Page 68 of Fighting Gravity
“I’d rather die than be taken advantage of by slimy alien men halfway across the galaxy from my people.”
She went silent for a moment, her eyes roaming over me like she was seeing me for the first time. Then her nose wrinkled and she clicked her tongue.
“I’m not sure I want to understand you and your kind,” she said. “But apparently, Rhone does. And perhaps a sliver of my mind sees why you intrigue him so much.”
The way she said that last part seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“It means I must stop questioning him when it comes to you. He will do as he likes and I have to accept that.”
She turned to leave and my tongue got away from me again.
“Who is he?” I blurted.
Veron stopped and peered over her broad shoulder at me. “He is Rhone,” she said vaguely.
“Why not just tell me,” I rolled my eyes. “You know what I’m really asking.”
She sighed heavily. “He is Rhone,” she said again. “He is a Lok’rath. We are descendants of Cehthos, some say, but he bears the colors of the legend himself. Thegodhimself.”
I scoffed. “You gonna tell me he’s a freaking god because of the shade of green he is?”
“No. But our people have grown weak and in weak times, we look to someone to be our strength. Rhone may not be a god, but many want to believe he is blessed by them so they have someone to follow.
She paused for a moment, her face softening for the first time since I met her. “Not many can be strong enough to carry the future of a whole race on their backs. It is both a blessing and a curse to be who he is.”
And with that, she turned and walked out of the washroom, leaving me alone to stew in my puzzling thoughts.
I wanted to know more. I hated that I wanted to know more. I could sit there thinking about it all, but I risked relating to Rhone too much and that was a complicated idea.
I wasn’t very keen on stewing. I needed to busy my hands so I decided it was time to revisit my shuttle. That thing was still my best chance at escaping and if I never fixed it, it was at least my best chance at preserving the last shreds of my sanity.
30: Quinn
Age 30
“Get up,” my instructor said.
Raul was never the gentle type. I liked that about him. I didn’t needgentlein my life. I needed stern, beating, painful discipline to knock me off my horse once in a while because my horse usually carried me into disaster. I got lazy and content on my horse and let it go where it wanted and that put me at Switch’s mercy for too long.
And if you couldn’t tell, my horse was pills. The little pills that made all the bad stuff go away. But it also made me dependent. Numb. All the things I hated and all the things that liked to follow me around like little smoke demons were just waiting to fog my vision at every turn.
I jumped to my feet, wiping a bloody lip with the back of my wrist.
It wasn’t actually protocol to fight gloveless. Bareknuckle was against the rules, but Raul bent the rules once in a while just for me. he knew I needed the pain. The wake-up call. The shock that pulled me back down to Earth.
I shook out my arms, pacing around the ring. I was slick with sweat and my cheek was already swelling. I could tell. Raul wasn’t too much taller than me, but he was a big guy. Thick with muscle and way faster than he looked. He jabbed at me and I dodged, lifting a knee toward his groin, which he easily avoided. And, with a sweep of his leg, he knocked me on my back again.
When I tapped the floor to signify I was done, he stepped over me, one foot on each side of my hips. His bald head glistened with perspiration and his gray beard looked unshaved like he hadn’t groomed in a few days.
He fought the same demons I did on a daily basis. It was why our training was so compatible.
Or toxic. It was hard to tell the two apart anymore.
“You’re done when I say you’re done,” he said.
“No. I’m done,” I panted.
