Page 15 of Alien Desire
Tor sits at the computer and fiddles. I try to explain to him that it is futile but we still struggle to understand each other, despite what appears to be a growing number of English words in his vocabulary — something, I think, to do with the small disc attached to his forehead.
I watch him for a while, fearful he’ll break our only means of communication with the outside universe, but he’s determined to play, working with a small, smooth box; which appears to have no buttons or screen but which captures a lot of his attention.
What can I do? So far, he has appeared civil, pleasant even, and although I find his huge presence intimidating, I am finding myself more and more comfortable in his company. Perhaps it is my desperation and loneliness. Determined to make friends even with a creature who may any moment decide to rip my head from my body and devour my remains. His teeth do look especially sharp behind his plump lips.
I shake my head. I’m doing it again, letting my imagination scoop me up and run away with me. I need to stay focused and alert. The communication system is not worth a fight over; not when I may need to fight him for my life.
Watching him only increases the peculiar feeling I have in the pit of my stomach. A feeling I’m struggling to decipher. It is new and unfamiliar. Fear? But I’m not scared, not when I look at him. He is huge and powerful, but he is also beautiful, and it is his beauty that ignites the unusual spinning in my belly.
Shaking my head more violently to dislodge these thoughts, I leave him and try to concentrate on the remainder of my daily routine. Night is falling outside, the temperature tumbling lower as I complete my inspection of the tanks and my circuit of the station. By the time I return to the door, the stars prick the black canvass of the sky. I can’t help but seek Tor out to show him.
He is still at the computer, thoroughly lost to whatever he is doing, and I don’t think he realizes I am there until suddenly his head snaps up and he captures me with those golden eyes.
“Omega.” that word again that I am beginning to recognise, like the final letter in the greek alphabet. I don’t know what it means but whenever he says it, the hair at the nape of my neck stands on end. Most bizarre how one alien word can do that. What can it mean?
“Come see the stars,” I tell him, suddenly a little shy at this girlish request.
“See,” he repeats.
“Yes, see.” I motion for him to come with my hand but he does not respond. I reach out and take his hand in mine and a jolt of electricity skips between us, so fierce we both gasp. I stare at our conjoined hands, my fingers curled around the outside of his and into his palm. He stares too for several long moments, and my heart thuds erratically in my chest.
Have I broken some rule? Perhaps this is considered rude, unsavoury, in his culture. But then slowly he curls his own long fingers, copying my grip and grasping my hand. It makes me giggle with nerves and amusement. We are so alien to each other.
—Turning, I walk away but am yanked back. Tor remains in place.
“Come,” I say, tugging on his arm.
“Come?”
“Yes, come with me.” I move and this time he follows me, our hands still entwined. I go to drop his hand — now he is following me there is no need for it — but I don’t want to. How long has it been since I held someone’s hand? I think the last hand I held was my mother’s.
There was never time for relationships when I was in school, and such things were forbidden among peers in the space cadets. So it has been — what? — ten years? Yes, ten whole years since I held someone’s hand. I was fourteen the last time I saw my mum.
We step out into the frigid air, so cold it stings my eyes and assaults my skin, but it doesn’t matter. The sky soars above us, a dizzying assortment of twinkling light from stars near and far. I point upwards and he tips back his head, his golden eyes surveying the universe above our heads.
“Good,” he says, quietly.
“Beautiful,” I correct him and squeeze his hand. The electricity from before sparks a second time, less strongly than before but still powerful,. When I drop my gaze to our hands, I see his arm shimmers with colour, and his deep scent seems to swirl in the air between us.
“Where are you from?” I whisper, knowing he can’t understand. I try something simpler. “Home?” I ask, gesturing to the stars.
He squints, his eyes examining the constellations. He shakes his head. “No Tor home.”
“Oh.” He is learning so quickly. I am failing utterly in my ability to speak his language. The melody of it does not come naturally to my tongue and certain noises seem impossible for me to make.
“Emma home?” he asks, gesturing like I had to the sky.
“Earth.” I tell him. “It’s a long, long way from here.” Suddenly, I feel sad and cold and I pull my hand away and wrap my arms around me.
The melancholy seems to infect him too. “No Tor home.” he repeats, shaking his head.
I guess he’s lost.
I’m overwhelmingly tired by the time we step back inside. It’s early, but caring for him these last few days has left me exhausted, emotionally and physically.
“I am going to go to sleep now,” I tell him. It seems a strange formal thing to say but I feel as if I need to make this announcement.
“Sleep.” He nods and points towards the floor space we’ve shared for the last two nights, the blankets I covered him in discarded on the floor.
