“You’re real hard to kill. What did she think, fucking with some... some monster.”
He’s the monster, but I’m silent.
Barton turns, walks away, and then rounds suddenly enough to make me flinch. “You touch my stuff again, and I’ll cut off your fingers. How are you going to type in your fancy-ass classes then?”
It’s so brutal, and said with such simple cruelty, that I know he means it. I instinctively grab my hands and tuck them behind my back.
“Hard to kill, but you don’t regenerate. That tail you came out with is proof of that. Didn’t even bleed to death.”
Behind my back, my hands press into the spot just above my panties, right before my bottom starts. There’s a nub there, an arrow-shaped mass that Sarah said was a growth that they removed when I was a baby.
But it wasn’t. It was a tail.
I’m not... I’m not completely human, but I don’t know what I am. Could it be demonic? I don’tfeeldemonic.
“Barton. It’s nearly four-thirty. You’d best go if you don’t want to miss the launch boat. I started the truck for you.”
“Did I tell you to do that?” he snarls, rounding on Sarah as she comes back into the small hallway.
It’s my turn to leave. Sarah left me to fend for myself. I do the same. It’s become our new unspoken bond, our sick kind of tag-teaming that started this week.
When the door slams, the house is still. I think Sarah must be sitting back in the kitchen, hands clutching a cup of coffee, silently putting hot courage in her stomach.
She has friends. She has someone to call. Someone who can help her.
I have to help myself.
No Questions Asked Employment is a website that’s slowly killing my computer. Every message sent to me seems to want me for adult filming or massages and comes with a side of viruses.
Today, I hunt for new posts, for jobs that want nannies, for jobs that need childcare. I use the keyword search bar on the top and narrow the time frame to the last week. I’d already searched pretty much the entire site while Barton was away. Since his return, I was more careful.
“Wife” Wanted.
The only posting that appears makes me groan internally, but I look anyway.
And the more I look, the more I am intrigued.
A single dad really needs a nanny... But he can’t offer money.
No way in heck would most people be okay with that. I wouldn’t be okay with that... Except I’m not looking for a career. I’m looking for anescape.
My own room. Food and lodging. Travel expenses. If I married him, I guess his benefits would cover me, too. Benefits are a big deal for people who can see doctors—not freaks like me. I guess that’s why he’s putting that in. I guess if I want the job, I shouldn’t mention that benefits don’t matter to me.
A daughter with deformities, cared for by her protective single father?
I hear Sarah start shuffling around, and I wonder... I wonder if I can beg her to wait for me, to give me at least a ride to a town.
If I even have someplace to go...
I attach my resume and cover letter. I type my personal note in the box before I hit send.
Dear “Wife” Seeker,
We found each other—the two decent beings on this site, both in a hard spot. You sound like you need a nanny but are seeking a wife to allow you to offer her benefits and maybe to help you care more fully for your child. I also have several issues with my physical appearance. The most noticeable one is skin pigmentation. If you don’t mind the way I look, you can rest assured that I would not care how your little girl looks. I grew up without a loving family to protect me, and I would love to be part of the loving family that protects your daughter. Hopefully, we will be great roommates and, one day, good friends. I’m in Alaska now. I would need help with travel expenses.
I stop typing.
I have no bank account.
