Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
He gestures to the bed where a pink frilly nightgown with lace around the neck, cuffs, and hem awaits me.
“Put it on,” he says.
Again, I am forced to be naked in front of him. Forced? I suppose he doesn’t have to ask twice after the display he gave me the first time. He still has that claw extended on his otherwise human hand. I suppose it’s not worth changing the entire suit over a single finger — and it does remind me of my place.
I remove my dinner dress and foot coverings and replace them both with the nightie. The hem drags the floor when I walk, in a very dramatic sort of way.
Atlas, the massive, terrifying alien, pulls back the blankets and moves most of the teddy bears to the other side of the bed, preparing me for bedtime.
He gestures for me to get in. I do as I am told, because there is absolutely no choice. As tender as he might appear to be, I know there is a darkness in him, a danger that cannot be denied. All males, and pretty much all aliens, are dangerous to me.
I slip into the bed and he tucks me in snugly.
“I want you to sleep well,” he says. “You need a good amount of rest. You look very tired. I know that running about the universe selling yourself to every kind of alien possible has been quite stressful for you. You’ll never have to worry about fending for yourself again, Sandy. I promise that.”
He drops an all-too-chaste kiss on my forehead, turns out the light and leaves the room. I lie in the dark for a long moment, just breathing and trying to get some sense of what is happening. I am cleaned. I am fed. I am tired. He’s not wrong that traveling around the galaxy trying to sell myself has been stressful. It has also been demoralizing, and worrisome, and a whole bunch of other negative feelings to boot.
Suddenly, I am comfortable. I have had all my basic needs met. The temptation to relax and simply melt into the dark is quite intense. All I need to do is close my eyes, lie back, and let him take care of everything. What do I need a brain for, anyway? Has it ever done me any good? Arguably it has only gotten me into increasing amounts of trouble as my life goes from bad to worse.
My eyes are starting to feel heavy. I fight the temptation to close them, but it almost feels as though I don’t really have control over them. There’s a certain weight to my limbs too, that isn’t always there. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that hot chocolate had a little something extra in it.
I sit up in bed and I push the blankets back. I need to keep myself alert. I need to get off this ship. I need to resist control. I need to do what I’ve always done and be a complete pain in the ass. Getting up entirely, I start to swing my arms to force blood back into them.
“Don’t give in,” I lecture myself. “Don’t let him suck you into this happy little fantasy. You’re going to get the hell out of here and you’re going to be free. In fact, it might even be better if the others think the scythkin has you. They might not come after you if they don’t know he’s lost you…”
I start to smile a little. This might actually work out very well. The scythkin, Atlas, could very well stand as a shield between me and the worst of my alien owners. Emrys and Sheriff can fuck off completely.
I wait for what feels like a very long time, until I think he’s probably also gone to bed. I don’t know how much scythkin sleep, but I hope it’s somewhat akin to humans. I hope he’s getting a good, long night’s rest.
Putting my hand on the door, I worry for a second that it might be locked. If I was keeping me, I’d lock it. But Atlas didn’t, and it swings open on hinges that don’t squeak. Things are starting to go well for once.
Isneak out of my room, padding on bare feet. If I do manage to escape, I am going to be doing it in a nightgown, without shoes, and without any kind of funding or weaponry. It could be a mess, but then again, most things in my life are.
I move through the lounge, past the bathroom and the kitchen which loom quietly through various arched doors. I am thinking that this ship is probably a lot larger than a small house. Most of them are. I want to find a door that leads outside this little imaginary human environment and into the part of the ship where the real things are.