Page 9 of Alien Desire
I rock onto my behind and let out a long exhale. I hadn’t been aware I’d been holding my breath, and I am light headed. The moment of our meeting, the embrace of another living thing’s eyes, over all too quickly.
I busy myself with inspecting his wound and cleaning it again, noticing that the warmth and colours of his skin have already dissipated. Then I dribble water between his lips unsure if he even needs it, but amazed to find him swallowing it down in his sleep.
When I’m done, I curl up against him again hoping to warm him. My stomach growls with hunger but I daren’t go to fetch food. I have this strange need to stay with him. I’m frightened that if I leave, he will die. Foreboding lurks in the shadows.
I lie on his uninjured side, my head resting on his chest, and I whisper to him. I tell him my name. Where I was born. My age. I tell him of my family and my home and my journey across the universe. I tell him of the crash and how the others died. I tell him how I came to find him.
When I run out of things to say, we lie in silence and eventually sleep overtakes me.
* * *
I see the shimmering, dancing colours of his skin through the lids of my eyes before I open them. It is like distant memories of fireworks, exploding in the night as I tip my head back and watch them. His skin is warm against my cheek, and his arm has come to rest around me, wrapping me closer.
Sighing, I lean back to look at him.
He is staring down at me with those amber eyes, curiosity swimming in their depths.
“Oh,” I say, scuttling away. “I … I …” His gaze is unblinking and his face expressionless. There is no way to decode what he’s thinking.
Does he think? Do thoughts circle in his mind in the way they do mine?
Those golden eyes continue to stare as if he is waiting for me to say or do something and heat creeps up my face. I scratch at my neck, uncomfortable, and his eyes move ever so slightly to the right observing this motion.
I cough. “I’m Emma,” I say finally, remembering that a name is usually the place to start when meeting a new person.
Although he’s not a person, is he.
His response: nothing.
Placing my palm over my chest, I try again. “Em- Emma,” I stutter. “I’m Emma.”
I motion with my chin, followed by a gesture towards him with my hand when he doesn’t answer. “You? What’s your name?”
Still nothing.
“Emma,” I say, pointing at myself with exaggeration and then I point at him, nodding my head.
His face remains frozen but he opens his mouth and a word falls out. I screw up my face. It was too quick. I didn’t catch it.
“Errr.”
“Tor,” he says more slowly, and I see a tongue working behind rows of sharp teeth. The inside of his mouth is colourless like the rest of him.
I repress a smile. “Thor?” I repeat. Like the Nordic god. Like the chiseled superhero. How very apt.
He holds a hand to his chest in imitation of me. “Tor,” he corrects.
“Tor,” I say, smiling wildly, “Tor. Nice to meet you, Tor.” I laugh, a noise that is more excitement and nerves bubbling from my lips than amusement. His eyes drop to my mouth as if this noise and this expression are foreign.
He considers me for several long minutes, then struggles up onto his elbows. “Emma,” he says in that deep melodic tone, grimacing and reaching for his side.
“You’re injured,” I tell him despite knowing he can’t understand. I point to his side. “You were hurt it in the crash. I tried my best to patch you up but I’m not a medic.” I shrug.
He examines the injury for several minutes, poking it gingerly with one long finger. Then he rolls back down and closes his eyes.
I rack my brains, searching through the hours and hours of training. How can I help him? He needs strength to heal. I need to feed him.
Kneeling back by his head, I offer him the water. “Are you thirsty?”
