Author’s Note:
This is an unedited, ongoing serial that will eventually be published in novel form. Plot/characters/elements are subject to change as it is being written. It’s currently in 1st person/present tense, but I may change it to past tense, excluding the first chapter which will act as an intro. Read at your own discretion and take note of story tags below.
Genre: Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi
Tags: prostitution, graphic sex, large age gap, violence, theft, drug/alcohol abuse, depression, rape, gang rape, cannibalism, murder, incest, child/infant death and abuse, general abuse, (more to be added as the story goes)
I’m still in shock as he slumps towards me—I easily catch him and hold him against me. He’s just skin and bones, light as a feather in my arms, and he smells like he hasn’t bathed in weeks. Weakly, his arms come around my waist, fingers scrabbling up under my jacket to clutch my shirt as he presses his face to my chest. I realize he’s crying and I’m just frozen in place, wondering what to do. After his shaking subsides a bit, I pat him awkwardly on the back.
“Hey, padre.” I try to make my voice all gentle-like, but it comes out raspy. “Pytre?” I say when he still hasn’t come up for air. The knobs of his spine fit between the knuckles of my splayed fingers, and I can feel his heartbeat in my fingertips. I move my hand and encounter a swelling over his ribs—Pytre lets out a low groan like it hurts. Frowning, I carefully dislodge him from my front. In the dim light of the bar, I see he’s got a few smudges of sickly greenish-yellow on his face—healed bruises—and a shiny pink scar on his cheek.
“Padre, you look like shit.”
“Thanks.” Pytre gives me a crooked grin, then wipes his teary face with his palms, leaving streaks of dirt behind.
I beckon to the bartender and the android slides towards me. “Water.” Turning back to Pytre, I notice his once-bald head is flocked by a short ginger growth. “So, you’re a redhead.” I hand him the glass of water. “I like redheads.”
He smirks and quickly drinks down the water, holding the glass with both hands like a child. His fingernails are dirty and ragged, and if I’m not mistaken, his left hand looks like it’s landed a punch recently.
I’ve still got one hand at his waist, not really holding him… just there in case he falls. He finishes the first glass of water and I order him a second. It’s more expensive than the whiskey I’m drinking, but I don’t care. “Sit.”
Pytre obediently sits down on the stool next to me and sags against the bar with a sigh. “I’m so glad I found you.”
“I didn’t know you were looking for me.” Now that my surprise is wearing off, I find myself scrutinizing him for more signs of harm. I’ve got a few things going on inside me—bleak fury for whatever happened to Pytre along with knee-jerk self-rebuke and mockery over the pure joy I'm feeling at seeing the Rimer again. “You come to take back the bottles I stole? Too late—they’re all gone.” Because why in the ever-loving fuck would he be looking for me for any other reason? Right?
Pytre’s brows jerk up in obvious surprise and I feel a little tendril of hope break free. Before I can stomp on it the way I always do when optimism tries to take root, Pytre reaches up and cups the side of my face, his big hazel eyes on mine. There’s suddenly not enough room to breathe around the planet-sized lump in my throat and it’s like every tiny muscle in my skin contracts at once. The touch confuses my system and for a second my body doesn’t know whether it’s a fight-or-flight reflex that’s been triggered or if what I’m feeling is just acute happiness… all I know is that my dick is at half-mast, and I’m dizzy and hot like I’m about to pass out.
I jerk away from his hand just so I can breathe.
“Don’t touch me.” But maybe that’s not what I said at all because he nods and wraps his hand around the back of my neck to bring our heads together. Maybe I actually said, “I missed you.” I honestly don’t know—I can’t hear myself over the blood pounding in my ears.
“You're a hard man to find,” he whispers into the tiny private space he’s created for us. His breath is foul—I recognize the stink of hunger.
Backing away again, I take a long look at him. I'm jittery like I've just touched a live wire so I down my whiskey, hoping it help. I clear my throat. “When was the last time you ate?”
He grimaces. “Day before yesterday.” His eyes are bloodshot. “Maybe the day before that?”
“Oh.” I look towards the door. “Uh, there's a place on the corner...” I doubt Pytre has a credit to his name. I've already eaten into our ticket money—what's a few credits more? I figure I can make it back in two days. Wait, why do I suddenly feel weird about that? Is it Pytre?
“It’s all right," he says. "I just want to sit here for a bit. I can eat later.” He knuckles his eye and chuckles low. “You know, at first I thought you were a hallucination when I saw you.”
I want to ask him a dozen questions all at once, the foremost being who hurt him, but I start with, “How long have you been out there?”
“I renounced my vows the day you left. I set off the next morning.” He shakes his head again. “I am so glad I found you,” he says again, and there’s a tremor in his voice I didn't notice before, the kind that sounds like frayed nerves and exhaustion.
Unease has completely overshadowed any joy I felt a few minutes ago. His words put me on edge. It’s too much. Who the hell throws away their lives for a shitbag like me?
“Why the fuck would you do that?”
His smile fades and he stares at me. “What?”
“What makes you think I’d want you here?”
The corner of his lip twitches just once as he fixes me with those big doe eyes. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what? I don’t know what you were expecting here but…” I shrug. My heart’s doing double time and my palms are clammy.
“You wanted me to come with you.”
The certainty in his voice just spooks me further. “Why the fuck would you assume that?”
“I’m not assuming anything.” He’s gone cold and serene—I can’t look him in the eye so I turn back to the bar. “You were just too much of a coward to ask me.”
“Coward?” I laugh, and it sounds forced, even to my ears.
“You wanted me to run away with you.”
“How do you know that? You’re a mind reader now? Is that some sort of secret power your fucked up Rimer drugs give you?” I’m babbling and I know it, but he’s got me backed into a corner. A few of the other patrons have turned to watch the spectacle. I lower my voice. “You think you know my mind? Well, you don’t.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“Whatever this is. You don’t need to do it.”
“You should have stayed with your fucking cult.” I’m angry now. Angry that he would put this on my shoulders.
“You felt it.”
I laugh again and look over at him with a sneer. “What? My dick getting hard for your virgin ass?”
It’s like a shadow passes over his expression and is gone again, and for some reason it chills my blood. What does it mean? I grab my glass of whiskey only to find it empty, but I can’t really afford another.
“You felt it,” Pytre repeats himself. “And you feel it now.” He lays a gentle hand on my forearm.
I could push him away. I could even hit him—he’s no match for me. Pummel him into the ground. Or send him off running to starve and die in the desert. I could do it. I could.
He’s right. I’m a coward. Only a coward would do those things. I hunch forward, leaning on the bar and close my eyes, breathing deep. His hand squeezes my arm softly, and then he rests his forehead on my shoulder.
“It’s all right,” he says.
“The fuck it’s all right,” I mumble. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I want to be here. You want me to be here. It’s that simple. Now”—he coughs and I feel him wobble against me—“I think… I might—”
I catch him before he falls. This time, he’s properly out cold. I get off my stool and scoop him up in my arms. I make eye contact with a woman at the end of the bar and she smirks at me.
“Go to hell,” I growl at her as I push my way past and out onto the street. Pytre moans. “You go to hell too,” I tell him, but I clutch his skinny body tighter to my chest. Why the fuck, after years of being on my own, have I suddenly started collecting strays? I frown. Shit… what’s Apple going to say about this?
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