20. Eli

20

Eli

I try to put my nonexistent foraging skills to the test.

A purple striped insect passes by me, looking a lot like a bee with no stinger. I decide to call it a purbee, which makes me smile, and then follow it, hoping it is as harmless as the name I gave it.

"Hello, little one," I croon to it to stave off the loneliness.

How long has it been since I talked to a human? Oh, right, it was those cops. Gross. The last enjoyable conversation? Then I remember it was Ms. Janis and my eyes well up with tears.

I should have taken that date with her grandson, lived a little. Learned to trust someone enough to let my mask slip. Now all I have is this crushing isolation.

I shake my head, focusing back on the purbee.

Where there are bees, there's pollen. Where there's pollen, there are flowers and fruits. It's basic biology and I am going to follow it. The purbee's path is straightforward, and I ramble along behind, finding a bunch of flowering trees. Thankfully, they're not high up or huge.

They look climbable, but I'm not exactly healed enough for that, though maybe by tomorrow.

Dang, that is still such a weird thought.

The bird-like creatures have picked off every good fruit, but the flowers being pollinated by the bees are still intact. The leaves look like they're being eaten by some other insects, my sign that it's probably edible. I have no other choice but to believe that.

It's either that or starving to death after finally finding a way to survive.

I start foraging, picking up some relatively intact leaves and flowers. The purbees are quite persistent, but I manage to pluck some flowers and remain grateful that they don't have stingers.

I wonder if I can find their hive for some honey as I search for fruit that the birds haven't decimated. There's only one or two, but it's enough for a trip when I have two working arms to climb.

I make my way back to the trunk of the tree and begin eating as the sun shines down on me.

My body screams at me to eat more, but until I know how I'll react, it's not a good idea.

After eating, I drift off to sleep, feeling my head grow heavier and heavier until I lose consciousness.

My eyelids feel like lead. They become heavier as I try to open them, and my body feels like it's floating. I barely filled my stomach and drift off to sleep despite myself.

When I wake up a short while later, there are the remnants of the plants I fed myself earlier. Seems like they didn't have a negative effect on me, so I eat all of it.

The taste is foreign and discomfiting, but I keep eating until they run out. I'm still hungry.

I sit up, feeling a dull ache in my back. Sleeping against a tree on the ground is terrible. It's been a while since I've experienced this level of discomfort, but it never really gets better. I suppose a layer of leaves is better than dirty concrete.

There's also the rising panic and anxiety that extends beyond being here. It's been too long since I've talked to someone.

I have never gone this long without talking to people.

A feeling of panic settles in the pit of my stomach when I realize I really am the only human here. I've never truly been alone, even when I was homeless. There are plenty of other people who were in the same situation, many of them incredibly caring individuals.

A lot of my pitiful earnings go toward visiting them and taking them things I know they like.

Talking with people is something I enjoy doing, must do, but here, the chance of that is slim.

Well, the option so far is one alien… person? Yes, I suppose, regardless of his terrible manners, he's still a person.

Just the thought of him makes my skin crawl and memories of my stepfather rise up, stealing my breath. Both of them predators of their own sort. Both of them angry.

But then my mind rejects the comparison. Octo-man is angry, true. He's the scariest person I have ever met, but that anger somehow lacks… menace. At least toward me.

A part of me knows that he is interacting with me in a way that runs counter to his nature. I think back to him screaming out his confusion after he protected me. Then it hits me. He's angry with himself more than he is with me.

Except, isn't that how it is with any abuser? They hate themselves, but can't direct that hatred inwardly, so they find a victim for it?

I shiver. He's already blamed me for it. I remember now. The usual prickle of fear rises when I think of someone being angry. My head feels light and my heart pounds.

Flashes of my stepfather's twisted features, and the emotional barbs, or the physical pain that always followed, flit through my head.

My shaking hands catch my attention. Am I really doomed to live like this no matter where I go?

I can't accept that. If I had someone to talk to, I could distract myself from the looming fear of doom that lives in my head constantly.

Surely there are other people here. I need to look for them, but how am I going to manage it with him always blocking me? Would he kill them if I found them?

My heart constricts. I don't know. He's said plenty of times he would kill me and he hasn't, but I can't say for sure that threat won't apply to someone else.

I could be bringing death along with me if I look for other people. My fists tighten and the desire to strangle him is as high as it has ever been.

Before I look for others, I need to tame him. I let out a snort.

Tame a violent octo-man with no form of gentleness in him? Right, Eli …

Except, is it true that he can't be caring?

He keeps saying he plans to kill me but doesn't. I assume he's only trying to convince himself by this point. Maybe if I can convince him that the way he feels isn't my fault, his anger will dissipate.

Abusers never truly help the people they are abusing, it's only to manipulate them. To get what they want. I just need to figure out what he's after. What motivates him…

I mean, it never worked on my stepfather, but I refuse to believe I am stuck in the same hell.

Or maybe I'm completely deluding myself and I really am so desperate to talk to someone I'd welcome a psychopath's company.

Before I can think more about it, I yell out. "Hey! Are you there?"

I realize I don't know his name. I can't be blamed for that.

Most people don't ask monsters for their names and horror movies don't count. When my voice echoes out, it isn't met with a response.

That's bull. I know he's watching me and purposefully ignoring me. He only comes out of his own volition.

"Hey! At least tell me your name."

Ignored again.

The bugs and wind are the only ones who respond to my calls, a cacophony rising in the grassland again. I look up at the trees and one look at the hanging vines gives me an idea. I reach for the lower hanging vine, wrap it around my splint and pretend to pull, screaming at the top of my lungs.

I hear him long before I see him. Before I can take a breath for another scream, his tentacles wrap around me, his stormy eyes bearing down on me.

"Why would you hurt yourself again?" he berates, pulling my arm back down. "I mended it. Stop!"

Even though it hurts, I smile at him, pleased that I got him here. I feel a familiar heat in my lower body as his tentacles wrap and caress my body, but I firmly ignore it, the craving for communication trumping my carnal desire.

And, also, ick.

"Can you tell me your name?"

He pauses and his eyes look like they are trying to bore a hole into my head. He speaks, making a whale sound that roughly translates to killer.

Hell no. There's no way I'm calling this brutish alien killer . He needs to soften some edges if he wants to make any damn friends.

What sort of cliché and egoistic name is that? It's way too arrogant.

"I'll call you Wroahk . "

It's a shortened form of the sounds he made.

He doesn't look very pleased. "I don't like it."

"Too bad. My name is Eliyana."

He tries to pronounce it, but it comes out mangled and disorderly. I don't like it either.

"Just call me Eli," I say firmly.

He gives me what I assume is a deadpan look and just says no. There's really nothing else I can do about it. I can't threaten a tentacle monster that crushes alligators as easily as he breathes.

So, I decide to pivot.

"Do you know where we are? Have you seen others like us?"

"I do not know where we are, only that this place is dangerous. There are no others like us, but there are more like the ones who took me. If you move out of here to find any, you will not make it very far."

His blunt tone sends shivers down my spine. I can tell he's not lying. I know we're not on Earth, but the possibility of rescue just became very, very slim. I try to change the subject again, but my voice comes out very small.

"W-What do you do? For a career, I mean."

It's a dumb question so he looks at me weirdly. He has the name killer , so it should be obvious. However, the concept of careers really doesn't translate well, and he's left looking to me for an explanation.

At this point, I don't care anymore if he understands me. I just want to talk to someone. So… careers.

"Working at the grocery store was fun. The old people loved riding on the scooters and telling me stories about their grandchildren while trying to give me expired coupons," I chuckle, remembering the time I accepted an old newspaper from the nineties.

"They always had something to say. It was always 'back in my day', and you can see them relieving the memories of their youth. Some of them even drag their grandchildren to the store and try to introduce me to a few as dates," I chuckle again.

I used to live in survival mode, so I took those memories for granted. Not anymore. They're my precious memories.

Now I know what survival mode actually means.

"I don't understand," he clicks out.

"Of course you don't," I mumble under my breath.

"My kind are hunters," he ignores my mumbling. "Nothing more, nothing less. I do not care for anything else."

I let out a huff. "So brutish."

"I do not enjoy talking to you."

Well, that hurt. I can't believe I was excited to talk to him.

"Well maybe if you focused more on using your brain rather than just bludgeoning through everywhere like a dumb sea monster with only his tentacles to show for it, this conversation might be more productive for you."

He just stares at me with those emotionless shark eyes, remaining silent. The feeling that I won the argument fills my chest with pride. I stare him down, ignoring the large row of teeth that glint under his gaze.

He won't eat me, right?

His tentacles slip off me and he starts moving away. The fear of being alone overshadows my pride of winning, and I quickly speak up.

"It'll hurt me if I don't speak to anyone!"

Alright, that's an insult to all women, but whatever. There is truth in it though. I do feel like I'll explode if I don't talk to another person.

"Nothing can hurt you or I'll kill it," he growls.

Seeing his large row of teeth being bared in my face, hovering above me like they were going to chomp me in half, scares me for a bit, but then I realize where this big dude's inner struggle is coming from. He wants to harm me, but has decided nothing is allowed to.

I can work with that.

"You're the one hurting me by leaving," I point out, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"How much does it hurt?" he asks, taking me by surprise.

It's probably my imagination, but his voice is softer, gentler.

"A lot," I whisper.

"You are a very strange creature," he says, his voice regaining its usual tone. "I cannot stay with you all the time. I have to hunt to eat and that means I will have to leave you."

He's being surprisingly considerate. I pick my next words carefully.

"You don't have to be here all the time. I can hold out when you go to hunt, and everyone needs some time to themselves. You just have to stay here and talk to me when I need to talk."

He looks me over and considers my words. As he does, I suddenly remember that the reason I am currently in this bit of grassland mixed with tall trees is because I was running from him.

Have I lost my mind?

Having him beside me, his large teeth clacking and his tentacles ready to squeeze the life out of me isn't a sane plan. Before I can retract my offer, he replies.

"I will remove that pain."