucking scared. I don’t know where I am, or how to get home, or if I’ll ever see my sister again. I don’t know what’s happening or why, and now I can’t even ask you about any of it.”
Tears flow freely now, streaming down my face without restraint. I don’t bother trying to wipe them away.
Rok makes a sudden, alarmed sound—something between a hiss and a growl—and before I can react, he’s kneeling in front of me, his large hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes, wide with concern, fix on the moisture tracking down my cheeks.
With a gentleness that seems impossible for hands so powerful, he reaches up, trying to push my tears back into my eyes with the pads of his thumbs. The gesture is so unexpected, so bizarrely tender in its misunderstanding, that for a moment I just stare at him.
He makes another distressed sound when more tears immediately replace the ones he’s wiped away, his movements becoming more urgent, as if he thinks I’m literally leaking vital fluid.
Despite everything, a choked laugh escapes me. “I guess you don’t cry, huh?” I say through my tears. “This is normal for me. Just like being able to communicate with others around me was normal.”
My voice breaks again, and fresh tears well up. Rok’s distress visibly increases. He pulls me against his chest, cradling me as if I’m made of glass, still trying desperately to stem the flow of my tears as if he thinks I’m melting. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest, almost as if he’s panicking inside.
“Stop,” I whisper, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Rok, it’s okay. I’m not dying. This is just…how humans express sadness. Pain.”
He’s still trying to wipe my eyes. Still trying to push the tears back, a wild look in his gaze. One very different from the look he had when he fought those shadow creatures. Very different from the one he had when he took the translator and smashed it.
“Oh, Rok.” I reach up and grip his hand, squeezing it gently as I lean forward and press my forehead against his. That’s the only thing that makes him stop. Golden eyes just inches from my own, I try to tell him through my eyes that I’m okay. Just…well…sad.
I’m sad.
“Jus-teen,” he says softly, and our gazes lock.
“Rok,” I whisper. This close, the bronze flecks in his eyes look like art. Like looking at a painting of the stars in gold.
“I’m trying so hard to be strong,” I whisper. “But the truth is…I need you. I hate that I need you, but I do. You’re literally all I have in this entire world right now, and I don’t even know if I can trust you.”
My voice breaks on the last word, and I close my eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze as I fall apart. It’s all too much—the fear, the confusion, the loss, the pain, the sheer overwhelming alienness of everything around me. I’ve been running on adrenaline and determination for so long, and now, with this final blow, I have nothing left.
I’ve completely forgotten that Rok can’t understand a word I’m saying. At this moment, I’m not talking to him, anyway. I’m talking to myself, to the universe, to whatever twisted cosmic joke has landed me in this situation.
