Trickskin

by Amelia R. Moore

  “Do you want to talk or do you want to touch?” Loken purred, hands slipping under Ian’s shirt.

  “I’ve been known to multitask.”

  Loken silenced him with a kiss, prodding gently until Nolan took control of it. When it made his jaw ache, he cast a quick spell to banish the worst of the pain. After all, he’d be needing a functional mouth for what he had in mind. All the teasing seemed to work because Ian’s hands quickly began to wander and—

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Ian murmured, pulling back. “You’re in no condition for this, and I’m an asshole, but I’ve never taken advantage of someone maxed out on experimental painkillers.”

  “Jeremy removed the IV,” Loken replied, tracing Ian’s jawline with kisses and trying to entice the man into silence.

  “You were on them earlier though, right? You’re sure they're out of your system?”

  Ian’s continued refusal was an unexpected development. Loken paused, unsure of what to do. “Do you not want this?”

  Nolan gave a near-hysterical laugh. “I think you can feel how much I want this, Princess, but shit. I’d like this to happen on an even playing field. Does that make sense?”

  It didn’t. An even playing field? What did that mean? Made even as in to settle a debt? “You’d like to collect all your payment at once?” Loken ventured.

  Nolan looked confused. “Payment? Woah, wait. What?”

  He bolted upright, and Loken was knocked backwards onto the couch by the abrupt movement, lacking the dexterity to catch himself.

  Scowling, Loken sat up and fixed Nolan with an irritated look. “What exactly is the problem?” he asked, trying and failing to mask his temper.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” Nolan was baffled. “You just insinuated I'd be fine extorting sex from a recovering friend!”

  Loken just stared at him, as if to say ‘and?’ “You made it clear the other night in the pool what you wanted.”

  “Uh, please tell me when I said, ‘You know what I want in exchange for my help? Sex.’ I seem to have forgotten that detail.”

  This wasn't going at all as expected. “I don't understand. Is sex not used this way on Earth?”

  Nolan’s brows creased. “You mean this is some sort of cultural barrier? This is...normal for Rellaeria?”

  Loken shrugged. “It's not uncommon. Powerful Lords accept many forms of payment for access to their prestige and wealth, and concubines are far from rare. Such a position on a Lord’s estate is better than poverty to many.”

  Nolan stared at him. “Rellaeria fucking sucks.”

  Loken didn’t disagree.

  “Look, Lail. I’ll make this as clear as possible; you’re not a concubine.”

  Loken looked sharply to the side, wrestling with defensive anger born of humiliation. “You want me to feel shame for doing what I must to survive—” And he did; oh, truly he did. Shame was a longtime companion of his.

  “Fuck no,” Ian said. “I want you to understand that I value you more than that. Damn, Lail. How can you be so proud and so fucking convinced you’re worthless?”

  The accurate review of his person was like a kick to the gut. “Speaking from experience, are we?” Loken retorted hotly, aiming to wound when he could think of nothing else.

  Ian gave an incredulous laugh. “Got me there.”

  They locked eyes, and Loken wondered what Ian saw—wondered what he’d seen that had caught his attention all those months ago.

  “I’m not perfect, but the only thing I expect as payment from you is to try to get better.”

  Relief and indignation at the refusal at his sexual advances was a strange mixture, and Loken’s voice was clipped when he spoke. “Alright.” He stood with what dignity he could scrape together. A smile was easy to force, as if unbothered by the misunderstanding, when in reality he burned with embarrassment.

  “Please tell me how to unfuck this situation,” Ian said when the silence stretched on.

  Clearly Loken’s mask wasn’t as well crafted as he’d hoped. “Considering nothing was fucked…”

  Ian gave a lopsided grin at the comment.

  Knowing it would be best to retreat quickly, Loken said, “I should go.”

  “Before you do…” Ian said. “Do think you could take a look at the prototype for Danika? I’m designing it to be safe for the user, but I figured you might be able to enchant it. When you’re feeling up to it. Extra safety and all that..”

  Loken knew ‘taking a look’ at the design would turn into a multi-hour event, but he stayed anyway. As the night progressed, and they settled into their usual routine, the awkwardness faded.

  Chapter 16

  “Four days till Christmas!” Danika squealed the next morning as soon as he exited his bedroom in the suite they shared. She bounced over to him. “I’m excited. Are you excited? I’m excited.”

  Loken rolled his eyes but didn’t hide the affection in his gaze.

  “Anyway, I have to pick up a few things from town. Did you want to go with?”

  Though still in his female guise, he wasn’t willing to risk going out until his magic was fully recovered, so he waved her off. “I have another session with the mindhealer today.” Which was true, even if it wasn’t for another hour and a half. He’d slept late due to staying up with Ian, trying to explain the magical theory of runes in an effort to make him understand why enchanting items wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

  Danika nodded in understanding. “Okay. There’s organic fruit in the fridge, and there’s premade sandwiches for lunch if I’m not back in time—”

  “Thank you, adda,” he said, sarcastically sweet.

  Recognizing the Rellaerian word for mother, Danika flushed. “Ha ha. See yah later, Lail.”

  After hugging him tight, she rushed out the door, and he briefly wondered if he should put a stop to the dual nicknames Ian had started. Loken didn’t mind the duality, and if it made them more comfortable to distinguish between the two genders, what did it matter? So, he dismissed the idea and got dressed for the day.

  Breakfast was a bowl of strawberries, organic as promised. He’d discovered, while tending to Zree and Smaug, that nonorganic tasted better to his senses. Danika had theorized that he could taste the pesticides, and while Loken didn’t know if that was true, he was content to eat organic foods and accustomed to paying for quality.

  When he was done eating, he attempted to entertain himself by reading. It was time, he reasoned, that he relearned how to be self-sufficient. After a half an hour of trying and failing to finish a single chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, he was well and truly frustrated at his own incompetence.

  Solitude had been his solace.

  Was dependency to be his salvation?

  Harvey arrived promptly for their session, and unlike previously, Loken had far too much to say.

  “So, how are you today?” Harvey asked once he was settled.

  “Irritated. A few days ago, Ian asked me what I wished to do with my life.”

  “What did you say?”

  Loken shrugged. “Only that I don’t have a desire to work for ALPHA any longer. Other than that…”

  “Despair can make it hard to look to the future.”

  The understanding in Harvey’s tone irked Loken for reasons he couldn’t explain. “At the time, I wasn’t certain I wanted a future, let alone a career.”

  Harvey nodded knowingly. “So, are you ready to discuss your suicidal ideation?”

  Suicidal ideation.

  It sounded so clinical, but it was an apt description of the thoughts he'd long been plagued with. “Yes.” He was ready, but that didn’t mean it would be easy. “I’d never tried until I fled from Rellaeria, but the thoughts started earlier than that. I remember, as a youngling, imagining how others might mourn me if I was gone. To die in service of Rellaeria is the greatest honor, so I imagined falling in battle, in proving myself at last. How those that had been cruel would realize their slights against me.” />
  “Those aren’t uncommon fantasies in children. Imagining your own funeral.”

  A bitter laugh escaped him. “Is it common to realize that your death would be meaningless to others?”

  Harvey gave him a sad look. “I’m sorry you were made to feel that way. I hope you realize now that there are many who would mourn you.”

  Loken recognized that his friends—(it was remarkable how they’d slipped past his defenses to become such)—cared for him; he simply didn’t grasp why. Unable to form words, he looked away for a moment to collect himself.

  Harvey broke the silence. “Can you tell me about the time you first acted on the impulse?”

  Loken swallowed the shame ingrained into him and described in vivid detail the events that had led to that fateful night: the secrets, the betrayal, the loss of self. Harvey listened and not a word of judgment passed his lips.

  When Loken was done, Harvey said, “Thank you for sharing.”

  The words sounded patronizing to his paranoia, but Loken only nodded.

  “You've gone through much in a relatively short period,” Harvey remarked. “You were robbed of your sense of self, subjected to cultural shock when you came to Earth, and faced inhumane captivity before having time to face either of the first two issues.”

  It was liberating to have his problems acknowledged, to have someone else confirm that his pain was valid. He took a shuddering breath and asked, “How, exactly, does one overcome learning they were kidnapped as a child?”

  Loken hadn't expected an answer, so Harvey surprised him when he said, “Forging meaningful relationships that you choose is a good start.”

  As if love could fix everything, Loken mentally scoffed.

  Wait. Love?

  “Your situation is unique,” Harvey continued. “Right now, you aren't in contact with the man and woman who raised you, so you don't have to make decisions regarding relationships with them.”

  Though Loken had little desire to speak with his father, uncle, cousin, or brother, he couldn't imagine a lifetime without seeing his mother again. Perhaps, in a way, he'd fled Rellaeria to have the choice taken from him.

  What was right? King Balan had stolen him; that crime rested on his shoulders alone. His mother and father had merely kept their silence.

  He didn't understand why; he couldn't understand why.

  “Did she think I didn't deserve the truth?” he asked aloud, unable to help himself.

  “She?”

  “My mother!” he snapped, and then guilt consumed him. “It probably wasn't her fault. My fath—General Urien likely ordered her silence.”

  And if he had? If Loken’s well-being was worth less than the will of her husband, what then?

  “Are you angry with her?”

  “Of course not,” he said hastily. “I could never be cross with her. She was always kind, always my defender.” She’d helped him overcome, helped him adapt, and tried to help him find confidence. How could he repay that with anger?

  “You're allowed to feel how you feel, Loken. We all are.”

  Loken wanted to snap that he didn't require permission, but for some reason Harvey's words shattered him. To feel as he felt without shame or guilt or—

  He choked, and although he hated showing weakness to a virtual stranger, cried. “How could she watch me suffer, knowing the cause, and do nothing? I never felt like I belonged, and even when I expressed that, she said nothing. She knew why, and she let me suffer. I don't know why.”

  I want to know why.

  He cut himself off before the pitiful declaration escaped his lips. “Tell me she did it because she loves me,” he muttered, longing for the confirmation even if it was a lie.

  “I'm sorry, Loken. I can't.”

  Even as much as Loken respected Harvey's honesty—respect his refusal to tarnish the growing trust between them—he cursed it. With his emotional wounds bleeding anew, Loken retreated into himself, curling up on the couch.

  “When will it stop hurting?” he asked, suddenly too drained to be overwhelmed.

  “Some days will be harder than others,” Harvey said. “It’s important to know that healing isn’t a linear process. You may feel better yesterday than you do today, for example. Having a bad day isn’t necessarily a setback; you’re allowed to have bad days. You’re allowed to not be okay.”

  It was astounding how such simple concepts surprised him. The idea that he didn’t have to be so hard on himself for his shortcomings…

  Realizing Harvey was waiting for some sort of response, Loken gave a short nod, swallowed the pain in his chest, and asked, “Why does it feel like it’s getting harder?”

  “You suffered a very traumatic experience. Now that you’ve mostly healed and aren’t focused on merely survival, you’ll have more time to process what happened. It might mean more flashbacks, more anxiety.”

  More anxiety? Loken would rather live a thousand years of depression than suffer a minute of anxiety. Melancholy was apathy at its finest; anxiety was like living in a perpetual state of raw terror.

  “May I be alone?”

  “Of course.” Harvey stood. “You remember the plan for when things start to feel overwhelming?”

  Loken would have glared if he had the energy. Instead, he groused, “Yes.”

  Harvey left after wishing him a ‘Merry Christmas.’

  Aware that he was expected for another movie, Loken risked his recovering magic by creating an illusionary simulacrum of himself and sending it in his stead. Splitting consciousness would have taken more magic than he was comfortable attempting, so he sent it off with the usual pre-programmed responses and crawled into bed. He’d long ago perfected its ability to interact, giving it the means to answer basic questions while programming it to sneer and dismiss questions that were too complex. He’d gotten so good at them that Sanjay had taken to throwing things at him to see if Loken was truly present or if he was a simulacrum.

  The memory left a lingering bitterness. Lethargy sapped his strength, and he stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours until he finally drifted off.

  Loken wasn’t certain what time or day it was when he woke, and he didn’t really care. He was aware that his simulacrum had faded, as this particular one was designed to do, like he was aware of each limb; awareness hardwired into his brain.

  It didn’t take a genius to conclude he was having another depressive episode, but apathy sapped his will to do more than turn over in bed. He’d fallen asleep with a bra on again, he realized, wincing as he freed the trapped, sensitive flesh. While he was at it, he slipped out of the skirt, discarded it, and pulled the covers back over his body. Then, after casting a locking spell on his bedroom door, he stared at the walls until boredom gave way to sleep.

  When he woke again, it was because of the knocking.

  “Lail? You awake?” Nora asked, firm but not aggressive.

  Loken didn’t answer, and when Danika took her turn trying to elicit a reply, he ignored her too. He just wanted to sleep; why was that so much to ask?

  He listened them discuss him when they thought he couldn’t hear and felt a pang of guilt that they were concerned he’d hurt himself again.

  (They’d be better off if that were true.)

  Loken pulled the covers over his head, as if that would shelter him from his inner voice, and tried to sleep.

  An unfamiliar noise jostled him from his light dose, and he found his new phone was the source. Summoning it to hand (too lazy to stand), he saw it was a call from Harvey.

  What day was it? Had he missed an appointment? It didn't seem likely, as the next one wasn't scheduled until after Christmas, and the phone proclaimed it to be 12/22 at 9:13 PM.

  Mustering what little will he had left, he answered the phone but didn't offer a greeting.

  “Loken?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Your friends came to me with concerns. They're worried. Can you answer a few questions for me?”

  “Mmm.”


  “Are you hurt or contemplating hurting yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  Loken sighed. “No.”

  “Are you having an episode?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. Remember when we discussed how bad days aren't setbacks? This is one of those times. Rest if you need to. Now, if you promise to open the door so they can bring you something to eat, I'll tell them it's acceptable to leave you be.”

  Loken wanted to say he had no appetite, but Harvey was quicker. “Any snack or small meal will do. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

  “Yes.” He just wanted to be left alone, and if he had to compromise to achieve the goal, he would.

  “Alright. Unlock the door, and I'll let them know. Feel better, Loken, but be patient with yourself.”

  As soon as they hung up, Loken did as promised. It took an indecipherable amount of time for Raaum, of all people, to enter with a bowl of fruit—likely Danika’s doing.

  He didn't think it was possible, but his guilt grew upon seeing her. He hadn't even considered asking after her once she'd left to inform ALPHA that Maganti might be the Archangel.

  “You've got a suite full of well-wishers, but we were told not to crowd you,” Raaum said, folding her arms after she placed the fruit on the nightstand. “You wanna talk about why you've shut yourself up in your room for thirty hours?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about,” Loken lied, as planned. “I attended movie night yesterday.”

  “No, you didn't. Your doppelganger came. Did you really think that would fool Danika or Nolan for an entire night?”

  Loken mentally cursed. He’d hoped the simulacrum’s programmed irritable mood would dissuade them from physical contact, but apparently it hadn’t. “Well, as you can see, I've not got a knife to my wrist, so you may—"

  “Does being an abrasive ass make you feel better?” Raaum asked, unimpressed. “Because that’s not going to work with me.” She gestured to the fruit. “Eat. Dr. Partridge said we should leave you alone, but God knows Nolan is as good at listening as you are. Between him and Danika, I give it until tomorrow before they storm the beaches.”