Page 35 of Homebound
She swallowed noisily, the sound amplified in the sudden expectant silence. And then her foot gave a bad twitch, and Gemma sat down with little grace.
“I twisted it last night,” she answered.
He asked her a question and she answered it.
They talked.
An out of body experience.
And then the realization smacked into her.
“Wait. You can hear? You understand me?Youspeak?”
Another twitch of those eyebrows. “Yes. To all.”
“But I… thought you couldn't.”
“Why?”
“Why?” She looked wildly around, grasping for words.
He cocked his head a little and raised his hands off his lap relocating them to the arms of his chair. All slow, deliberate movements as if his body didn’t fully cooperate.
“You humans always assume. Show me your foot.”
“Something tells me you aren’t fond of humans.”
“No. Who is?”
Gemma laughed. “Who is, indeed?”
“Your foot.” His f’s had a sibilant quality to them, and the consonants lacked hard stops. Gemma couldn't tell for sure if his accent was responsible for inaccurate articulation or his missing teeth.
“It’s a sprain. Nothing interesting.”
He moved his hand again and tapped his finger in slo-mo against his thigh.
Self-conscious, Gemma gently laid her boot in his lap.
He didn’t bend his head down, but she thought he was looking. His large monochrome eyes were really weird.
“Can you see?” she couldn't resist asking.
“I can see.” Then he paused and said flatly, “You assumed I couldn't.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, yes. Dunno why.”
She felt her cheeks heat and wondered if her color rose because she suddenly felt just a bit silly at all the wrong assumptions she’d made, or because through the worn leather of her boot she could feel the thick, hard length of his femur under the nonexistent layer of muscle.
He moved his leg ever so slightly to accommodate her foot, and the action made Gemma lightheaded. For the first time since she’d met him, he felt truly alive to her and somehow powerful in his vitality.
He made a sound in his throat that was definitely not human. His fingers went to slowly but steadily loosen more of the laces. He picked every crisscrossed length and tugged with great concentration, and she was fascinated by his fingers. She knew he had six on each hand, but only now did she notice that each finger had four joints, making them bend in four places. The discovery simultaneously repulsed and attracted her.
He pulled her boot off and pushed down the sock to reveal something that resembled an overinflated balloon with toes.
“It doesn’t look right,” he slowly enunciated.
“No, it doesn’t,” she murmured under her breath.
