Page 28 of Homebound
“I’m so sorry, Ruby.”
But Ruby was already letting go of her and trying to pull herself together. “Look at me, silly old biddy, trying to give you advice.” She was wiping her tears off with the sleeve of her overcoat, but they kept coming. “I need a moment.”
“Yes, take all the time you need.”
“No, you need to take your alien pet outside. There isn’t gonna be much time left after they fit a tracker on him.”
Gemma was torn. Here was Ruby who had reached the end of her rope with no one to care. On the other hand, Simon desperately needed to be fed.
In the end, they hoisted Simon’s pliable body into the chair, and Gemma took him downstairs where a crafty guard affixed a flexible rubber band around his left bicep. Or bone, as it were, over which a bicep should have been overlaid.
“This is tethered to a homing device within the building. He can move around within a mile radius,” the guard explained in a monotone, then stopped and looked at Simon. “I don’t think you’ll need all that distance, but anyhow. If he crosses the line, he’ll receive a real strong zap - which, by the way, will hurt like a motherfucker - and this here alarm will go off. If he tries to take it off, it’ll shock hard enough to stop his heart.” He sniffed the snot back into his nose. “Make sure he doesn't dick around.”
Gemma peered at Simon sitting lax in the chair. “No dicking around. We’ll just be outside.”
The guard nodded, supremely uninterested in some alien bag of bones in a wheelchair.
Gemma pushed the heavy door open and they went outside. The street near the back of the prison was deserted. Gemma’s heart was beating out a steady tempo as she strolled down the sidewalk. She and Simon, outside. Her plan worked.
The experience was surreal.
On her way to work, she’d hidden a jar of yogurt in one of the crumbling brick walls of an old church that sat at the corner of two streets. One street led back to the City and Gemma took it home every day. The other dead-ended at the junkyard.
She parked Simon by the wall and engaged the breaks. It was a little warmer there where the church’s remains protected them from the wind. It also allowed a modicum of privacy should anyone happen to walk in on them. She didn’t worry about being observed from the prison - its lack of outside windows ensured that - but a fellow prison worker going in or out at an odd time might question the spoon-feeding procedure.
“Okay, Simon. Work with me.”
She retrieved the jar and the small spoon she’d taken from the house. Her stomach growled at the sight of the yogurt, reminding Gemma that her last meal was now good twelve hours ago.
She started with her finger, dipping it in the yogurt and sticking it between Simon’s dry lips. The act was so personal that she shivered. Was she playing dolls with him, as Ruby had said? He didn’t feel like a doll. He felt strange to her. All of it was so strange, and weird, and somehow soothing. It felt right.
Simon gave no feedback on the yogurt, but neither did he resort to one of his subtle passive-aggressive ways where the food would pass no farther than his lips and dribble down his chin. Gemma took it as an encouragement. More confident, she pushed the next helping of yogurt deeper into his mouth, past his soft gums.
He made no protest.
“That’s right, bud. A little more, and we’ll work on swallowing.”
After she was satisfied with the amount of food in his mouth, she wiped her finger and grasped his chin tilting it up, feeling the solid heavy bone of his jaw in the palm of her hand. The yogurt slid down and he was forced to swallow. She saw his throat contract.
“Good. I wish you could tell me how you like it. Two thumbs up? Yes.” She went to do her finger-food stuff again, talking to him all the while. “You know, I used to hate goat milk. I haven’t even tried it before I came to the City. And afterward, it didn’t matter much what I ate as long as I ate something. Zeke… “ She had to stop and swallow at mentioning his name, the pain of his deflection still too sharp. “My former fiance, he stood firm. He is a staunch vegetarian. At least this is how I remember him. Guess some people have strong convictions, don’t they? Or maybe he’d never been hungry enough. Now, swallow for me.”
He did. She ruffled his hair in approval.
Suddenly, he tilted his head, cracking his neck, and coughed once. Gemma stilled.
“Are you okay?” She didn’t know why she asked, knowing he wouldn't reply, but treating him like an inanimate object felt wrong.
A feeble sizzle of energy fluttered out and was quickly extinguished. Gemma gave him a minute to settle.
His thin wrinkled lips parted and the tip of his tongue - blue? - made a quick sweeping motion along his upper lip startling Gemma.
“That good, huh?”
She picked up more yogurt, this time with a spoon, and tentatively brought it to his lips.
“Come on, Simon. You can do it. I know you want to,” she murmured.
And he cooperated. Sort of. When she placed the spoon between his lips, she found them relaxed, and the yogurt went easily inside his mouth. And when he swallowed it on his own, she wanted to cry. No, scratch that, she did. Her eyes went all blurry, and his pale face wavered mere inches from hers.
