Page 68 of Invasive Species
“Yeah. Even if I sit in a corner all wrapped up and crash early, I want to hang out with everyone.”
“Then… what about pain management?” He rubs the center of his chest while still staring at me.
Oh, no, he must be feeling what I’m feeling, the mating bond thing. I ask, “What does it feel like now?”
“What does what feel like now?”
I rub my own chest. “The chest-glowy thing. What’s it like?”
He thrusts his hand down. “It’s probably psychosomatic, but I don’t need to feel anything in order to tell you’re suffering.”
“Ah, so it is uncomfy. I’ll take a painkiller in that case. Ellen has them in the house somewhere.”
Far from placating him, his hands drop, defeated. “Regardless of how I can tell, I know you’re fighting through discomfort. I wish you would listen to me.”
“I’ll be an hour, at most. Promise.”
Gara helps me dress and hobble downstairs. Laura’s working away stiff backed in the corner of the lounge, fingers flying across the keyboard. It’s almost like she’s hyperfocused, she doesn’t even turn her head toward us.
I raid Ellen’s medicine cabinet, neck two pills and escape out the garden door. There’s a rare break in the weather and the cold March sun shines sharp and bright outside. I fill my lungs with the sharp air, then cough it out.
In the garden next to the crashed orange spaceship is a sleek, super sexy oval hovering in the air, all matt black like it sucks color from the air. That must be how Ellen and Ilia got back. Next to that they’ve set up a tent next to the pizza oven, which is already smoking from the open maw ready to receive dough. Ellen and the triplets heave dry hay squares into the tent for us to sit on.
Floss darts back and forth, her energy boundless as sheraces alongside another dog. But it’s not just her speed that catches my eye—her fur is different now, longer and an ethereal white that practically glows. It flows like silk in the air around her, as if she’s not entirely of this world anymore. The light catches her in a way that makes her seem like she’s floating through space.
I shade my eyes to stare at her. “Whoa, Floss got a makeover.”
“Floss descended from spacehounds, visitors from another world,” Ellen says, pulling straw out of her hair. “She can talk to me in my head now.”
I blink slowly. Then I turn to Gara. “Can Old Mae talk to us in our heads?”
He shudders. “No, nor would I want her to.”
Ellen bursts into laughter. “Floss agrees. That chicken harbors plans for world domination.”
As if on cue, Old Mae struts in, inspecting the tent put up in her yard, long claws clicking on the ground. New purple and white feathers sprout up and down her long body.
“Is she okay?” I ask, eyeing the murder chicken.
“Nicole says she is living her best prehistoric life, but we will have to stop Nicole from studying Mae today: it's film night,” Ellen says firmly.
Film night. It used to be my favorite when we were younger, the night we’d all gather, carefree and close. Now it’s the only time I see my friends, who’ve all carved out real, grown-up lives for themselves. A farmer, a lawyer, a vet. I hang out with brainiacs, and then... there’s me. The odd one out. Old words from schoolteachers drift back to me, bubbling up like muddy water: Unreliable. Flighty. Needs to settle down.
Why am I thinking of that now? I have my tools and strategies for working with my brain. Plus, Gara helps. A lot.
My eyes slide to him. Maybe he won't want a partner whoneeds so much… looking after. It gets tiring after a while. I know even my besties need a break from me.
With those sad thoughts rattling in my head, I pull my aching body into the tent. Inside it’s warm and homey, cheering me up. I shuffle over to the prickly hay and Gara quickly grabs a folded linen from one of the tables and places it underneath me by the time my butt parks itself.
“How can we help?” I ask Ellen, who’s red faced and grinning ear to ear from the work.
She pulls a bale in front of me to make rows as if we’re in a cinema. “I still need to make the pizzas, but… no offence, I don’t want biohazards near them.”
“None taken. Maybe Laura can help once she gets off work.” Although I can’t see Laura’s new nails mixing well with dough. “Give me something that plays to my strengths.”
“Decoration. I need some special celebration bunting.”
“‘I got fucked by an alien’ bunting, got it,” I say, putting my thumb up. The thumb knuckle thing crackles a little. Ew.
