Authors: Amber Green
He shook his head. “Amazing."
Why was it so easy to talk tolerance here, when outside this plywood enclave any sign of tolerance was grounds for murder?
I wanted to go home, suddenly. If home was a reality for anyone past childhood.
"Are you going to keep volunteering for TADs?"
"I didn't volunteer for his one."
He whirled to face me. “
What
!"
I raised my hand. “Never mind. Yes, I plan to volunteer for more. Getting off the ship is good for me."
Oscar wasn't on my ship. Spending time here was no guarantee of seeing him, but staying on my nice safe ship would guarantee not seeing him. I puzzled over the question of why I wanted to see him, when he called me by my brother's name, and set aside the question. I did want to see him. I wanted to hear his voice, too. I wanted to touch his glossy black hair, wanted to feel his gentle lips and rough hands on me.
And if it was a sin, I'd willingly pay the price.
Blue paced until I asked him to help me make the bed; then he insisted on making it for me. Then he shut and locked the windows, for security. He said he'd be back at 0730 and would bring me coffee and something halal for breakfast.
I smiled. I hadn't had coffee in years. But it was nice of him to think of it.
I took a doubled dose of the medication and lay down. Going to sleep nevertheless seemed to take a long time.
I woke up in the dark with someone in the room. I waited for him to say something, or to attack, or something.
"I nearly got you killed."
Oscar. I relaxed. Really, there was not a single person in the world I would rather wake up to. “By missing the knife? If he had it on him, I missed it too."
"I still don't know where he hid it."
I yawned. “He was over near the packs, the tack. It could have been in there. I didn't search his packs."
"But I know better."
"I know a lot of things, Oscar. That doesn't mean I always put them into practice."
"I want you to know one more thing. I never saw you as any kind of substitute for Bravo. For one thing, he was straight.” His tone was raw, harsh. Like he'd been screaming a long time.
"You're not coming down with an upper respiratory infection, are you?"
"A cold? Don't think so."
"Good.” For a medical person, I really didn't like being around people with minor ailments. Colds. Bruises. Hangovers. You tell them to just endure it, and they react like you've repealed the entire Bill of Rights.
"Should I leave?"
I thought about it. If an international incident hit the media, he and I would both become pariahs, dangerous people to know. Otherwise, I was probably safe to be around. “It depends. All this could still blow up on us."
His voice went hoarser. “Don't fuck with me. Just answer. Am I welcome?"
I threw back the blanket and welcomed him.
Being a bespectacled were-grammarian as well as a professional paper-pusher, I submerge myself in fiction in an attempt to find high adventure (as opposed to anything involving actual expenditure of sweat), lots of nookie, or sometimes just a reality that makes sense. Really.