10. Fingerpaints

The kiss made things awkward,there's no way around that fact. So, in classic Midwestern fashion, I push those awkward feelings down and act as if nothing is bothering me.

But since we're both sequestered in this not very large cave, there's only so much we can do to stay out of each other's hair.

Kitaico and I made all the rope we'd need for the restraints, and the rest of the work has been up to him. He stands on the bed, gently chiseling little channels into the ceiling to thread the ropes through.

I've tidied what little there is to be tidied, I've slept as much as possible, and if I never bundle up another dried fish again, it'll be too soon. I guess the cabin fever wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't also trying to deny my attraction to Kitaico. Even if it's only a chemical response, it's starting to feel real.

I sit near the store shelves and watch his rippling back as he angles the tool to continue his chipping. His ass flexes as he goes onto tiptoes. My brain conjures up an image of him pumping his bizarre tentacle- surrounded cock into me, thrusting deep.

I bite the inside of my cheek, dropping my eyes but hopefully picking my brain up out of the gutter. In my lap lays a rounded shell full of the purple nuite fruit. Its dark purple juice stains my fingertips, but it tastes so much better than the salty fish jerky that I eat a lot of it. It's tangy, kind of a cross between a plum and a grape. It would make a killer pie.

Do aliens even have pie?

I mean, I shouldn't complain either way, it's so much tastier than the grey sludge the Deenz would feed me. The porridge I ate as a bubble babe was nutrient dense, I'm sure, but devoid of flavor.

Seems a silly thing to be concerned about when you've been abducted by aliens, but I would have dreams about fried cheese curds and chili dogs. For weeks, I'd crave nothing but the greasiest dive bar food.

Eventually though, you get too tired to dream. You wake up, dance in a plastic bubble for whatever alien species is on the docket that day, eat your mush, sleep, and repeat.

Human women are an investment for my previous captors, and I still can't figure out why they dumped my pod here. Maybe I wasn't worth the cost anymore? Had I aged out of bubble dancing?

I'm not even sure how long I'd been away from Earth, maybe months? The last birthday party I had I was thirty-two. Absentmindedly I run my fingers down the side of my face, searching for new wrinkles. Anything to prove the passage of time.

"Leeenuh, that'll stain," Kitaico mutters, grabbing a rough woven cloth and dipping it into the small pool of water he's been staring at this morning.

I think it's the first words he's spoken to me since the kiss, days ago.

When he comes over, he swipes the purple juice from my cheek with a grin. His fingertips linger, and his skin flashes purple for just a second.

My breath catches, and I can't help but lean into his hand before embarrassment gets the better of me and I shake off his touch.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I knew that," I say, ignoring the heat in my chest as he touches me.

"You alright?" he asks tepidly, hand still floating in the air where it once held my face.

Does he want us to talk about the kiss?

He's hovering over me in a way that lets me know he's got something on his mind.

I nod quickly, standing to walk to the other side of the room. Distance makes it easier to not stare into his kind eyes and not get butterflies low in my belly. Feelings I thought I wouldn't feel ever again.

We both need something to do, I realize as I lean my hand up against the wall, trying my best to act casual.

Kitaico grimaces and sighs, pointing to my hand.

"It'll stain the wall too, Leeenuh," he sighs, bringing the rag over to me again.

"Geez, sorry, my head's not really in the right place," I ramble as if he can understand me.

I take the cloth from him and rub my fingers clean. I try to rub my fingerprints off the wall, but the porous rock surface just soaks up the juice on contact. I scrub harder, knowing it's not going to make a difference.

"It's alright Leeenuh, it's kind of unavoidable to not stain something when you eat nuite fruit—it's one of our most popular dyes," he says with those same kind eyes I've been avoiding.

God, my insides must be stained purple by now if I've been eating dye. But if it'll stain the wall, that gives me an idea.

"Kitaico, do you care if I…" I realize I'm going to have to show him, and I run back and grab the shell full of fruit. I dip my finger into the purple sap and hover it over the rocks before looking back at him.

"You want to mark the wall?" he asks with a cocked brow.

I nod and point to my many tattoos, then back to the wall.

"Oh, you want to draw on the wall?" He grins when I nod again.

"Whatever you want, Leeenuh, if it'll make you happy," he says sweetly.

I'm almost distracted enough to not notice him grabbing one of the brothers and holding it against his thigh as it reaches for me.

I want him to touch me, to soothe this itch I feel building inside me, one that I know only he can scratch.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he helped me during my next heat?

I dip my finger again, bringing it up to the wall and making short strokes. Back at my studio, I wasn't known for portraits. I was the girl you went to for nautical scenes and underwater creatures. You'd be shocked at the number of landlocked Midwesterners with turtle and dolphin tattoos.

But there's something I miss more than cheese dogs and chili curds, and that's my grandmother.

Yeah, that's it, let's just get incredibly sad about never seeing the woman who raised you again to avoid horny thoughts. Great job, Lena.

But, it kind of does work. Because I'm using my finger, I stick to a more impressionistic style, broader strokes to give the impression of detail.

I start with her Ukrainian nose, strong and beautiful, and let that flow into defining her eyes.

Even though I can feel Kitaico staring a hole in my back, I let myself get wrapped up in this giant portrait. I flick my pinky, creating one set of crow's feet before moving to the other. Her round face comes next, framed by her soft gray bob.

I forgot how much I missed art.

"Who is this?" His curious voice ponders behind me as I work.

I pause, realizing I don't know how to mime the word for grandmother. I turn to him, with my purple fingers pointing to my chest.

"My…" I set the bowl down on the ground and use both my hands to round out my belly. "Mother's mother?"

Kitaico's face goes blank, and he coughs, looking away.

I cradle an imaginary baby with one arm while pointing back and forth between me and the baby.

"Oh, your mother?" His eyes light up.

Close enough, especially since I never really knew my real mother or father.

"Yeah." I nod.

He turns back to the painting, rough and unfinished but still recognizable as my grandmother.

"She seems wise," he says thoughtfully.

"She would love to hear that." I can't help but chuckle. She was a real her way or the highway type. "God, do I miss her."

I barely notice the tear falling down my cheek until Kitaico is there, swiping it away. We're so close that I can hear the dueling rhythm of our heartbeats.

"Do you miss her?" he asks, his breath fanning on the side of my face as he tilts his head.

"More than anything," I sniffle.

"I'm sorry. It's not the same, but I miss my family too. The males are taken from their homes to be raised together as hopefuls. I haven't seen my mother in many years."

I want to ask him what a hopeful is, but I don't know if I have the willpower to step back and explain it using gestures.

"Would a kiss help?" His tentacle touches my hip, pulling me closer.

Help, hell no. Would it make me too horny to function? You betcha.

I put my hand on his chest, pushing him gently away.

"No." I shake my head with a forced smile. I don't want him to think I don't appreciate the gesture, but I need some time to think about what all this means. I push him back against the lone stool until he sits.

Distract him, he needs it as much as I do.

I turn back to the wall and begin to paint next to my grandmother's portrait.

I look over at him, trying to understand his proportions and adapting them to my knowledge of human anatomy. His tentacles, especially the longer ones, are super fun to render in this medium. The appendages' width is as wide as my thumb and made with grand sweeping motions.

I rough out his eyes, glancing back and forth between him and the art, and see his smile grow.

"That's me!" he says in a wave of pure excitement only someone as genuine as him could pull off. "You're perfect."

I smile, knowing that this isn't really my best work, but accept the compliment all the same.

"You should see what I can do with a needle and skin," I laugh as I continue to paint.