Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“Everything all right with you?” Jrrru asks. “How’s the farm? The weaponry? Knives still sharp?”
I can’t help but smile a little at that. “I sharpened all my knives earlier, actually. And I made another bat.” At his confused expression, I clarify. “The club with the nails in it. Back home we don’t have a lot of clubs just laying around but everyone has baseball bats. So you grab one and drive a bunch of nails through the end and boom, instant dangerous weapon. You swing it and you’ll make a real mess of someone.”
He grunts approval. “You might put a weight on the end to give it momentum. When it hits, it’ll hurt more even if your swing isn’t precise.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Excellent idea.”
Jrrru taps his brow, right next to the smear of dirt. “Been in a lot of bar fights. I know how to fight dirty.”
“You spend a lot of time in bars then?” Are we having a normal conversation? Why am I enjoying this so much? It’s like my whole day just got that much better simply because he showed up at my doorstep. I don’t even need noodles. Not really. I’ve gone without for weeks now and I’ve managed on a porridge of beans and some other junk I toss into a bowl.
Seemed easier than going into town for noodles…but now he’s made it all easy again.
It’s like he really has my back, and the feeling is staggering. Overwhelming.
Unless he wants something from me. I tense my spine, because that could happen. This could all be to let my guard down.
“Bars are entertainment only when there’s nothing else to do,” he’s saying. “I haven’t really been in a while. Well, other than the fact that I’ve been haunting the cantina here in Port waiting to run into you.”
“I don’t like cantinas,” I say quickly. “Or bars. Too many people.”
He nods. “I can see that.”
It’s my turn to pick up the conversation again, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I can’t think of anything to say to him. I want to keep this easy, casual conversation flowing and yet I don’t know how.
Please, please be my friend. Please be someone that’s there for me.
I don’t think I realized until this moment just how much I needed that. I’ve been so used to coping, to managing, that the idea of having another person in my life to rely on is both terrifying and exhilarating.
But I can’t say that. I can’t make myself vulnerable. So I glare at him, arms crossed defensively, as he stands on my porch.
“Well.” Jrrru sets down the case of noodles onto the porch and then gestures at it. “Just like you asked for. Don’t worry about the credits. This one’s on me.”
I nod silently. I should ask him in. Tell him thank you. Something. Anything.
“I’ll see you later then, Tabitha. Be well.” Jrrru winks at me and then turns to leave.
“Honey,” I blurt out.
He pauses. Glances over his shoulder at me. Turns back. “What?”
“Honey.” My voice is hoarse. “You know, the stuff from bees. Insects. The sweetener.”
“I think I saw something like that back at the store, yeah. You need that?”
I don’t. I don’t need anything.
But I want it. And I want him to come back. So I nod.
“Honey it is, then. See you soon, Tabitha.”
He says my name like a caress.
It’s about the same time the next day when he shows up with a container full of “pollinator sweetener” as the aliens call it here. He brandishes it with a flourish and then gives me a look of pride when I take it from him. “Just as you asked.”
He leans against the wall to talk like we did yesterday, and it immediately makes me nervous. “Don’t step over to the side.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Why?”
“Because I planted thornbushes that cause an itchy reaction if you touch them, and under each window, I dug a pit trap.”
“Pit traps?”
“Yeah, to keep out intruders.” I should be panicking that I’m telling him about my defenses, but I’d feel way more awkward if he fell in and broke an ankle after being kind enough to run errands for me. “Just stay on the porch and the path up to the porch.”
He nods slowly. “Pit traps,” he repeats again. “Huh.”
“You think that’s weird?” I don’t know why I’m asking. It doesn’t matter if he thinks it’s weird or not. They’re there, and I’m not going to dismantle my defenses for anyone. Just like I’d never let anyone enslave me again.
“No. Makes sense.” Jrrru stops leaning against the door jamb (which makes me relax, even if it does mean he doesn’t edge as close as he did yesterday). He eyes the bushes and then runs the toe of one boot through the dirt on the side of the path. “That why it’s all dirt here? To hide the traps?”