Page 17 of The Guy Sure Looks Like Plant Food To Me
He’s incoherent now, a shade of pale I’ve never seen on a breathing person, his teeth chattering as he trembles on the grass. How he hasn’t gone into shock yet is far beyond my own understanding. When he makes no effort to answer, I press his head all the way down to the ground with the bottom of my foot, his strength only enough to shift his gaze up at me.
“P-p-ple—” He sputters an attempt, as if I’m able to help him in some way.
I’m not, but even if I was, I wouldn’t.
“Her father.” I ask the more important question, “Does he know she’s missing? Is he looking for her?”
“N-n-n—” The man’s head barely moves from the weight of my foot, but I take it for the answer I need it to be. “Good. Finish him off, Chewie.”
His eyes grow twice their size from my command, but instead of devouring, Chewbacca spits the half-eaten hand back onto the dying man.
“See!” I whip around to face Meri, “This is what I’m talking about.”
Her expression morphs from one of absolute horror, to amusement, a lightness spreading over her features as a smile breaks through her face. She walks toward Chewie, stepping over Williams as if he was never here at all. “That’s because she’s not eating out of hunger.”
“What do you mean?” I’m too ignorant when it comes to plants to understand, and I don’t know enough about raising a pet to follow her line of thought.
“She’s been protecting you.” Meri raises her hand, softly stroking the exterior of the trap.
Chewie purrs, contented at being finally understood.
“Well, shit,” I laugh, “I knew you were my good girl.”
“I’m gonna need you to stop saying that now.” America’s voice drops to a low hush.
“Hmm?” My confusion lasts for only a second, when my gaze is pulled to her lips, where the pillowy pink flesh is tortured under white teeth.
Her chest rises with a sharp inhale, her cheeks turning a bright pink.
“Aww,” I chuckle, a grin showing itself without my permission, “Does my other good girl need some praise as well?”
Meri’s entire face turns red, her speech fumbles off her tongue, but no words are made. I close the distance between us, pressing my forehead to hers while wrapping my arms around her waist. “You did so good baby,” I whisper in her ear, a squeak of a whimper seeping from her closed lips. “I’m so proud of you, my little plant witch.”
The last word makes her gasp, her cheeks dimple but only for a second, because she tries her best to force the smile down.
“I don’t know who it was who made you feel that you couldn’t smile, or laugh, or be yourself without feeling self-conscious about it, but that ends now, with me. You got it?”
Her response is a breathy little agreement against my ear, “Got it.”
Changing the subject is the last thing I want, not when she’s so hot and bothered by just my words. I’m desperate to see what other reactions I can elicit from her, but there’s too many pressing things that still need our attention. “We need to get rid of your car and his before your father realizes you’re gone.”
She stares out into the forest, her eyes gloss with tears. “He’ll notice Williams’ absence first.”
I shake my head, wishing there was a way to go back in time and undo the damage her family has done to her self-esteem. “Because he’s an idiot. Let’s go sink his fancy car in the bottom of a pond half a state over. Maybe you’ll feel better.”
She finally breaks a smile that feels genuine. “What do we do with him then?”
I shrug, “I don’t know, the guy sure looks like plant food to me.”
“I’m serious!” She laughs, shoving me playfully.
“Me too, you said she needs nutrients right?” I ask.
“Yes …” Her eyebrows furrow, a wrinkle forming between them.
“So, let’s make fertilizer.” My grin is malicious, because when it comes to well-dished vengeance, nothing feels better. “She needs blood, and he’s got more than enough.”
Iwas barely fifteen the first time my mentor brought me to this cabin,a place any witch could escape to, she called it. It had been in her family for generations, and she, unwilling to continue her bloodline, felt I was the next best thing. Back then I was just a teenager, pushing down the pain of losing my parents in a car accident. I floated around, hoping to avoid social services long enough to stay out of a foster home until I could turn eighteen.
