for me is written all over his face.
Maybe over the last fifteen years he’s said all of this in the privacy of his mind a thousand times—and received just as much satisfaction.
Look at him. Affection for me shining from his eyes. As much of a bitch as she is, he’d feel guilty if he hurt her, but he’s proud of me for saying it.
Breathing deeply, I shake my head, realizing the futility of my actions. She’s probably inside her room wearing noise-cancelling headphones and practicing dance moves for her next state dinner.
I nod at Wrage, grab his hand, and instead of heading for the lift, I pull him back into the kitchen. He follows, giving no protest, just the arch of an eyebrow in silent question.
As I plunder her pantry, noticing five boxes of tasty-looking crackers, I find something that will do.
I’m not sure what’s in these cans, but from the picture I think they’re beets. I grab a bottle of what looks like ketchup from the fridge and carry it all into the pristine white living room.
I take great joy in opening the pull-top cans and dribbling their shocking magenta contents on every white surface I can reach. Sofas, overstuffed chairs, and carpet get splashed in color.
The ketchup is a squeeze bottle. I splatter every wall, and when nothing more will squeeze out, I open the cap and burp the remains of the contents onto a book on a stand in a place of honor. It looks hella expensive. Not anymore.
I glance around to admire my handiwork. It looks like a crime scene. For someone with no decorating experience, as my grandma would say, I done good.
I know I should feel remorse, or at the very least feel like a naughty child after a tantrum, but I can’t dredge up an iota of regret. Too bad it provided no relief. I’m still furious.
We exit without a word of goodbye. The ride down is silent and swift. I’d like to give him a moment in the quiet of the lobby to process his emotions, but I think my little stunt in the penthouse deprived us of that opportunity. I don’t want the local badges coming for me.
Three blocks away, we find a park bench under a tree with blue bark and crimson foliage.
The leaves aren’t nearly as pretty as the color of beets, though.
“You were magnificent,” he says as he drops two sweet kisses on my lips. Then he grows silent.
I sit next to him, pausing only a moment before I grab his hand. I’ll sit here until tomorrow if that’s what it takes to allow him time to process what happened in that penthouse. How does a person absorb the fact that their mother is a she-devil devoid of emotions?
I think about this male’s life. His mom couldn’t have been different when he was a boy, could she? Maybe his dad was the demonstrative one in the family. Could it be, though, that he received no loving-kindness at all for his first fifteen years and then was catapulted into an even hotter hell to toil as a gladiator, risking his life for the amusement of others?
“I shouldn’t have brought you here. I should have known . . .” His eyes are gazing into the distance, looking at nothing. “There’s nothing for me here. Perhaps the fifteen-annum-old male who still lives inside me expected her to have changed.”
I hold his hand tighter and give him space. Finally, he says, “I’ll book us passage on the next shuttle. Want a room, or a malta?” He says the last word with a little leer, but it’s false bravado. He’s still swimming deep in his own thoughts.
“I’ll take a stall in the john if it gets us off this planet any faster.”
This earns me his glance, and the meagerest smile. I sit taller so I can reach my arms around his neck, then kneel on the bench so I can really hug him. I don’t have to look around the little park square to know I’m receiving looks from everyone. Evidently PDA’s are frowned upon here. Fuck you, planet Wryth’N.
“You’re a good female,” he says as he squeezes me back. It’s a bit too hard, but I don’t care. I think he’s trying to crawl out of his deep hole of anger and sadness. “I should have told you she wouldn’t listen to you.”
“I feel better. It felt good to scream those curses. But the ketchup, that was fun.”
He kisses my temple with