Page 90 of Invasive Species
The throbbing pain radiating from my lower back to my neck that I’ve been ignoring fades immediately as soon as I sink in. Bum. This stuff is helping, but I hate feeling so helpless.
“Ezla, what do the latest test results show?” Gara asks him, voice a rhythm in my head and a melody I want to dance to.
I watch through heavy, drooping eyelids as the two Garas—no, Selthiastocks, I remind myself—bend their heads over a large screen in Ezla’s hands. The ache of exhaustion rings through my bones, but I force myself to stay awake. I want to see Gara’s face, to read the thoughts playing across those changeable features. I need to feel that connection again, the one that makes me feel whole, even in my weakened state.
“Why are you wearing a mask?” My voice is barely a rasp, but it makes them both turn toward me in unison, like magnets pulled in my direction.
Gara’s grip tightens on the screen, his hesitation clear even through the emotionless mask. “Because…” He pauses, his voice strained. “Because we have a theory of what you're reacting to, and it might be… alien in nature.”
I manage a tired smile, trying to lighten the crushing reality. “Well, yeah. I didn’t think it was a garden-variety Earth flu.”
His voice hardens with self-reproach. “No, not just from me, but because of me.” He gestures toward the screen Ezla holds, frustration creeping into his tone. “We’re looking for something from me that matches the pathogen.”
My breath catches. I caught something from him? My mind reels with painful clarity. Fuck, the condom melted.
I try for a weak joke, the words stumbling out. “I guess we weren’t exactly careful when I finally jumped your bones, huh?”
Gara shakes his head, his frustration palpable. “I should’ve known. I should’ve been prepared?—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, my voice still feeble, but insistent. “It takes two to tango.”
Even through the blank mask, it's like I can sense his silent confusion, so I explain. “We both made that choice. It wasn’t just on you. But now you know where it came from, right? You can do something. Fix it.”
Ezla speaks up from behind the screen, his voice calm but grave. “In theory, yes. First, we need to understand exactly what it is and why your body is reacting this way. That will determine how we treat or remove it.”
“And in the meantime…” Gara’s shoulders slump, his exhaustion mirroring my own. “I need to stay away from you. No more… contact.”
The words rip through me with a force I wasn’t prepared for. I thought he was dead. I thought I’d lost him forever, and now he’s back… and I can’t even touch him?
“Gara, I need you near me. Please.”
Gara hesitates as if torn between stepping toward me or running in the opposite direction.
Finally, he sits next to me, and the relief is so overwhelming I could cry.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
His words come soft, filled with regret. “I don'twant to deny you anything, Arra-bellah, but I will if it means keeping you safe. You have to understand that.”
“I do,” I murmur, my heart aching as I wish I had the strength to reach for him, to hold his hand. But even that small gesture feels impossible, my limbs too drained.
He might be right and keeping apart is the best thing to do. Cold logic would say that. Except everything inside me is saying I need him, my instincts insisting I need to be near him.
But he's stated a boundary. I need to respect that.
I let my questing hand fall. “Alright. We'll stay apart for now, but when this is all over you owe me double kisses and hugs. Deal?”
“A million times over,” he says, and I know he doesn't exaggerate. He'll probably keep a tally of each one in a spreadsheet too.
His shoulders stay slumped like he's exhausted. He's definitely lost some weight, more ridges and veins visible on his chest and arms, like a map with rivers and roads.
I search his face—or rather, the mask that hides it. “Where were you, Gara? What happened to you?”
His head bows. “I had to run, Arra-bellah. I had no choice.”
He keeps his voice level, but the shame radiating from him is a physical thing, a presence in the air, and it settles uncomfortably in my chest. How do I know what he’s feeling?
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Tell me where you went.”
