“I am doing something, actually doing something---but I would like to, sometimes,” I say, with a smile, holding up a hand before he questions the actually doing something, “But if I can, I would like to have a drink, with you, sometime, because I’m sure it would be less boring than whatever I’d be doing which is typically very boring. But unfortunately tonight I simply cannot.”
“Okay,” he says, smiling a little, “you’re not just saying that? You don’t have to just say that I don’t---”
“No,” I say, shaking my head, “I’m not. I just have actually got something, with an old mate. And as for actually having a drink with you---it’s complicated. In this universe. But in a different universe, I would like to have a drink with you.”
“Are you saying no?” he asks, frowning.
“Not forever, just for---now,” I say, “Today, can we some other time, some other day?”
“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, so long as you aren’t doing anything,” he says, smiling again.
“I won’t be doing anything,” I say. Maybe Jo is right. Maybe there is that sort of good men.
“So, what sort of women do you like?” very smooth Titus, smooth. Why don’t you just ask him if he wants to have sex with her as much as you do? That would be slightly more subtle.
“What?” Ziggy chokes on his coffee, I sip my milk and look around for the cadets or the lovely Major Tom, who have yet to rise. Tess wound up needing rescuing with her little friends last night, I had to take the train all the way downtown to pick them up because police were asking where their parents were so she had to summon me and in my dress whites with all my stars on my shoulder I looked really responsible and effectively kidnapped three children none of whom I actually have guardianship over.
I took them back to my flat and let the boys sleep on the sofa, and put Tess to bed in her room then I went to mine. When I got up they were still asleep, so I got to change that with a bucket of water, so that was fun. Tess still isn’t speaking to me but that’s good for her. Teaches her to go into the city in the middle of the night for fancy ice cream and cookies and not invite me. Ice cream is my favorite thing after milk and cookies, it is milk which I adore and sugar which I also quite like.
“I’m making guy talk,” I say. Damn, I’m really bad at this. I should have spent more time attempting to communicate with my brothers in order to study the atypical male mind, instead of attempting to drive them to necrophilia and cannibalism.
“Is this what guys talk about?” he asks, staring at me blankly.
“So common psychological texts would have me believe who’s to say?” I say, shrugging.
“Okay I’d sooner not,” he says.
“Not what?” I ask.
“Talk about women,” he says.
“Why? You’re not homosexual are you?” I ask, finishing my milk and sorting in my backpack for the cookies I usually keep there.
“What---no, if I were I’d have said ‘I don’t like any type of woman’ and be done, but as I’m not I’d sooner not,” he says.
“Would you? Most homosexuals I know get along with women, they have something in common with them, I’ve assumed,” I say.
“Well yes but you weren’t asking about that,” he says.
“How are you to know I wasn’t?” I ask, “I didn’t say ‘what sort of women do you like to fuck’, if I had then you’d know my meaning but as I am a gentleman and did not, you don’t honestly know that’s what you assumed.”
“Isn’t that what you meant?” he asks, exasperated.
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
He looks away and doesn’t say anything.
“So you aren’t going to answer?” I ask.
“No, I’m not, it’s not decent,” he says.
“I’m not generally, I have to practice what I preach,” I say, shrugging.
“Whatever does that mean?” he asks.
“Nothing in general but a few things specifically which is why I said it,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. I really want to kill him so bad. He doesn’t deserve to live and I’m so bloody bored.
“I don’t want to continue this conversation can we start again?” he asks.
“I suppose, what sort of ships do you like to fly?” I ask.
“I don’t like to fly,” he says, looking down.
“What, you don’t like to fly, you don’t like sex---”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like sex! I said I didn’t want to talk about it. With you. Ever,” he cries.
“If you liked it enough you’d talk about it,” I reason though I don’t know it’s true.
“That’s not necessarily true it isn’t the sort of thing one randomly talks about---”
“Actually I’ve been in enough officer’s clubs to know it is---”
“I don’t go to clubs I like being alone---”
“I’m sure you wish you were right now but as I’m still here, moving on how is it you cannot like flying?” I ask.
“I like being a gunner, more,” he says, heavily.
“Why?” I ask.
“I like shooting, it’s neat, precise, final, and yet it makes me feel like a monster,” he says.
“And you aren’t over that last bit yet? You’ve been in the service, what, eight years now?” I ask, surprised.
“When did you get over it? Feeling like you’re terrible for enjoying cruelty?” he asks.
“About four years,” I say, finally finding the cookie packet.
“That’s fast,” he says.
“I suppose, got it over with,” I say.
“What---had you ever been in battle at four years?” he asks, frowning.
“No, not unless you count with my older brothers but we weren’t even to using knives then,” I say.
“YOU MEANT FOUR YEARS OLD???”
“Yes,” I say, slowly, opening the cookies, “What did you think I meant?”
“You’re a sick bastard, Card,” he says, staring at me.
“We’ve been through that, I got over it when I was four years old, I suggest you get over it in a timely manner as well,” I say.
“I never knew you were this----”
“Me?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Hmm, yes, few people do; they don’t think I mean the things I say,” I say, putting a cookie into my mouth, and instantly regretting it. It’s filled with cumin. “Well played, Tess,” I mutter, spitting it out into my hand.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing, somebody just got even with me, that’s all----- really healthy honestly,” I say, “Do go on.”
“With what?” he asks.
“Living,” I say, grudgingly.
“What?” he asks.
“Never mind,” I say, tearing open a milk packet with my teeth and drinking greedily to rid my mouth of the taste.
“You’re something I can’t describe---how is it, my mum said you loved flying, you were the first person she’d ever met to love it as much as her, how is that?” he asks, cocking his head.
“I do,” I say, flatly, finishing the milk and putting the spit out cookie into a napkin.
“Why?” he asks.
“It’s the opposite of everything you say about shooting, and everything else in this world for me---it isn’t neat, it isn’t precise, it isn’t final. It just goes on, with or without you, it takes all of your conscious and makes you one again with everything that’s ever lived in the universe, and you can’t explain it or grasp it yet you’re still there and best---most of all---it makes all of this,” I gesture to my uniform, then around me, “End. And I’m free.”
“Free from what?” he asks.
“Free from the monster,” I say.
“I am the monster,” he says, quietly.
“Oh, so am I,” I say.
“Hello, Darin, isn’t it?” I ask, D, matching step with him into the hospital. He smiles his charming smile you bastard. I can’t wait to rip the tongue from your mouth. This is
bad I already want to do that and the tongue hasn’t been in my mouth yet.
“Yes, the lovely Dr. Lutz,” he says, slowing his pace so I can walk by him, “I missed seeing you last night.”
“I left early, had some shopping to do, I like to promise myself a good meal once a week,” I lie. Jo said he likes cooking, hopefully, we can go from there.
“I did the same last night, but I confess I indulge myself in my own cooking more than once a week,” he says, smiling again.
“Oh, really? I’ll have to steal one of your recipes,” I say, keeping my face charming.
“No need to steal, why not come over? I have a lovely recipe for roast lamb,” he says, “If you’re a connoisseur I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”
“That would be lovely,” I say. that was easy. Too easy hopefully he doesn’t want to murder me. we’d have to step things up and I don’t want to do that, the longer he’s alive the more time I have to find where he’s been keeping the girls if he’s got a new spot or worse a new girl.
“Why not tomorrow morning on our morning off? We could get the ingredients, then go back to my place, have a nice meal before work—unless you’d prefer yours?” he asks.
“No, yours is fine, I’d like to see you in your element,” I say.
“It’s a date, then.”
So that was her plans? Filtering with that obvious sociopath Darrin Steele? Now I want to eat him more than I already did. My cheeks burn. She has a tested IQ of over 280, how can she prefer him to me? I’m polite, I’m charming, yes I am also a sociopath but I’ve hidden most of the tendencies and I don’t want to kill her unlike him he’s got the scent up, saw him jerking off in the men’s room bloody indecent, and means he’s on the hunt for a fresh kill. I know I am.
“Dr. Darc?” somebody inconsequential is talking to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Are you going to come in or out?” the orderly manning the door is staring at me.
“In,” I say, standing watch. Why is she attracted to him? I’m polite I studied it I read books about this why can’t I get a bloody date what’re they talking about I can read lips---cooking I can cook. Better than him. More exotic choices. I laugh at my own jokes.
“Sir?” the orderly is still staring at me.
No this doesn’t compute she can’t see the sort of man he is----unless she’s interested in him the same reason I am---no that can’t be too much to hope, couldn’t possibly be---you’re alone in this world Jacob you always will be no---he just agreed what was that look in her eye arousal that’s there---oh fuck yes that was it. but not at accepting. Oh no. she looked at his neck. The vein in his neck that nice blue one that is what she looked at that was the arousal. If I’m not very much mistaken, she does want him for the same reason I do.
Dinner.
“Hello, Thief,” I start to see Quentin standing behind me, in front of me now that I spin around. He’s dressed, in a long sweater, fatigues, and he’s standing now, taller than me with his artificial legs on. Even with the yellow-tinted glasses in front of his bloodshot eyes, and the knowledge of the artificial legs, the scars on his stomach, the painful, raw, stumps where his legs ought to have been, he looks so powerful now, in the daylight. Like he ought to have without all the mess of the universe tearing him up. I love him more for it, I think. I’ve never fallen this hard in love before, it’s quite painful I find.
“You know my name,” I say, smiling anyway.
“Actually I don’t think I do, Jo’s not your real name, is it?” he asks, smiling his steady, calm smile that doesn’t look well used. It’s cold out, his cheeks are almost red. he’s not got a coat but the sweater’s awfully thick, it looks new. probably is new, his mum probably got it for him, here on the surface she knew he’d be cold and do something like walk out without a coat.
“No,” I admit, shrugging, “Do you want something to drink?”
“Yes, I suppose I have to since I’m here to see you and want to talk to you. Can you sell me mineral water or something?” he asks.
“Yeah---no this is a bar I’ve got orange juice or seltzer water,” I offer.
“Seltzer water, then,” he says, as I get a glass. He just watches me.
“How’d you find me here?” I ask.
“I’ve been wandering around the city for hours seeing you in everything beautiful but never finding you,” he says.
“Do you always talk like this?” I ask, smiling.
“No, never, I think like it but like I said everything I do in my life always turns out wrong so I’ve decided to try everything different I don’t do,” he says, spinning the glass in his hands but not drinking. My boss looks at us but doesn’t comment, Quentin’s our only new customer this time of the morning anyway. the other pathetic people are all already busy with their drinks. “So this is what you do by day, Thief?”
“I admit Jo’s not my real name but why call me Thief?” I ask, amused, “You know I was never actually going to rob you.”
“I beg to differ,” he says, finally taking a sip and still smiling at me.
“Why?” I ask.
“You stole my heart,” he says.
“You’re weird,” I say, wiping the bar, “Are you just here to use bad pick up lines?”
“I’m pretty sure we are past pick up lines this is bad keep your lines now,” he says, “And no I’m not, I’m actually looking for a job since I’m pretty sure you won’t take worshipping you to be a full time one---”
“I will not---”
“Right, so, careers for disabled Ex-Space Forces, I’m thinking Raptor Hunter, bootlegger, or lizard caretaker one, what do you think?” he asks, taking out a tablet.
“What---those aren’t real jobs?” I ask, leaning to look at it.
“All but bootlegger though that is a thing, I speak Russian so I could do that really well,” he says.
“You do?”
“It was one of those things they thought officers ought to know so they gave us leave days if we studied it and passed some blood test, I’m sure I’ve forgotten half of it,” he says.
“Interesting, say something in Russian,” I say.
“Naz, pa-triz,” he says.
“What’s that mean?”
“Goodwill or something? as I said I’ve forgotten most of it, when do you get off?” he asks, looking around.
“Not till late, and I’ve got to go home first,” I say.
“You’re still coming to see me?” he asks, hopefully.
“Yes, but I’m bringing a guest if you don’t mind,” I say. Lizzie doesn’t need more time alone than she already has, and since Quentin can have me arrested for life at this point anyway, him knowing about her doesn’t make a difference. Not that I’ll tell him she’s a mutant. He doesn’t need to know that. but it’ll be good practice for Lizzie to keep it a secret and meet a new person. she doesn’t get out enough. And he’s a decent sort, she needs to learn not all men are evil. So do I, apparently. Otherwise, this man wouldn’t be sitting in front of me, after wandering all over looking for me just to tell me how much I mean to him. After one night. He really is probably a serial killer.
“No, not at all,” he says.
“Do you not drink or something?” I ask, looking at his mineral water. Please. Just get more unbelievably sweet.
“No, I’m an alcoholic, so, not a good idea, I don’t do well on the stuff,” he says.
“When’d you quit drinking?” I ask.
“When I was fifteen---just turning sixteen,” he says, looking up from his tablet.
“Dare I ask when you started?” I ask.
“Twelve, I was tall for my age, idiots would sell me drinks---do you mind if I walk you home?” he asks.
“I suppose not,” I say. I’ve moved twice in the past month already, Lizzie and I can move again if necessary.
“Good, when do you get off? Only I’ve got dinner with my mum at seven,” he says.
“Nine,” I say.
“That’s a sham
e, I’d like you to meet her,” he says.
“You introduce women who you’ve had one night stands with to your mum?” I ask, amused.
“I told you what my mum did which is incidentally how she got me, she’s completely out of the position to judge and she knows it damn well. Moreover, she’s so bloody worried about me she’d be glad to know somebody was about making sure I don’t slit my wrists,” he says, very seriously.
“What?” I ask, almost laughing at how easily he admitted his own dubious bastardry. “Why would she think that?”
“My brother hung himself,” he says, his eyes darkening, then.
“I’m sorry---”
“It’s not at all okay, but, it’s taken years of self-therapy to be able to talk about it,” he says, shrugging, “She’s, understandably concerned, after that.”
“Poor thing,” I say. I can’t imagine losing a child like that. Losing a child is the most painful thing that can happen to a woman, like a part of your body and soul ripped out and destroyed before your very eyes. but to his own hand---I shudder at the thought. No wonder she’s concerned about Quentin. She must’ve died inside when they told her how he’d been injured. I wonder if they told her straight away or how long they before they knew if he’d live.
“You said you had a sister, have you seen her since you got released?”
“She was murdered, right after I joined Space Forces,” he says, looking down at the counter.
“I---”
“You don’t have to say you’re sorry again, it still isn’t okay,” he says, looking up and almost smiling, “She’d like you. My little sister. I loved her to bits, my little pal. It’s like she’s not dead, though. I can still hear her talking to me if I listen hard enough.”
“That’s good,” if insane but poor man he’s had a miserable life if all that’s true and I don’t think you can make things like that up.
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