a circle in the dirt. His aura gave a pleased shimmy.
He walked farther away this time, to a trunk about ten feet away. This time, he drew a triangle. By the time he returned to me, I’d already drawn a triangle in the dirt. It was then I realized he had improvised a sort of caveman eye test. He’d detected my vision wasn’t up to par with his, and while I hated this sign of weakness, I also knew that out here, we were only as strong as the weakest link. Which was me. He had to know just how poor my vision was for survival purposes. While I understood the purpose, I still hated someone else knowing I had a physical limitation.
He walked away again to make another mark on a distant tree. This continued until the point where he turned around, and I couldn’t see the mark on the tree. Helplessness burned in my gut like acid, and when he returned to my side, I shook my head furiously and threw down the stick.
He watched me with a frown and then stepped right up into my space, ignoring my body language which clearly said fuck off. He gripped my face, and his gaze held neither pity nor censure. If anything, he looked pleased.
I soon realized the test wasn’t to make me feel weak or stupid. He had a valid reason, which he proved when he strategically placed markers at various points around our hut. A cluster of red flowers signaled the base of the tree we climbed to our home. He laid purple flowers down along the path to the spring. And he placed yellow flowers about ten feet apart on the border of what he considered our territory. There were a few hazards on the trails we frequented, just as fallen limbs or a hunner next, which he also marked.
When I realized what he was doing as he busied himself with the flowers, I nearly burst into tears. He did that all for me, extra work for himself when already the burden of keeping both of us alive fell on him every day. He didn’t care, though. He wanted me to feel safe and welcome. He wanted me to feel at home. I wasn’t sure he even realized how much it meant to me. I made sure to show him later when I gave him his first blow job.
Best of all, he encouraged me to listen more. I was not a patient person, but because of Drak, I trained my ears until I could hear a pivar pack in the distance or the sound of an antella chewing berries.
In return for all he did for me, I tried to improve the quality of his life. Not to pass judgement, but Drak’s mental health was in the shitter. These aliens had zero concept of self-care. I couldn’t exactly give him a facial or anything, but I diligently braided his hair, which had an interesting texture that held braids well—if they were woven tight enough. Good for him, I’d braided my own and my sisters’ since I was a kid.
I brightened up his meals with flowers. I smiled at him and touched him often, because he still seemed surprised every time I offered him physical affection. And most of all, I sang. I wasn’t the best singer—no one ever told me to try out for American Idol or anything—but I was passable, and I liked to sing. Around Drak, I could belt out all the songs I usually saved for the privacy of the shower, and he would do that purring thing or stroke my hair. He’d close his eyes, and his aura would settle.
Whatever he used to splint my leg had some special powers, because my ankle most definitely healed faster than it would have back on Earth. Each day, he diligently splinted, wrapped, and mudded it. Until one day, he only wrapped it with a thick leaf like a jungle Ace bandage. That was when I finally placed some weight on it to find that while I needed a makeshift cane, I could finally walk on my own with only a slight limp.
Oh, and we had sex. Like a lot. As in, his head stayed between my thighs for a ridiculous amount of time. My sex drive was through the roof. All he had to do was stand there and I was ready to hop on that big cock. I was hypnotized by alien dick, and it