Page 58 of Invasive Species
She studies me with her usual searching gaze, but now I feel exposed underneath it. She's searching for a reaction from me. “How… how does that make you feel?” she asks, breath halting.
I grip the edge of the countertop, fingernails biting into the soft wood. My scales shimmer from green to a violent copper-red before I force them still again.
Arra-bellah flinches back. Is she nervous because she fears my reaction?
She still went ahead with it.
My tongue presses hard against the roof of my mouth to stop the words from spilling—accusations, heartbreak, disbelief. I stare at the battered kettle steaming on the hob like it's a threat, its whistle matching the pitch rising in my chest.
She made me look more human. She changed me into something different. I think of the painting she made of me, and back to this distorted image. Which way does she really want me to be?
The cold demeanor of a Selthiastock rescues me at last,cutting me off from my complicated feelings. I note, “You used me.” A simple statement of fact.
“Used you? I didn't mean… I… I edited the photo so you’d all stay hidden, I thought it’d generate a little more interest than my usual photos because, well, sex sells. I didn’t think it’d blow up. But your identity is safe, I made sure of that.”
“Why risk it?”
“Because Ellen needs the bed and breakfast to work. So many people are going to book in when Ellen opens the doors.” The look she gives me begs me to speak, to answer her. Likely she wants me to respond that I’m pleased to serve, that she can use me as she sees fit. That she can display me for all these human females to clamor over.
I brace both hands against the kitchen table, head bowed, jaw tight, breathing in the scent of cinnamon overlaid with rich paint—Arra-bellah’s scent—and wonder how I missed the truth.
They're all the same, the whole galaxy over.
But I've changed.
“I would say I can't believe you did that, but I can,” I tell her. Cold. Clinical. “I'm registering my protest, for what good it'll do me now.”
“Okay,” she says, small and scared and clinging on to the edge of the work surface as if it’s stopping her from falling.
Part of me wants to reassure her, to say it'll be alright, that I'll fix it, or I don't care. But I do.
At least she helped me see these humans for what they are. They don't hold the same ideals as Oloria, so she won't order me killed, and I'm confident she won't hold her authorities as a threat to secure my compliance. I'm finally free to tell one of them ‘No’ and not fear the repercussions. I only wish I'd seen how they still use clones sooner.
“Gara, I'm sorry, I should have asked you?—”
“It's done. And so are we.”
“D…done?” Arra-bellah’s hands reach for my head. “Gara, no, I'm sorry?—”
I step back out of her reach with curt speed. “Don't touch me.”
She halts, quivering as if caught between her own wants and mine.
Mine win and she desists, arms falling to her sides.
And now I can leave, only a small instinct screaming at me to comfort her.
One I ruthlessly excise.
NINETEEN
ARABELLA
I stareafter Gara’s stiff retreating back. The ticking of the clock in Ellen's empty kitchen sounds incredibly loud, joined by the vibration of my phone as more followers join, thirsting over ‘the hot builder.’ I delete the post immediately, shoving it into my digital dustbin and pressing purge, but it doesn’t help the bile building in my stomach.
Not twenty minutes after finally getting Gara to open up, not to mention the most mind-blowing sex I've ever had fulfilling all my wildest naughty knotting fantasies, and I've already ruined it. The trust between us may as well lie shattered like a dropped glass on the floor; I didn't mean to fumble it, but the consequences are the same.
Tears blur the image of Gara crunching down the track, straight-backed and stiff. I should have asked his permission. There’s no other way to approach it. I did use him.
