The clothes hanger lowered to the ground, and she stood. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe.”
“You should rest,” I said, moving to her.
“Sit,” she told me as she approached. “What are you going to do now?”
“Well, I was hoping to write a few thousand more words, but like I told you before dinner, my brain is a little fried for that. So I’m going to work on a cover for the book.”
“Okay.” She sat on her knees and leaned her elbow against my thigh. “Two days.”
“Um,” I swallowed hard as I realized she’d only have to drop her hand to drain me of my life force. And why was she sitting on the floor next to me?
What in the actual fuck is going on here?
“I want to watch you make a book cover.”
“Sure! Great, yes, no problem. You can watch me screw around with these covers.”
She yawned, and for the next few minutes, I tried to ignore the fact that she had her elbow on my thigh. I didn’t feel any of the energy leaving my body, so at least she hadn’t triggered that ability.
I also no longer felt the buzz from the margarita I’d had earlier.
As I’d continue to discover the better I got to know her, Veronique had a third super ability: She could put me on edge, take me off the edge, put me on edge again, and again guide me off in a matter of minutes.
Focus, Writer Gideon, I told myself, pretending it was Grace’s voice. Damn, did I miss having her around.
If I had to get this book out in less than two days, the cover wasn’t going to be great.
But I could try my best, and thinking of the cover got me thinking about book titles. My first thought for a book title was Cherry Blossom Girls, but that sounded stupid, and the cover would have to be really good to convey what it was about.
I then thought about calling the book Subject S and V, or maybe, Subject G and Subject S, but that also wouldn’t fit, and it sounded worse than my first idea.
“What do you think about the title Mutants in the Making?” I asked Veronique.
She removed her elbow and lay down on the floor, curling up at my feet. It was an awkward pose for her, and she quickly sat back up, placed her arms on my lap, eventually settling her head on her arms.
What the hell is she doing? I thought as I felt something stir in my groin.
Do not … do not … I started to tell my proof of manhood.
Focus, you horny bastard!
“I have to get this cover right,” I whispered to myself, as if vocalizing it would distract me from the fact that Veronique was now sleeping with her head in my lap.
Mutants in the Making? It wasn’t the best title, but it was kind of cool, and if I had a cool subtitle, it would be at least halfway legit.
That one would definitely not work, but ‘based on a true story’ was a keeper.
My first take at the cover took me too long, which meant that it wasn’t spontaneous, wasn’t authentic. Besides, it also looked like a damn college macroeconomics textbook. And what the hell were all the Dr. Mario-esque pink things?
I toiled around a little more in Photoshop, trying a different idea, a different, sexier approach.
Yep, a throwaway cover for sure. My mind was a blur when I crafted that version, but if this had been an erotic title, that’d be an award-winning cover right there.
Gideon, you are delusional.
I moved on to the next design idea. I wanted this one to be a bit more mainstream, so no thongs, and I wanted it to be a little more poppy.
This one didn’t work either. It looked way too amateurish, and I’d spelled my last name wrong too. Also, there wasn’t really room for the tagline, so it was a definite no.
So far, I’d had three duds, and one of those duds was just straight up out of left field. I don’t even know what I was thinking when I designed the sexy one.
Maybe the alcohol?
I wasn’t feeling drunk ten minutes ago, but since Veronique dozed off, a feeling of drunkenness had washed over me.
I was a lightweight, so one margarita would knock me on my ass for sure.
“Two days,” I reminded myself. “Actually, less than that now – a lot less. What do you want this book to say? How do you want the cover to come across?”
The things writers ask themselves, am I right?
I tinkered around for another ten minutes, unhappy with the final result:
The font color was atrocious, and I’d messed with the tint so much that I’d lost the feel of the original. Besides, what the hell was it supposed to mean anyway? What did the flower represent? Why did it look wilted?
I decided to get serious with this last one.
I needed a big concept, so I chose a galaxy. It was a good image, and people recognized it as something other, something bigger than themselves.
Next, I needed me, or at least someone that was male, who was supposed to represent me.
In actuality, I was your average bearded writer dude with glasses. That wouldn’t work. So, I found a Creative Commons image of a guy who looked better than me. Or at least his silhouette looked better than mine because it didn’t have a beard.
I slapped it on that cover, found a badass font, put in all the deets that I needed, and felt the urge to pat myself on the back. I finally had a winner.
With a few more saturation adjustments and some good font spacing, I had myself a cover that Random Penguin House would have been proud to pay fifteen thousand dollars to have designed.
It didn’t quite convey the whole ‘government super soldier experiment thing’ that I wanted to reveal, but I could put that in the product description, and besides, I had to get the book in people’s hands before I could blow their minds and uncover more of the truth.
Because that’s what all this was about, uncovering more of the truth.
“What now, what now?” I asked myself.
I hadn’t done badly for the day.
I’d written a crapton of words, found out a lot more about Grace and Veronique, and I’d designed a pretty damn good cover. With enough rest, I could very well finish the book tomorrow.
It would take a ton of coffee, but Veronique didn’t say anything about word count, so who cared if the book topped out at thirty thousand words or less? Who said it couldn’t be a novella? Who said it couldn’t be twenty thousand words?
Then the idea came to me: I would publish the book as a serial, each installment detailing how things had changed since the last go around!
It was an accomplishable goal, and it would hopefully have the effect of building an audience.
Of course, there were now thirty million or so self-published works out there, but the fact I’d have a wider net with more books would surely help.
“Veronique,” I said softly, “I’m going to move you to the bed. I want to take a shower.”
She groaned, looked up at me, and nodded.
“Come on,” I said, helping her up. “You can sleep in your clothes, that’s no big deal.”
I got her to bed, tucking her in like a baby, and stepped into the immaculate bathroom. Sure, I could have run out of the room, Grace over my shoulder, but where would I run? Besides, I felt like Veronique was starting to warm up to me.
I wasn’t good with architectural terms, but there was a pretty big counter in the bathroom made of marble and a tub large enough for two, as well as a walk-in shower that was looking real nice right about now.
The water came on with the press of a button on the wall and I stripped down.
I got in and let the warm water hit my body, washing away the day.
I thought back to the erotica-esque cover I had designed, and my hand naturally gravitated toward my member.
Don’t do it, I mentally ordered as I started ‘cleaning.’
But that never stopped me, and it hardly stopped any man aside from a monk, and even those guys got a little weird after a spell.
Do not masturbate, do not masturbate, I told myself as I began tugging.
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I managed to stop, took a deep breath, and tried to just enjoy the hot water and quiet. The day hadn’t been as tense as the previous one – if you didn’t count Veronique’s surprise attack – but I did have this deadline looming over my head, even though I’d figured out a way around it.
I popped open the hotel shampoo, spread it through my hair, and made the split-second decision to give myself another pull.
Do not do it, just take a shower and go to bed.
That was when the shower curtain slipped aside.
Veronique stood before me, completely nude, her arms at her sides and a soft, yet awkward smile on her face.
I nearly slipped backward, hit my head on the wall, and died in a shower at the Marriott in Stamford, Connecticut.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
She was incredibly fit, almost sinewy, and as I took her in, I noted she was clean-shaven and that there was a small birthmark on her hip.
“You should have knocked,” I mumbled.
“What were you doing in here?” Her eyes darted to my swollen mini-writer.
“Just cleaning!” I said as I covered myself.
I was so shocked that I hadn’t even thought of covering my Johnson when she first opened the curtain.
“It’ll go faster if we clean each other,” she said, stepping into the shower.
She was petite, slightly bottom-heavy, her breasts much smaller than Grace’s, and her nipples large and erect.
But I was trying not to stare, trying my damndest not to stare.
This was one situation I hadn’t predicted, not that I predicted much of this, but I’d figured Grace and I would hook up because I felt some chemistry between us. Turns out I was right.
But Veronique and me?
“I’ll help you.” She ran the soap over my chest.
“I was just finishing up,” I grunted.
“Clearly,” Veronique said as her hand fell to my proof of manhood.
I closed my eyes; I had no idea how to react to this other than to let it happen, and just … Well, to think that I’d ended up in this situation … Damn it, Gideon, just enjoy it … Okay, okay that feels good … Yes, yes, focus on the writing, don’t focus on …
I felt the strange sensation in my stomach and my eyes popped open. I looked down. Her hand had started to turn red.
“What are you doing?”
“I never tried to take power this way before,” she said. “I’ll stop.”
Veronique removed her hand from my penis. She glanced at the shower head and it moved ever so slightly, spraying the hot water against her chest rather than her neck and chin.
“You don’t have to,” I said hella awkwardly. “I mean, you don’t have to stop. You do have to stop using your ability though, because that could kill me.”
“I don’t think you can handle it,” she said coyly.
“Not only do I think you’re right, I think you’re wrong. I’m much tougher than I, um, look.”
Nope, not even I was convinced by that last statement.
“How tough can you be? You’re a bearded writer who writes some type of fiction that is fake.”
“All fiction is fake. Besides that, did you see the new cover I designed? It’s a winner,” I said, barely able to swallow my own bullshit.
“I don’t think I saw it.”
I could tell by her movements that she was still drunk, which was maybe why she decided to join me in the shower. Even though I was entirely turned on by her, I was also very apprehensive, akin to the way a male black widow feels right as he’s about to score.
She grabbed me again and began moving her hand up and down.
“What does it feel like?”
“It feels, like, good? Great! I don’t really know how to explain how that feels to a female.”
“Dicks are interesting. They grow, and they shrink.” She flicked the top of my penis. “Yours looks like a long mushroom.”
I cleared my throat. “I was not expecting this, Veronique, to be honest with you …”
“What were you expecting?”
“To take a shower,” I said with a sigh. She was stroking fast now and staring at me intently as she did so.
How do you know so much about this? I wanted to ask, but all I could do was exhale deeply.
She kept going and moved just a few inches closer to me. I could now feel a sexual tension radiating off her skin.
It was too much, and I seriously doubt anyone besides a professionally-trained porn star could have lasted as long as I did. Okay, that’s a lie, but I gave it my college try and actually lasted another minute as she found a good, steady rhythm.
“I’m going to …”
She stopped and removed her hand. “You have one day to finish the book.” She pushed the shower curtain away and started to get out.
“I’m almost finished,” I told her quickly. “I have a better idea for releasing the book, and I’m ready to get the first one out by the end of the day tomorrow. Seriously!”
“A better idea?” She stepped back into the shower.
If I could have bit my fist without looking like a total idiot, I would have. I was on the verge of just about everything. The verge of orgasm; the verge of crying out in fear if she didn’t like my idea and I wasn’t able to finish the book; the verge of embarrassment as I realized the tone of that last thing I’d said sounded like I was begging.
“Yes, a better idea! Sorry, not trying to yell, I just have this release strategy that will allow me – I mean us, to put more books out and hopefully find out about other people who are experiencing this.”
“What makes you think people who know about people like me would read your books?” She returned her hand to my confused penis. Damn, it was getting steamy in that shower. It was as if a mist were growing between us.
“I have no idea about that part, but I do think putting it out there will get us some contact from … from maybe someone who has heard about something like this, something similar. You know what, I think it’ll give us a lead, and that’s what we need. We need to lead – er, a lead … we need a lead, dammit.”
She began moving her hand up and down again. “And what about the Rose-Lyle facility?”
“You decide what you want to do to it and how you want to do it,” I said quickly. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Well, you can drive. Neither of us can drive.”
“Then I will be the driver!”
“And you have other skills that you bring to the table. At least, I think you do.” She narrowed her eyes at me and stopped jerking her hand.
I gulped. “Um, yeah, I believe I bring other things to the table too.”
My god, was I a weakling.
It was amazing to me how much could be done by just grabbing a man’s penis and giving him a command.
Veronique could have told me to punch myself in the face at that moment, and I would have done so. She could have told me to deepthroat the hotel shampoo bottle, and I would have swallowed that thing right up.
“Do you want me to finish?” she asked, not seeming to feel the water as it bounced off her back.
I nodded, ashamed, but happy to finally get some closure to all this.
Chapter Sixteen: We Will Destroy Them All
I slept like a baby. That was, until a screaming voice woke me up. I’d been dreaming about my superpower, which kept changing as Grace, Veronique, and I fought off some of the MercSecure goons.
In one moment, I had sharp claws, the next I was flying through the air, my body set aflame. At some point in the fight sequence, I learned the ability to kinetically charge things, which I put to my advantage by charging a bus in the midst of our countless enemies.
But the scream inside my head ruined all of that. I practically jump-kicked out of bed, afraid of what I may find, afraid that the government had finally caught up to us.
Veronique was asleep next to me, my sudden movement doing nothing to stir her.
My
vision blurred. I glanced around the room again trying to decipher where the sound came from. The morning sun peeked through the blinds, casting a thin crack of light on the door. I was warm; the room was much hotter than I would have liked.
Don’t say anything, don’t do anything. It’s me.
Grace? I thought.
Her voice returned to my head.
Yes, and I have just a little bit of energy now, so I need to use it wisely.
What’s with the screaming inside my head?
I thought it would wake you.
I considered this for a moment. Well, it definitely did. But I thought you had to see me to use your abilities?
I have imprinted on you, and as of one night ago, you imprinted on me.
That’s one way to put it. Look, I know this may sound strange, especially considering the fact that she tried to kill you – well, kill you-ish. But we need to work with Veronique. She seems to want some of the same things we want. Actually, we never really discussed what we wanted, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same thing that she wants.
I don’t know if that’s a good idea. She came after us to take us back to them.
Yeah, but she also killed the people she came with, I thought back.
I see that she has gotten in your mind somewhat, among other places. I would love a shower at the moment.
I gulped as I carefully removed the cover from my body. I plead the fifth? No, that won’t work against you. Look, we spent a lot of time together over the last day, and I’m starting to trust her more than before.
Is that all it takes for someone to gain your trust? A handjob?
I trusted her before that – you can scour my mind to see for yourself! Okay, so I didn’t trust her fully before that, but I trust her a little more now, and she’s giving me a day to get this book up and out. And I’m ready. Got the cover ready, and I have a release strategy; we’re going to get this story out.
I took a deep breath and turned to Veronique, making sure she was still asleep.
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