Page 50 of Fighting Gravity
Convinced it was the only bit of privacy I was going to get for some time, I relished the moment alone and began sifting through the bins. The first thing I found was a jacket that was about three sizes too small. But it had two sleeves. That was a good sign.
I continued pulling out items of clothing and tossing them on the floor. I found a bodysuit with a chest circumference that equaled three of me. A hooded coat with no closure, and a dozen other jackets attached to a leotard-like bottom that looked far too revealing. Unless I found a decent pair of pants to go with them.
Finally, I put together an ensemble that might have even passed as forward fashion on Earth. I slipped on a pair of high-waisted leggings that hugged my legs and even hung past my heel a little like bootcut jeans that were a size small. I had no clue what they were made of, but it felt as if there was a temperature regulator in the fibers, so that was nice. I had on one of the jacket leotards underneath. The top of it covered just beneath my breasts like a dance costume with straps leading down to the underwear-like bottom. The sleeves were long, but I scrunched them up a little and ripped holes for my thumbs to keep them in place.
I felt like I was in some scifi epic. I was the girl who wore impractical outfits and showed her tits for the views. I didn’t want to be that girl, though, so I found a big, gray jacket. It reached to my knees, clearly made for something much larger. The sleeves were huge so I ripped those off fast, tossing them into another bin like trash.
That bin, however, was just barely balancing on another stack of storage boxes and toppled over with the added weight to reveal a vent cover. A vent cover big enough for me to fit through and too small for any of my green companions.
I recalled Norm’s growly tone when he told me he wouldn’t let me escape. And not just that, but if I tried, he said he’d punish me. Teach me a lesson. The memory of that recent conversation chilled me. What the hell would a punishment from him look like anyways? He’d already tortured me. What more could he do that I haven’t felt? And how much did I care after everything that had happened?
I stared at the vent, biting my lip as I imagined the best-case scenario. I could crawl around, get to know the layout of the ship, find escape pods, study them, and hide where the gek couldn’t get me.
Worst case? They’d gas me out, I’d get lost, or Norm really would find me and make good on his promise in a way I clearly couldn’t imagine. I could already feel his hands on me. His fingers in my hair. His breath on my neck while he chained me up for some sick chastisement.
My body quivered at the thought until the sensation settled in the base of my stomach, making my knees a little weak.
Ok, slut. That’s not one of your kinks so lock it up.
I cringed at my body’s reaction. Norm wasn’t exactly the ideal guy I’d imagined growing up. That guy was a military man who fed my need for adventure, knew his way around the bedroom, and wore military fatigues. Not some big, green, awful version of E.T. with retractable claws, fleshy appendages for hair, and eyes that could suck my soul. It didn’t matter that he had biceps bigger than my neck or that he did some fucked up humming thing with his vocal cords that made me…
Stop!
I looked at that vent one last time and then at the door. Veron was waiting on the other side of it to take me to a cell or tie me up somewhere like the prisoner I was. I was sure of it.
I’m still Quinn and Quinn isn’t a quitter. Quinn gets shit done.
And the fact that I was talking about myself in the third person was proof enough that I was losing my mind…
I wasn’t a prisoner. I wasn’t a slave. And I sure as hell wasn’t the type of girl to be beaten and threatened into submission.
Slipping on my now sleeveless coat, I grabbed the vent cover and yanked it off the wall. Inside, the air smelled a little musty, but it was oxygen and that was a good sign. If the ship resembled human ships at all, being in the vent where warm air stabilized the temperature would make my heat signature hard to follow. It was a good hiding place and a good way to get around while I figured shit out. So, in I went, covering the opening behind me.
22: Rhone
“Youwhat?” I said, glowering at Veron.
Waking up from a longer-than-usual sleep cycle to find out that Quinn had disappeared into the ventilation system almost as soon as I closed my eyes had me fuming. To hear that no one had been able to get her out of the vents in that time made me wonder if my crew had lost their touch.
“How has she not been caught?” I asked, rubbing my forehead to relieve an oncoming headache.
“She’s figured out the layout of the ship and our schedules, so it’s been difficult to predict where she emerges.”
“Emerges?”
“She’s been taking nutrient blocks and hydration packs from the mess.”
“So, she’s just living in the vents?”
“Appears that way.”
“No. That’s not all. She’s not that dumb.”
“Sorry?”
I thought for a moment, putting myself in a mind like Quinn’s. She’d be after any possibility of escaping. She’d be executing a plan.
I marched past Veron, leaving my chambers to head to the one place I knew Quinn would have gone when no one was looking. Especially if Veron was correct in claiming she knew the layout of the ship.
