Page 8 of The Guy Sure Looks Like Plant Food To Me
America groans—no, she moans.
The sound registers between my thighs like a metal fork in a wall socket.
I wrap my arms around her, squeezing tight, her voice igniting something like a protective instinct inside of me.
What the hell just happened?
“Did we fall asleep?” She half-mumbles, her face still pressed to my breasts.
“I think Chewieput usto sleep,” I grit, annoyed at the overgrown foliage.
The girl perks up, her eyes darting wide open once she realizes the compromising position she is in. She crawls backward to get off of me, but she’s just as woozy as I am from whatever was in that stuff.
I can barely see straight.
She wipes her hand over the green dust coating the ground, it sticks to her skin but comes off with just a flick of her fingers. “What is it?” I ask her.
America rubs the powder between her thumb and index finger, bringing it to her nose and wrinkling it at the smell. “Pollen, definitely.”
I groan, lifting my hand up to my temple to massage the throbbing, “I feel like I’m hungover.”
The girl nods, “She’s never done this before, then?”
I haven’t even finished shaking my head and America’s already pulling a little notebook out of her crossbody bag and jotting something down onto it. “I suspect this trap will die in the next few days, she probably won’t feed, even if she cries of hunger.”
Her voice is sad, like she understands how hard this must be for Chewie.
“I wish there was something we could do to make it easier for her,” I whisper, gently grazing the back of my hand along Chewie's leaves.
America’s eyes perk up. “Wait a minute!” She practically bounces to a stand, leaving the room in such a frenzy that it leaves Chewbacca wailing.
The sound is painful, I can feel it in my chest, like kindling growing into a burning flame. It pumps through my ventricles, coursing magma through my veins.
“Come back!” I cry, everything too foggy and fuzzy to make any clear sense of what’s happening to me.
All I can do is hold Chewie while she shakes, her leaves trembling while a song of pure agony echoes from her open trap. It’s only a minute or two but it feels far too long without her, the plants’ discomfort becoming my own, nearly disabling me as it crushes me to the ground.
I writhe, squirming and whimpering, tears streaming down the side of my face as they fall into my ears.
“Holy Hellebore,” America gasps at seeing me on the ground. “What happened?” She drops to her knees at my side.
“You left.” I groan, “Everything hurts.”
“Woah.” Her eyes get big, full of fear as she crawls back a few inches from us.
Chewie makes the same pained sound again, this time, America is the one who keels over from the torment. “Ah!” She cries, clutching her chest, “What is that?”
I pull her onto my lap, comforting her in what way I can, her body melting once she’s over me. America sobs from a pain too intense. I know only because my own has barely tempered. I lean my back against Chewbacca, shuddering and shivering through the dulling throb.
After a few minutes she finally speaks, her voice soft and weak, “I was locking the shop door.”
I squeeze her tighter, grateful that she had thought of it because the entire day has only been one distraction after another for me. “I don’t think she wants you to leave.” I laugh dryly, coughing through the pain.
“Well why’s she punishing you for it too?”
I shrug, “Hurt people hurt people?” I ask.
“I have an idea.” America says, “It may help. Might be worth a try?”
