Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 170(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Doesn’t mean I wish ill on her or want her to be sick. Doesn’t mean I want her to go broke, either.
Fuck money, and fuck making a living, right?
Perhaps that’s where the guilt comes in, I think to myself as I dress the next morning. I slept like shit, thinking about Simone and her stupid pastry cart and her stupid cold all night. Now I’m tired and cranky myself, because her words are making me wonder if I’ve been living in a privileged bubble ever since I got rescued. Lord Straik is loaded. Even when he’s “light on credits” like he is right now, he’s still incredibly wealthy. Since my sisters “found” me, I’ve had clean clothes and a comfortable room to sleep in. I haven’t had to worry about money or making ends meet, because Ruth—Straik’s wife and my sister—will take care of me.
I imagine how my sisters would react if I was as under the weather as Simone. They’d tend to me and make sure I had soups and hot drinks and the best medicine. They’d drag me to Sakkar and make him look me over, even though he likes to hold his nose in the air and pretend he knows nothing about human physiology.
It’s on my mind so much that I almost plow into my sister on my way to the ship’s mess hall.
“Ruthie!” Kazex barks and snatches my sister to the side before we collide head-on. He wraps his arms around her, an accusing look on his face as he cradles her close. “Pay attention, Ruth-Ann. You nearly ran face-first into my mate.”
Ruthie just blinks at me, dazed and breathing hard from the scare. I hope we didn’t trigger her PTSD.
“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly, holding my hand out for my sister to take. “That’s on me. I slept awful last night and I’m in a fog today. I’ll pay more attention, I promise.”
Ruthie takes my hand in hers and holds it tightly, a small smile on her face. Her hand in mine is trembling. She doesn’t leave the cradle of Kazex’s protective arms. “It’s okay. I just need a moment for my heart to stop racing.”
My poor sister. She looks so tough, with her piercings and her half-shaved head, and yet she’s just the most fragile of beings underneath it all. I’m glad she has Kaz to make her feel safe. I squeeze her fingers, letting her keep my hand in hers until she feels better.
Moments drift past, with the three of us standing in the midst of the hall of the ship, letting Ruthie get back to herself. When she lets go of my hand, she gives me a goofy little grin. “You look rough this morning.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says with a chuckle. “Just noticing the circles under your eyes.”
“Wasn’t a good night’s sleep,” I say. “Shall we head down to Port? Meet the others at the cantina?”
“Can we get some night tea first?” Ruthie suggests, surprising me. She turns to Kaz and holds two fingers up. “Would you mind, babe?”
“Of course not.” He kisses her temple, running his thumb along her lower lip and teasing the piercing there, then trots off to the mess hall in the ship.
I just eye my sister because she’s not normally one for night tea, the alien version of a caffeine jolt. “Are you okay?”
Ruthie chuckles and slips her arm through mine. “Oh, it’s not for me. One’s for you, and when you finish it, you can drink the other, too. You just look like you could use it, and I know you wouldn’t ask.”
It’s sweet and thoughtful—just like Ruthie—and somehow makes me feel worse, because I slept poorly and now I’m getting babied by my sister. I’m lucky to have people that care for me. Meanwhile, Simone, who’s really going through it, has no one to look after her. She’s got a carinoux, but a carinoux isn’t people.
Maybe she’s better this morning.
There’s no sign of the bakery cart in Port for a second day in a row, and my heart sinks.
I’m not going to be able to rest until I know Simone is okay. I wouldn’t wish that suffering on my worst enemy, and I don’t exactly hate her. She gets under my skin, but that doesn’t mean I want her to be at death’s door. I’m not sure why it affects me so much, her sickness.
Then, a flash of memory hits. Of being violently ill when I’d first “woken up” as a slave. My memories of that time are fuzzy, and now I know it’s because I’d been newly cloned and my mind was still coming online, more or less, parsing my slapdash memories with my current brain. Memories from then are remote and dreamlike, but I remember being sick and weak from the strange food they’d been giving me, and being ignored. Of people seeing my suffering and just walking past as if I didn’t matter. No one reached out a hand to help, and I realized that I didn’t matter to anyone. It was isolating and horrible and I’d never felt more alone.