Page 4 of My Alien Angel
I nod. Understanding her is not the issue here.
“Oh. But you can’t speak English.”
I shake my head.
“That’s weird, but whatever. What can I do for you? Do you have someone I can call? Or should I call the police?”
I shake my head again, first lightly then with more vehemence when she mentions the law-keeping authority. That’s the last thing I want her to do. Still, what can I realistically ask from her?It’s not like she’d bring a complete stranger to her home and let him rest there while he heals and learns the language. Releasing a deep sigh, I shrug then wince when my broken wing reminds me of its existence.
“You’re hurt! Damn, I should probably call an ambulance. You must be in shock or something.”
Stopping her when she starts frantically tapping on her device, I shake my head again. While I could use medical attention, there’s no way a human doctor wouldn’t report me to the authorities once they realized my wings were real and not just a costume like my little human’s head spikes and fake eyes. What monster is she supposed to represent and why is she dressed like it? I wish I had the words to ask her that and many other things, like if she has a mate waiting for her at home. Or if she would help a stranded alien. That’s what I should be focusing on.
The female looks torn now, chewing on her bottom lip as she looks between me and her device, as if she can’t decide what to do.
Chapter 4
Fin
Thestrangerclearlyunderstandsme but doesn’t seem to speak English himself, which is weird. He’s alone here in the middle of a desert, which is even weirder. I literally just saw him fall from the sky, which might be the weirdest part yet, but then again, I might have imagined it. No one could survive that, wearing fake wings or not.
I have no clue what to do. The most logical thing would be to call the police but he clearly doesn’t want me to, and I respect that. He looked positively frightened when I mentioned them, so maybe he’s here illegally? Or, a much more logicalconclusion invades my mind, maybe he’s just escaped from jail. Or a psychiatric hospital, in which case, I definitely shouldn’t be talking to him, let alone considering the insane possibility of bringing him home with me. He’s not a damned stray! He’s a grown-ass man in a fallen angel cosplay, which means… Actually, I have no idea what it means. This entire situation is a little too crazy for good ol’ me but it’s not like I can just walk away and leave him here alone, can I? I’m pretty sure leaving people stranded in the middle of nowhere is illegal. But what if he’s insane and murders or rapes me or, I don’t know, steals my car? I snort, imagining him inside of my car. Even if he takes off the wings, it will be a tight fit. Besides, it’s not like my shoebox of a car is worth stealing.
The stranger’s wing twitches and he grimaces as if it’s painful. I gotta admit, he’s an excellent actor, very dedicated to his role. Perhaps that’s what this is? Some sort of extreme method acting? He’s too deep into his fallen angel role and unwilling to drop it, even to explain the situation to one majorly confused girl in a murloc costume?
Or maybe he’s in shock from a head injury, because I no longer think the blood on his forehead is fake, and I’m wasting time when I should be getting him to a hospital.
“Okay,” I say before letting out one helluva sigh. “You don’t have anyone I could call to pick you up. You don’t want me to call an ambulance or take you to the hospital. You don’t want me to call the police. I suppose you don’t want me to leave you out here, either?”
His smile is a little hesitant but he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be left alone in the desert. Obviously.
“Can I give you a ride somewhere? Do you need help getting home?”
Smile fading, the stranger lowers his head. He doesn’t shake or nod this time and my heart clenches over the possibleexplanations. Does he not have a home? Does he have a home but can’t go there for whatever reason? Perhaps he’s been through something traumatic and the fallen angel costume is how he deals with it. Perhaps he literally can’t speak due to trauma, not because he doesn’t want to. Or perhaps he’s just messing with me. I don’t really get that vibe from him, though.
“Fine.” I’m sighing again because I already know what I’m about to say and my stupid bleeding heart syndrome is going to get me in big trouble once more. “Do you want to come with me and stay at my place for a few days?”
His head snaps up, his full lips parting as he stares at me. Yeah, buddy, I’m surprised at my stupidity, too.
I absolutely shouldn’t be offering to house a homeless stranger. That’s like the archetypal beginning of nearly every true crime episode, where you can’t figure out why the stupid girl is doing everything in her power to get herself murdered. Even if my fallen angel here isonlysuffering from some form of PTSD, he could still be dangerous. Hell, heisdangerous. He’s wearing overalls of some sort, but I can see his muscles bunching beneath the torn fabric. He’s also a foot taller than me. If he has a flashback or gets triggered by something, I’m totally dead, but that doesn’t mean I can just leave him here.
“Yes or no?” I ask, even though I can see the agreement in his bright blue eyes. I’ve never seen eyes like his before. They’re like the sky, azure and endless. I feel like I could get lost staring into them. His pupils are also a little oddly shaped. Kind of vertical slits, like a cat’s, but not as distinct. He must be wearing contacts. I’ll have to ask where he got them because I’m sure Caleb would love to add them to his Legolas cosplay outfit. “Just for a few days,” I add, doing my best to focus on the matter at hand and not on the fallen angel’s mesmerising eyes. “You can crash on my couch while you pull yourself together.”
Smiling, the stranger nods vigorously. Then, to my surprise, he says, “Yes.”
Hmm. So he’s not mute. “Yes? You can say yes?”
“Yes.”
“Can you say something else?”
After a brief pause, he shakes his head. “No?” He hesitates and it comes off more like a question than a statement, as if he isn’t sure how to form the proper sound, resulting in a rather adorable accent I absolutely cannot place.
“Awesome. Well, come on, buddy. Let’s head out. I have work to do tonight, and we’re still a few hours away from home.”
“Yes.” He adds something in whatever language he spoke before, then huffs out as if frustrated he doesn’t know how to say it in English. Which is ridiculous. How can he understand an entire language without speaking it even a little? It makes no sense. Then again, a lot of things don’t make sense about him.
“I’m Fin, by the way,” I belatedly introduce myself. “What should I call you?”
