Page 27 of Festive Fugitive
“With marshmallows and syrup?” I ask, parking the sled in front of the steps leading to the porch. We have excellent weather, and we both take a moment to take in the snow flickering in the golden light of the sun. But then I pick him up, still in the sleeping bag, just throwing him over my shoulder.
It’s almost a shame we’ll have to leave this place.
I’m halfway to the door when Eli speaks. “Am I now more of a worm or a larva?”
Stalling, I focus on the tips of my boots to think, because this surely is a trick question. “Um… definitely a larva, since you will soon turn into your sexy, slinky form,” I respond, hoping he’ll like that.
“But what if I don’t and I stay a larva? Would you still think I’m sexy?”
Taking into account that he sucked me off at the lake while bundled up in this cocoon, should I say ‘yes’? Or does he mean an actual larva?
“Are you saying you want to stay a burrito for the foreseeable future?” I kick the door open and turn sideways, so no part of his body hits the doorframe.
He groans as if it’s me who isn’t making sense. “No, I mean would you love me if I was a worm? I mean…like, or find hot. Or if you did already love me, would you continue feeling this way when I was in worm form?”
He must be fucking with me, because how does this question make sense in a world where people don’t justbecome worms, but I go with it, like I do with everything else he brings to the table. I might never be able to love him, but I care for him, cherish his presence, and desire him more than I’ve ever desired anyone. I want to make him happy, and him being a worm wouldn’t stop me. Maybe it’s nice to fantasize of a world in which I’m capable of loving him.
“Would you still have your face?” I ask and toe off my boots. “Or do you mean you’d be the size of a worm? Because I could work with that.”
“No, I’d be a worm. I wouldn’t speak, and I’d be small, and just writhe around in your hand.” He snickers, so at least I know we’re fooling around about this, and it’s not some trick question deal-breaker like that time when a hookup said they wouldn’t have sex with me if I wore black socks. I thought it was a joke, so I wore black socks, and he just walked out on me, ruining my Friday.
“Well, I’d fatten you up, so you’re nice and thick. And then, I’d swallow you, so we can always be together,” I say, placing him on the couch. When his eyes open wider, I lean in to kiss his nose, so he knows I’m not being serious either.
Eli stares at me for a bit, but nods. “That’s actually kinda romantic.”
I pull his hat off, but he’s already unzipping himself from the sleeping bag, so I’m guessing he’s not all about staying a larva forever. I did consider going with it a bit longer and feeding him. As soon as he’s out, he gets up to kiss me.
“Thank you for taking me to the lake, that was fucking fantastic. I’ll need to commemorate it somehow. I’m just really hungry.”
“Didn’t I give you enough protein yet?” I ask, swiping my thumb across the sweet lips that sucked out all my juices during our walk.
“Barely. And you know how hungry I can get.” He wiggles his eyebrows to make sure I get the double meaning.
I know I’m hot to a big part of the population, but it’s his desire for me that makes my heart beat faster. It’s him I want to serve and please. I’ve been conditioned to love and obey my former master, a fact I must begrudgingly accept about myself. Are my feelings for Eli only an extension of that training? A sense of loyalty to the man who killed my tormentor? Or are those emotions genuine? Does it matter when it’s not an obsession I wish to curb?
As soon as I see him go to the kitchen, I’m borderline offended, because I offered him the drink, and I’ll make it for him. Along with the foods I’ve learned he likes most.
“You need to rest,” I protest and follow him. “On the couch!”
He sighs, but doesn’t put up a fight. “But I feel guilty that you’re doing everything.”
“We’ve been over this. It’s my job to keep you safe and comfortable, so don’t complain that I’m not like your lazy exes,” I say and open the fridge, collecting everything I need to make sandwiches.
Eli glances over the back of the couch with a smile. “Okay, but you have to tell me if you feel I’m not doing enough. I guess I can hardly believe you’re this perfect. I keep waiting for something terrible to happen.”
There it is again, the uncertainty I need to weed out of his heart. I’m loyal as a dog, and he treats me with a kindness no one ever bothered to show me. How could I ever think badly of him?
“I like taking care of you. It keeps me busy,” I tell him and start heating the water for our drinks.
“Hmm… I might get it now. Is it the special forces training? You were taught to protect, and you can see I’m particularly useless, so you feel the need to save me?”
I shake my head and lather the bread with mayonnaise. “You’re ridiculous. This costs me nothing. I do it because I want to. Because I want you to be comfortable.”
It’s so strange how he can fully understand that when it’s him doing something for me, but finds it so hard to accept care. At least he seems to think about it before he turns on the TV.
I check news about the manhunt on my phone, but I don’t want him to obsess and be stressed about it, because then he comes up with stupid ideas. The last one being that we should set up traps around the cabin. We agreed he gets to check the news once a day, and he was fortunately fine with that. Even said that being here is a digital detox.
The screen awakes, and lo and behold, it’s another segment on the Festive Fugitive which is what they call Eli despite knowing his name and identity. Every day, some new facts from Eli’s life get pulled out into the open, and I don’t like it. The less is widely known about him, the better.
