19. Wrenlee

19

WRENLEE

S aylor and I never did get to finish our conversation. It doesn't matter, really. I can't not see him. I know that is impossible. The effect he has on me, physically yes of course, but also, and more so, in my heart. Even now, going through my day, I am thinking about him.

What is he doing? Is he thinking about me? When can I see him again?

It's ridiculous. It feels worse than any teenage crush because I should be old enough to know better, but apparently, I don't. I need a way to change all the rules, perceptions, and everything, but how do I do that? It should be easy. I've been trendsetting since I was eight years old, but I've never tried to reset an expectation, an ideal like this, especially one that I started.

I didn't start this. I used it. And that's the problem.

My day's work has me sitting outside the rooms that the Council uses for their meetings. The Council has been less influential since we moved from the Bunker to the Underground because here the Al'fa is the one in charge. Rosalind is the one who works with him and, I'm sure, gets what she wants most of the time, but this is his kingdom when it's all said and done.

My job is to log issues from people. ‘Complaints' is a more accurate description really. The job is horrible, but it's not manual labor and that was my other choice. I avoid manual labor whenever I can. On the ship, I never had to do it and never knew the toll it takes on your body, but since the crash, I've done my fair share. We've all had to in order to survive. Only an idiot wouldn't do what had to be done, but that doesn't mean I'm going to volunteer for it.

"One of those aliens keeps creeping outside my door," the man before my table says.

"One of which aliens?" I ask, only half paying attention.

I'm thinking about Sek'su, more than I am whatever this guy is whining about. Maybe tonight, I can see him again. Then I'll tell him it's over. Somehow, I'll work up the courage and do it. That's the best thing to do.

"The gray ones."

The what?

The strange statement makes me stop daydreaming and focus on him. He looks haggard, to the point of being almost gaunt. His cheeks are sunken and there are dark circles around his eyes. His right hand twitches incessantly and he keeps smacking his dry, chapped lips.

"Gray ones?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes. The gray ones. He comes every time I'm asleep. I can't stay away from him."

"I see," I say, pretending to take notes.

As if we have any paper to spare. Where do the so-called reporters find their scraps? It's crazy. Almost as crazy as this guy.

"You'll report it?" he asks.

"Of course," I say.

Behind him, standing in the corner of the room is one of the reporters I was just thinking of. He's watching with rapt attention, seeing how I handle this. It's fine because I'm used to being under the spotlight. He nods sharply, then turns and leaves.

I lean back on the bench I'm sitting on which sits behind the small makeshift table and stretch. The reporter watches every move, his eyes gleaming. I know that look. He thinks he has something. Sooner or later, he's going to approach and play his card. It's only a matter of time.

Three more people come through asking for various things to be brought to the Council's attention and I dutifully note each item down. Mostly it's simple things and listening to them I realize that what they really want is to be heard.

How interesting is that? These people going through their daily lives want to know that they matter. It's not a question I would have ever thought of before the crash. Of course, my life mattered. I was me. People hung on my every word, followed my every move, and judged everything I did from the time I was a toddler. What must it be like to live a life like theirs? One of quiet desperation, unsure of your place in the universe? Uncertain that you mattered.

I had a taste of that after the crash. When all was chaos and every one of us was struggling to survive. Being a social princess, or even the Ice Queen, meant nothing. The scorching sands quickly melted the ice and left me with nothing. For a little while, but soon enough humanity needed us, and we were all more than happy to step back into our roles.

The reporter approaches at last. He moves with a predatory gait, stalking forward, certain that he has me where he wants me. I keep my face carefully neutral, not giving away anything. Let him come into my web. I am the Queen here after all.

"How can I help?" I ask.

"I have a couple of questions," he says.

"Of course," I say, keeping my tone demure, casting my eyes down or away, never directly meeting his gaze. I am much too soft and innocent for direct eye contact. "I will be happy to pass them along to the Council."

"Actually, my questions are for you." His grin is wide and wolf-like. I suppress the urge to laugh. He really is playing his part too well. I dart my eyes towards him as if in surprise, parting my lips, and waiting. "Wrenlee, is it true that you are having… relations with… a Zmaj?"

Relations? Really? Who are you?

"I'm sorry, who are you?" I ask, the first hints of sarcastic wit slipping into my voice.

"I'm Neil Partee, reporter," he says. "And I have it on good authority that you are, seeing , a Zmaj."

"Neil, is it?" I ask, tapping my finger on my chin and casting a thoughtful look on him. "Hmm. I don't recall your name. I am sure I know all the… important… reporters."

His face flushes softly as he clenches his jaw.

"Wrenlee, will you answer the question or not?"

"I'm sorry, what was the question? I get so distracted by little things…" I trail off pointedly dropping my gaze to his crotch.

It flusters him even more which was, of course, my intention. His hands clench into fists and he coughs, shaking his head.

"I'll report this whether you deny it or not," he splutters. "I know the truth. You are… you're…" he stumbles over his own words he's talking so fast. "We know. And it's disgusting. "

"Hmm," I say, with a slight smile. "Disgusting… I see."

"Did you not side with Gershom back in the City? There are records of you stating that anyone who slept with a Zmaj must be a woman of… how did you put it?"

"Gershom? No, I never sided with him," I say. "In that, you are quite mistaken."

"But you did say that sleeping with a Zmaj was akin to bestiality, did you not?"

He's determined to override whatever I say, but I'm not going to play into his game. He thinks he's good, but he has no idea that he's taking on the master.

"Well…" I say, smiling and letting him wait. Sweat beads on his forehead, his eyes narrow, and he's breathing faster. He's nervous but still thinks he has me on the ropes. "If I did say that what difference does it make? I'm just a girl living her life."

"It makes all the difference!" he exclaims.

Two more people walk into the room, pausing when they see him as he raises his voice. I lean away from him feigning fear at his raised emotions. As if I truly care what this tiny man thinks or does. There are Zmaj not far away, he'd never be allowed to hurt me. Besides, I don't think he has the guts to actually do something. Why else would he fill his time writing stories about me and the other girls?

"Does it?" I ask coyly.

"You know you're more than just a girl," he says.

"I do?"

The couple behind him are frowning. It's a man and a woman who look like they're together. They have that look of people who just go together. Like if you think of one, you think of the other. The kind of thing that happens naturally with couples who stay together for a long time.

They're an older couple and their faces are lined in that way which shows the wear of years, but they both have a lot of laugh lines. I wonder, what Sek'su will look like when he grows old. Would we be the same, taking on similarities due to long exposure? Do Zmaj work like that?

"Wrenlee, do not play coy with me. You're the original Ice Queen. You and Ziva David ruled the ship, and everyone knows it. So, answer the question."

"I'm sorry, what was the question again?"

"Did you, or did you not, state that sleeping with a Zmaj was akin to bestiality?"

"And you care because? You want to sleep with a Zmaj? Aren't they all males? Do they even engage in same-sex relations?"

His face turns beet red. The couple behind him guffaw loudly which only serves to make him darken and choke until he is practically apoplectic.

"You should move on son, realize when you're outmatched," the man says making his wife laugh even harder.

Neil shakes he's so angry, so I give him a bright smile. He spins on his heel and storms out of the room. I watch him go, glad it's over, but also knowing that this is going to be a problem. A big one. In truth, I'd forgotten what I'd said about the Zmaj. I knew I'd made some comment that cemented it was not ‘okay' to sleep with them, but the exact words hadn't really been important, at least not important enough for me to remember.

Now here they are, coming back to haunt me. For just a moment I realize what a horrible person I've truly been most of my life. I am sick to my stomach looking at my own past and unable to stand the feelings it is causing, I shut that away. I cannot change what I've done in the past, but I can be better in the future. I put all my attention on the couple.

"How can I help?"

"Some people don't know their place," the older woman says softly.

"Are you okay?" the man asks.

"Thank you for asking, but I'm quite used to dealing with his kind."

"That's right unfortunate," the older man says. "Pretty young woman like you shouldn't have to put up with creeps like that."

It's clear to me that he has no idea who I am, or who I was, but there is a knowing look on the wife's face that tells me she does. She smiles and then puts her arm around her husband.

"It takes all kinds," she says finally. "But you handled that well sweetie."

I smile and then set to taking notes on what they would like brought before the Council.