Page 30 of Lorran
Wyn
“You’re a dick.” Wyn wanted nothing more than to throw something at Lorran’s stupid grinning face, but she was too terrified of hitting an unfortunate button and venting them into space, because that was the kind of day she was having.
“I spared you discomfort.”
“By drugging me! You don’t slip the mickey to people, Lorran.”
“I do not know what that is, but I gave you a harmless sedative.”
She threw her hands up in exasperation. Heavens help her with well-meaning aliens. “That’s what a mickey is! And you don’t give someone a sedative without telling them you’re giving them a sedative, you trifling creeper with your horns. Tell him.” She turned to the other alien—Mylomon, or whatever—who had so far remained silent.
He glanced from Wyn to Lorran, almost helplessly. “Females do not like to have their autonomy infringed upon, even if it is for their own protection.”
“Oh, you’re no help.”
For her own protection, her big, round ass.
The two aliens watched her warily as she paced the length of the shuttle. She was upset, yeah, but she wasn’t going to sabotage the ship or the mission on purpose.
Wyn took a deep breath. Throwing a tantrum would not help anything, and all this moving woke up her body. She needed to pee something fierce, and her skin had the itchy, crawling sensation that told her she went too long without a shower.
“Wyn, I—”
She held up a hand to stop Lorran from saying whatever he had planned. Something slick to twist her around and convince her that she overreacted, absolving himself of responsibility.
This had been a hell of a long day. Well, two days, considering how long she slept.
“I need to freshen up. Is there a cleansing room on this thing?” There had to be. Lorran said they had a thirteen-hour journey, so unless the Mahdfel eliminated waste in their armor, there had to be a cleansing room. Just a toilet would be enough. She’d wash up the best she could at a sink.
“Yes. In the back,” Mylomon said, then glared at Lorran until Mr. Charm got the hint.
He pressed a button along the back wall and a panel slid open, revealing a bare room the size of a walk-in closet. It was probably small for a Mahdfel, considering the way Lorran’s horn scraped the ceiling.
Rather than squeeze in together, she stood in the door and watched as he explained which buttons activated various functions. He pressed a blue circle, and a sink lowered out of the wall. Another button opened a cabinet with single-use toiletries.
“Got it,” she said, hustling in the moment he left.
The room was barebones but served its purpose. After, she cleaned her hands and discovered that the cleansing room used sonic waves instead of water. Experimenting with the controls, she had a full-body sonic shower going in no time. The refugee camps back on Earth used sonic showers, so she was familiar with the process but forgot how it stripped away too much moisture and left her skin too dry. Plus, her hair would be a frizzy mess. She should have worn a bonnet or wrapped her hair. Still, better than feeling all itchy and crawly.
While scrubbing her teeth with a disposable sonic toothbrush, Wyn pictured the toothbrush erasing her anger. Her upset remained, and she doubted anything would remove it. Had Lorran asked about the sedative, she’d have agreed. Teleporting sucked, and she’d rather be asleep for the process than awake.
But he didn’t ask. He just acted in a high-handed, arrogant fashion, making decisions for her that he had no right to, and then had the nerve to be shocked that she took offense.
The reflective surface of the wall distorted her image. She pulled a frizzy strand and twisted it around a finger. Could she fix this? Hair, yes. She needed conditioner, a comb, and patience.
Lorran? She didn’t know. The artificial veneer he showed her, all cocky grins and jokes, wasn’t good enough. If she could know the real him, then maybe.
A voice—okay, Sonia’s voice—told her she didn’t have to stay. One of the pamphlets the volunteer center gave her said that. There was a waiting period before she could file for divorce but, she couldn’t remember if it was three months or six months. Maybe a year? Waiting a year seemed miserable.
She shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. Never go grocery shopping on an empty stomach, and don’t make huge life decisions when you’re cranky.
This was more than being cranky. This was about consent. She passed out strapped to a chair and woke up in a bunk, completely in a panic. She felt pretty good after solid sleep, her headache had vanished, and she was fully dressed, minus her sneakers. That helped calm the initial burst of panic. Her alien might be a trifling dick, but he wasn’t the kind of trifling dick who took advantage of a passed-out woman.
Fuck. That was a low bar to set her standards.
Feeling herself slip away and waking up in a new location made her feel as helpless as she did during the gas attack that nearly killed her. Choking, she couldn’t run or even crawl to safety. She couldn’t even breathe. Powerless, helpless, and dying, Wyn would give anything to avoid ever feeling like that again.
Lorran didn’t know. His intentions were in a good place, even if he failed to consider how his actions would make her feel.
