CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

 

- Hannah

I’ve had about thirty minutes to myself before I spot the first weird mark on my back.

Bren left not long after the food arrived. He spent five minutes trying to hand feed me like a baby. Was it any wonder that I batted his hands away and told him to fuck off? I’m not a baby.

Sure, I’m crying like one right now. That’s true. But a girl’s got a right to be a little let down when the hot, sexy alien she’s been sleeping with ends up being engaged with kids. And a big, fat fucking liar about it too!

Now I certainly have something else to worry about.

After eating the broth and interesting food that they brought for me, I went to clean up in the bathroom and decided to comb out my hair properly. I got a little sidetracked from that the last time I was in here. That wasn’t my fault for sure. And just being in the bathroom made the whole conversation play over in my head again.

Through the haze of tears leaking out, I caught a glimpse of something on the back of my upper arm. My first thought was a bug! I fucking hate spiders, beetles, bugs, snakes—basically any little creepy-crawlies. As I shifted and looked down my arm, it did look like a snake for a second. But then I totally turned!

Holy fucking shit. I didn’t just have something on the back of my arm. Oh no. I had tattoos just like the ones on Bren all over my arms, my back, all the way down to my tail bone!

How did they do that to me? I’m not an idiot. He had to have done this to me. I just don’t remember when.

Add it to the list of things I am planning to kill him in his sleep over. I just feel so duped. Almost violated with the way he seems to have railroaded me. Not just my career, by extracting me from the Skylab and technically saving my life, but also my emotions. I’ve never been this fucked up over a guy, especially not in this short a period of time together.

This is so unusual for me. So out of character. I’m not even sure what to think.

They don’t have another mirror in this bathroom, so there’s no way for me to check out the entire extent of the damage they did to me. They’re incredible tattoos. There’s something in their ink that makes them change color and shift with an iridescent sheen.

I honestly didn’t think they were tattoos on Bren. I’ve seen them gleam and change color with his emotions, even when I just touch them, they seem to ripple from each side towards my touch. As if they want to come to me…

But from what I can see on myself, there are a lot. A real lot. They’re on the back of my neck and even under my hair I think. They spiral out over my shoulders and travel down each side of my spine, criss crossing and forming a pattern identical to what Bren has on his neck, chest and yes, even all the way down into his pubic region. He had to have done this to me. What other crazy tests and markings have they done?

Has he made me want him like this? Is everything I’m feeling some kind of mind control of my life? Shit. If you want to get really technical, am I even still alive?

Now, I know I’m starting to freak out as tunnel vision sets in and I slowly turn and stumble to the bed. My breathing is heavy as I start hyperventilating as the stress of this entire ordeal crashes down on me. Collapsing onto my back, I take deep breaths and try to slow down my racing heart, telling myself to think about nothing, Of course, I immediately start mentally cataloging my last twenty-four hours.

Is it possible that I’ve been on the ship for way longer? That one of the times I slept they put me in some weird hibernation or stasis? I’m starting to second guess everything.

I haven’t even slept much and my back and neck aren’t sore.

My girlfriend, Serena, decided to get a tattoo on vacation the year we turned eighteen. She thought she would be able to hide it from her parents too. Between the healing process and the fact that she wasn’t supposed to go into the ocean, the whole entire episode was a huge failure. And her tattoo was small. Very small. Just a little heart and rainbow on her hip. Kind of dorky if you ask me and it didn’t have nearly the color tones and variations of what’s on me.

My stomach revolts and I scramble to the bathroom to throw up the meal I just ate. Fucking great!

Not super surprising though with all the stress. First, I find out that Bren has a fiancée and pending wedding and now I’ve been totally violated and match him. Maybe this is some kind of branding of ownership for slaves he just hasn’t had the balls to tell me about yet. There seems to be quite a bit he is leaving out.

How long does he think he can keep me in the dark? It’s time that I demand some answers. Up until now, I’ve speculated and wondered and worried. I’m in this now. I need to know what’s going on and what to expect from my life. Then at least I can prepare myself.

Somehow deal with it. Decide if it’s worth it.

The Skylab blowing up was to keep me from having to make any tough decisions. Of course, suicide is always an option but I believe there’s usually something to live for. I thought Bren was going to be one of those things, but I don’t even know if he’ll be in my life after the next couple of weeks. That thought brings an extreme pain to my nervous system. I want him. My heart throbs in agony. Why does this hurt so bad?

A brand-new society with new social habits and requirements? I was never particularly good at the one I was born into. What’s going to make this any different? Do I really want to start over?

A heavy sadness drops over me and I wonder briefly if he’s going to care if I use his equivalent of a tooth brush that looks like it’s in a drawer here. Too bad, so sad. I’m using it. Especially since I just lost my lunch and have a horrible puke taste in my mouth.

Moving forward, I know what I must do. I need facts. Data. The truth.

That’s the real question, right? How much will be the truth? But I need to at least try. When Bren comes back, I have to express to him how important it is that he lets me know what he’s done to me, where we’re going and what he thinks my future really looks like.

Until I get his watered-down version of the future, I can’t plan my next move. Because I do have options. They may not all be great but I’m a survivor.