Page 41 of Homebound
Gemma began to imagine he hid in his cocoon of apathy on purpose, as a way to ignore the world. It was petty of her to think so, but today she was in a fragile state of mind, and his impassive alien face made her want to cry.
With a sigh, she sat down next to him on the cot.
“Your hair needs tidying. Let me do it over.”
She undid his braid and combed his silky strands pulling the hair back from his face.
“I’m sorry for my bad mood.” She had no idea if he knew her bad mood from her good one, but she said it anyway. “Christmas makes me maudlin. I used to look forward to the celebration, but it was before my family died. Actually, before my brother Foy was killed. He died in battle. Of course, many airmen did fighting during the Great Invasion, but our family just… crumbled after his passing. My parents took such tremendous pride in him. Especially mom. She never recovered.”
Gemma combed Simon’s hair over and over again. She was fascinated by its texture and simply loving the feel of it in her hands.
“Anyway, after I came to the City with Zeke, Christmas was too painful to celebrate. It reminded us of everyone we’d lost. But we hoped to someday make it what it used to be. We made plans, he and I. As soon as my broken foot healed, I found a job teaching dance at a school. We scrimped and saved, and finally, we were able to send Zeke to Meeus. Zeke is a doctor, you know. If he were here, he’d treat you, help you get better. He helps everybody.”
Gemma hadn't noticed when her hands stilled, lost in her recollections.
“And then the school canceled dance classes and I ended up here. But it was after Zeke’d already left. He is now happily married to someone else on Meeus.”
She fell silent, lost in a self-reflection. Was she unhappy here? She used to be. Now, it was different. Saying that she’d achieved happiness would be a stretch, but she deemed herself content. Because of him.
“I am sorry I missed our outing,” she confided in a low voice. “You’ll have to eat gruel today, Simon.”
She finished braiding his hair and briskly flipped his braid to lay over his shoulder. He continued sitting in the same position, unmoved, and, she thought, affronted.
She resolutely reached for the bowl of cold gruel on the floor.
“I really think that you should try it, Simon,” she said firmly as if talking to a recalcitrant toddler. “You need energy.”
Without hesitation, she lifted a spoonful of goopy gruel to his mouth and pushed it between his lips. He didn’t cooperate. His lips firmed up and refused to accept her gift of food.
Gemma didn’t give up easily and made attempt after attempt to coax him into eating, with no results. As if tired of the game, he turned his head away from her.
He turned away.
She put the spoon down.
“Because you’re able to turn away, I assume you’re aware,” she said with frustration. No, scratch frustration. His passive-aggressive tantrum made her so upset she wanted to shake him. “I don’t know why I’m bothering with you. I can’t say why I care about silly aliens who don’t want to eat their food.”
Emotions choked her. It was difficult to talk.
“You may not think so, Simon, but you are lucky. Yes, you’re lucky because you’re alive. You are caged but safe. It isn’t great food, but you’re fed on a schedule. You have me, somebody who gives a flip whether you are still breathing the next morning. Not everyone has got even that little. But you don’t seem to appreciate what you do have. You set out on your little hunger strikes because the gruel doesn’t agree with you. My uncle was mauled by Perali thugs last night, and in a blink of an eye, he lost everything. He can’t work. He might yet die from his injuries! And there are three kids to raise and protect…”
Her nose was running, she realized with surprise and wiped it with a sleeve. And it wasn’t just the nose. Her eyes were running too, tears blurring Simon’s white face and making it difficult to see his expression in finer detail. Was he looking at her? Who the hell could tell with those freaky eyes of his.
“Well, I give up. If you don’t want to eat prison food, don’t eat. Don’t get stronger. Don’t choose life. And we’ll both deal with the consequences of your choices.”
She fell silent working to stop the tears. Absently, she stuck her finger into her boot and rubbed her aching foot to relieve some of the pain. Unhappy thoughts jounced around her head. What was going to happen to Uncle Drexel? His arm looked like processed meat. She prayed to God it healed for his sake, as well as for the sake of the kids.
“Rix don’t eat grains.”
Gemma’s eyes snapped to Simon’s face. She’d never tire of hearing his voice, rusty, deep, and liquid, with a peculiar sibilance of his accent.
He was looking at her. She knew because she could see her face reflected in his dirty whitish eyes. They appeared shinier today, not quite as deadened, although the new gray cast failed to improve his sepulchral visage.
Then he shifted his attention to the bowl of gruel and regarded it like it was a nest of maggots. His head made a small disdainful motion indicating the bowl of gruel.
“Do it again.”
Gemma understood it was an order. Despite his high-handed manner, her spirits rose. She cared about Simon. It wasn’t something she could turn off. If he died, she would… She didn’t want to think about it.
