Goin’ Live

FAY

There's silence.

I should've shut up. How can I spit it out like that?!

"Afar Angathfark, I'd gut my bladder for you."

At first, this huff of mine comes out as a simper—orc words too mighty for simple fairies—but then this suppressed chuckle turns into something messy.

My eyes hurt so much that, as they well up, I feel like a flood took over my face but wringing my orbits dry somehow. I try not to shudder, but a spasm or two plays havoc with me.

"I can take you far from here."

I sip in his words.

I wait.

I want him to take me far.

I want to be far, far away—from this city, from this life.

Away from the faefolk making me feel like an outsider; away from monsters who judge based on status and who keep growing some more in my head...

Now I know.

It's all I want.

It's all I ever wanted.

And I'm ready.

"Somewhere is a tree as old as the world. Branches are sewn with the color green and purple." His whispers are soft, like green blades dancing in the wind before a storm. Near muted words, sharp and smooth. It's his way of making sure I'm listening.

"Like those your kind used to live in. It's in the middle of a vast plain, and there's a river splitting this plain of never-ending flowers into two."

I think he felt my tears fall on his hand. Tyke shifts, making me roll, and soon my forehead's pressed against his chest.

Worst part.

His hand lands against my chest. Now he knows how much my heart hammers for him.

"You would want me? I'd be yourAmwaki. You'd be mine."

Amwaki... Me?

"All of me for you. I'd build a house... a house just for you, for us, if you'd want me with you."

A silent chuckle flits over my lips.

Tyke simpers, "Finally, a little laugh. I wondered where it went... was beginning to worry."

"With blue shutters?" Yes, blue shutters and a porch with a swing. That'd be nice.

For a few moments, Tyke doesn't reply. His hold constricts over me as he buries his face into my hair.

There's wetness gradually damping my nape. I don't want to see him like this; it feels like dying.

Crying isn't like you, Tyke...

"Yes, blue shutters," finally waves over my ears.

I push myself enough to face him, my body in cold despair to part from his. My fingers trail up his throat to the edge of his jawline. "Der Shardar Ij Vok." I learned that one from Tyke. I'm pretty proud I could finally place this line.

"Orc queens don't compare themselves with dwarfs; they eat them," he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine.

There's barely a second existing before a firework of giggles and kisses explodes between us.

As much as I've tried to keep my eyes on the greenness of trees and those of traffic lights speeding past my window, they always end up back on Tyke. The world can keep sending me signals; I caught them all a while ago.

And still, my twitchy self can't get a thought in edgewise with my own rambling brain, a finger battle of nails, dry skin, and picking raging on my lap. No blood yet, but that could happen at any minute... My hangover-ridden mind is aching, disjointed ideas coming together to then frazzle up at the impossible: consequences of my impending action, a game changer for Tyke but, most importantly, a life-changing event for me.

I clutch my chest. My heart's been racing too much lately; my lungs have been taking too many rapid breaths, and my empty inhaler cartridges have been piling up in the bathroom bin at a rate I'm beginning to feel concerned about. Call it anxiety, panic or asthma, my body is a fiefdom of chaos and ruin. If Donna catches wind of this, she'll begin hinting at therapy; it would be okay if it were to me. But if she ever does, it'll be to my mother because, as it happened, they had to become friends. Then again, I've become quite the expert at painting on a smile...

I inhale and blow loudly.

"Bug, you need to get it off your chest once and for all," he says, glancing between me and the road.

I cross my arms, holding nothing but pure frayed nerves spasming inside me. "I'm not brave, Tyke. What you're asking of me is a lot."

"Cold?" Tyke plays with a few switches on the dashboard. "I cleaned what I could," he says, cracking the windows.

Cleaned?

The scent of vomit stabs my nostrils, my nose aiming up to this thin gap of air. Oh, fuck. The smell.

"I'm so sorry about this... about last night." It's not a rain of cringe pouring on me, but an avalanche!

While hot stinking air flows against my legs, he meets my side glance briefly, tusks motioning up and down his nine o'clock shadow of cobalt, a toothpick somehow resisting gravity as it see-saws on his bottom lip. "I'm asking you to be true to yourself."

He sighs, setting his attention back on the road, and me, onto my petty issues towering like a giant dragon. I roll the window down because hell.

It is unlikely I would've ever been able to recognize my feelings for him if he hadn't been there for me. Zero chances, in fact. This all-in-one gamble is my most extensive milestone to date, which says a lot about me—I'm a meek soul, panting at a five-finger exercise, my max level. And watching that scar running down his cheek, I realize how strong he is, and how I would never be able to compete with him. Honestly, I don't know what he finds in me. He is, and I say this with all the objectivity I can muster, divine born. His tusks white, thick at birth, sharp at edge, and his skin leathery, not rugged, but smooth, healthy. And those eyes, golden almonds, giving him that godly, far-reaching look. More often than not, I have thought of him in pain when all he is, is an overthinker, like me.

His voice cuts through this silence that crept between us. "I want to know what happened." Tyke releases a hand from the wheel and plunges into my nervous ball of fiddling fingers. He neutralizes four fingers out of five and declares them winners by taking them away, far from me, pressed against his lips.

"Nothing."

Nothing happened.

"Fay."

I take my hand back and sit on it, remembering why I hate cars so much. You're strapped into a seat, unable to leave.

"Deon's a good friend, you know. I trust him. So, yes, I might be shocked by how he reacted, but I feel fine. And he didn't... go that far."

"Deon..." Tyke's shoulders dip. "Friend?"

"The type of friend I want no more." Careful, Fayra. Don't be the bitch you don't want to be.

"I think he loved someone during the war, and this someone happened to be a traitor... He's just a cream puff finding comfort in bed, not wanting anything else aside from pure carnal exchanges. I don't get it, or maybe I do... and it's Glow."

"Should you be telling me this?" A disgusted grunt follows his question.

Despite my burning cheeks, I blurt, "No, not really." I realize I can't keep even one secret. But then my eyebrows screw on themselves. "Do you know him?"

Tyke's only response is a grunt. Maybe not. "How did you meet this guy?"

"Two years ago, at the cafeteria. We chatted a little, and from there, we realized we could mutually benefit each other while agreeing Deon wasn't my Mr. Right, nor was I his Ms. Right."

"Am I?"

He's pastel green now, even sporting a slight pink blush.

I don't have to think about it, never hesitating when I speak what I've known all this time. "You are."

Tyke seems to purr, deep strummings as I stroke his cheek. I don't want to distract him while he's driving, but his hand firmly presses against mine. "Leave your hand here."

He turns a corner of an eye on me. "Did he treat you well?"

The way I look, I must resemble a barn owl, boring two googly eyes. What is this question?

"I told you it's not worth a talk. Nothing happened. So..."

"Did he?"

So insistent...

"His kindness, softness, and his good shoulder to lean on were always welcomed on bad days."

"Even when I was around?"

I remove my hand from his cheek, and he shrugs. "Please, Tyke, I know I fucked up, but I don't like replays. Can we not talk about this? You knew where we both stood not so long ago. Come on."

"Something bad could've happened. It was a close call, Fay. With these things, you can go from being okay to being broken for the rest of your life, and it only takes seconds."

I tsk, and he growls, so I slump back in my seat. "His mind sort of switched when he took Glow. He's to blame, that's true, but I gave the okay with whatever we were doing. When he blanked out and forgot who I was, that part scared me. He shouldn't have touched it in the first place, and we can all agree on that. I get it. But he wasn't himself. He went from A to Z in a snap, and there was nothing I could do."

"Glow?"

"Out of nowhere, he was completely out of control, aggressive, as if letting out an inner monster."

Tyke's features tense, the wheel's fudge-colored leather creaking under his clutch. "Have you taken any?"

"No. I stay away from any kind of pills." Maybe it's time to tell him. "I had a little incident a few years ago." Tyke doesn't ask for more, his indifference skinning me inside out.

Did someone tell him?

"You don't want to know what it is?"

His throat bulges, a cup of digits encasing the square of his chin. "Bug, we all make mistakes. I?—"

"I tried to kill myself." Well, that escalated quickly. Guess who needed to evacuate something out of her system? Welcome to my fuckland.

I take a deep breath and stare at his arms stretched toward the quadrant.

Three seconds of silence have passed, and I'm beginning to feel very uncomfortable.

Shit. I've got to focus on something else. It's vital.

And easy...

Easy because watching Tyke drive is like watching soft porn. Inevitably, I always find myself sucked in by the outline of his body, the solid fold of his clench over the wheel, or the darkness that surrounds his expression.

No matter how loving he is, Tyke's sexual energy cannot be ignored.

I pinch my lips, face the road, my eyes strained from a nine o'clock angle, mostly trying not to look like I'm ogling him. With a slim waistline, his chest bowing inwardly toward the wheel, even his posture screams, 'Thrust at my back with a velvet grip on both sides of my waist.'

He slants his eyes to me, which I stupidly meet. I smile, but not very much, because as usual, I got caught. "Why are you all red, Fay? Too hot? Thought you were cold," he says, switching the ventilation tab from heat to cool.

"It's okay. I'm fine, thank you." Despite two years of chaos, I still blush at the slightest of eye contact with him. It could've been because of how he always catches me drooling over him, but no, it's because of his kind nature, his attentiveness.

The little things with the biggest meanings. He has them all.

He makes me lovesick, even now, even when he breathes the same air as me, kisses my hand, and worries about me.

"Fay, before you stepped into my life," Tyke clears his throat, his head tilting to the left, "my... my heart was heavy." We stop at a red light and tingles take over me when he detaches one hand from his worn leather wheel to fork it into his hair. "Ever since I gave it to you, I have felt lighter, free from a weight I was unaware of." Shifting to face me, Tyke wets his lips, and I do the same. "How will it beat for you if you're not here to hold it?" He lowers his eyes, mumbling, "Duhkal," before dragging his eyes back to the road and hitting the gas.

It's hard to breathe. Could be for this ambient reek, but it's not.

I grip my throat and try to pull the corners of my lips up. Managed one.

My words, they're flat, dead, not here. Actually, I want to cry. Stupid, Fay, don't you fucking dare!

He ruffles my hair, giving me a comforting smile. "Don't mention this again."

My mouth doodles all at once.

While his eyes might be on the parking spot, his brain on shifting the signal for a left turn. Mine are on him, his caring lips, and everything that makes him, him. I die thinking there will never be enough words or touches from me to let him know how much I love him. How much it scares me. How much it hurts...

But I have to give us a chance to be happy.

"Happy?"

My skin overrides me when we engage in the police parking lot. I should be freezing for spilling out an unwanted word like 'happy.' Still, as Tyke puts the car into park, I cuff his arm while undoing my belt. The corners of my mouth are mutinying against me, slightly upturning in a smile I can't flatten. "The word came out of me without really asking. Rude, if you ask me." I show a hint of teeth, which break into a mortified chuckle.

"It must be a full-on party in your head. Just how many of you are up there?" he says, his voice carrying a roguish grin as he unfastens.

I burst. "We are many."

And then… Tyke strikes me with his gorgeous eyes. It only takes me one breath and the click of a seatbelt before I find myself straddling my beast.

He groans, and I groan back for fun, and he laughs in his groaning, and I chuckle, our tangling tongues confused as much by our humming laughs as where our lips touch. Hiking a hand up my neck, Tyke straps his fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp as he locks my head in place. His mouth catches me, and I feel raw want coming from it. Heavy. Hot. Hinging. Given to abusing, mine never wanting him to stop.

As a weight leaves, freedom breathes into me, and the world no longer matters. My head spins like a picker wheel, but dizziness never sets.

Heat barbs into my cheeks as a flurry of butterflies burst wildly inside my stomach. "Let's stay for a while," I whisper into him.

"We've got..." Tyke is as torn as me, his mouth capturing mine, both moaning at every distance that dares to separate us. We're like magnets. We stick, we roll together. We're meant... "To work," his tongue sadly manages to say.

"Okay..." I so hoped my tongue pelting his would have drowned our dialogue into something much sexier than the word 'work.'

I watch him, lungs caught as golden ladened puppy eyes sweep over my face. Soundless, his lips move slightly, hesitating, making me believe Tyke could change his mind about our obligations. The two of us have never kissed outside the bedroom before, and this, here, was different. It was a one-of-a-kind kiss—it could even be our first true kiss. But witnessing Tyke triumphantly stop it, his first real kiss might have happened before this day... And I suddenly smile like a giddy fool.

"Why the smile? For me?"

I chuckle. "Who else?"

"Better be." He lifts me like a ragdoll and places me on the passenger seat.

As I try saving an orc-messed up hairdo, my brain tries to devise my seemingly random epiphany. "Why don't we push this another day? Go home and play games." I grin.

"No. I can't miss a day, not without a good reason." His face loses this spark he had moments ago.

A sting floats at the birth of my throat, presumably from words I have in mind, yet too embarrassed to speak. Work has nothing to do with them, but slavery does.

When the Orcana Wars ended, orcs were offered civil insertion into fae society if they pledged to serve the country. Tyke later explained that he didn't have a choice, with forced labor and a paycheck amounting to close to nothing at the end of it all.

I don't want to think about it. Not now.

And it's easy to shove this dirt to the back of my mind because of Tyke's soft cheek and the warm hum vibrating inside it as it inclines in my palm. So shyly, too, that it has me pushing a second pair of wings. "Still up for the Mets?"

"Still have the tickets?"

"Dates are interchangeable. Please say yes."

"Anything for you, bug." This time he leans over and binds my head in his palms, making me feel like a raspberry snared by two large salad leaves.

"Anything for me? I thought you loved baseball?"

"I do. I just prefer to play it."

I snap my eyelashes at him.

And then I smile on his smile because it's nice.

Tyke pulls my door latch from inside and husks, "It will be my favorite sport to watch with you, so long as it stays yours. Now, are you ready to tell your father?"

Bah, my mouth is getting all dry. I seriously wish we could skip that part, but I owe it to Tyke. "Yes."

Got that Kanye South T-shirt—went for the color, flashing green and purple, much less for the music—a pair of torn jeans, and afuck youattitude as I grab Tyke's hand to lift my queasy self out of the Cadillac.

Leaning toward me is a pair ofsunglasses, a leather jacket, and a stubble beard looking clean, the cocky lip curl that goes with it savage. Tyke is glowing like a light stick, a very large one. "It's just another day, Fay," he says, nudging my lips with his.

No, it's not.

The old me is starting over, and boy, am I ready.

Oh, fuck, maybe not... I cringe just a little before reviving this tiny ember of courage Tyke's been blowing at with a bellow called love.

Yes, you are!

Some familiar cops gasp, and several heads turn as we cross the parking lot. Come on, Fay. Don't panic.

I've got some words to say, and I won't hold them back this time. The era of my sycophantic norm-abiding crap is over. It's only Monday, but I decided it would be casualFrifay. I've got a plan to respect, a speech to deliver, and I'm breathing fire just at the thought.

Cold-blooded with a stone face, my shades on because, hell, my post-drinking eyes hurt, I roll into the NOPD office, arm in arm with a Special Ops.

Tyke goes first, swiping his badge over the access control reader, the tripod turnstiles rotating to his leg push. I follow behind.

My heels are jiving, Tyke's stare far reaching, and the swing of my hips hostile. I hope it makes some of those backhanded sluts want to slap me. Fuck, I want them to at least have the thought.

With the security gates behind us, we're nearingSatan's—er, my father's—throne.

The door's open, as usual.

As we stroll past, I ensure to pull out my best side profile—the resting bitch one.

"Officer Jinksovan!"

Right on cue...

"Now, what the fuck do you think you're doing?! You think this isNymphibizaor something?!"

My feet lift from the ground as I flit at Tyke's head level. I grab his face and smooch a kiss over his cheekbone. There's a satisfied grunt in front of me and... a near-death cough behind me, followed by a row of muffled gasps coming from all directions.

Someone is choking behind my wings, and it's coming from a very particular desk.

A sly smirk bolts up to my left ear in response. I remove my shades and shoot my hot iron gaze over the open area. Shelly's head pops out from behind her computer, pulling her stupid phone out.

Oh, it seems I'm going live ...

The hell, I am.