Distress and agony follow like a billowing cloak, but no matter how fast I run, they’re still behind me, fluttering about asthey weigh me down. Short, punctuated gasps flit past my lips as I continue to flee, allowing my mind to click about, finding all the wounded parts and bringing them out to light.
My family.
The farm.
The rejection.
The hard, back-breaking labor when I could just be a pampered senator’s wife.
And this. The worst of all.
For the first time in all of this injustice, I finally felt something. My heart fluttered at his illicit touch. My soul yearned for the pretty words spoken by even prettier lips.
Aurelian.
The term sits in my gut like our heaviest metal.
A snake to infiltrate my bed. How can it be any other way? Do I not pass the half-naked, nubile men on my way into the capitol? Do I not see them skulking about with their artificially gray skin? Lying about as still as the statues they pretend to be, all while gathering information to condemn someone without their knowledge.
But why? Why would the government act like this bull was so dangerous, so in need of humiliation, when he was in their pocket all along? Why single me out? Why cause me to fail? Month after month they reject me, tell me I’m not good enough, the farm is not viable enough. Why?
It flourished just a few generations ago. I refuse to believe it’s in such disrepair that we can’t be a powerhouse again. But then… It was managed by a male. A Rancher. Someone with actual authority and not the pretense I put on when in the presence of other males.
My thighs burn as I continue to run. Sharp pains stab my lungs with each breath I take, but still I force myself to move. Perhaps if I’m fast enough, I can escape all of this. Flee. Hell,maybe I’ll generate enough speed to fly off this planet and somehow make it to Earth.
Based on the stories I’ve overheard from the other Ranchers, many of the women are powerful in their own right, only brought low by our advanced technology. But then, to hear it from others, Earth is just as bad, if not worse in how it treats its females.
Still though…
The very thought of escape is tantalizing enough to keep me going until a pair of strong hands grab my waist and wrench me back. I fling out with my elbows and feet, yet somehow still manage to miss the person holding me against my will. Outraged screams and frantic yells bounce off of the rocks and earth, amplifying them in my head until that’s all I can hear.
“Shhhhhh,” a familiar rumble murmurs in my ear, nearly short-circuiting my brain. “I’ve got you, Zilara. You’re safe with me. Always.”
Safe.
The very word feels foreign in my brain as it swims about the anger-fueled grief threatening to overwhelm me.
“I’m not what you think I am,” the human continues as he runs his hand down my spine in an almost soothing, petting motion. “I don’t think I can prove that, but you have to trust me.”
“Trust you,” I finally manage to wheeze as my breath catches in my throat. “I don’t even know you.”
“No,” he agrees as he slides his hand further around my waist and up until it settles over my heart. “But part of you does. Part of you saw me. Truly saw me. Not the cow or bull or whatever the fuck you guys call me. Not the model everyone wants a piece of on Earth. But me. Ethan. Just Ethan. The human who wants to help, to nurture, to allow you the freedom to just let go and be whoever you long to be.”
“What do you know of it?” I snarl as I try to flee his iron grip, but he only holds on tighter.
“Because we’re not as different as you all try to claim.”
His voice is soft as the wind as his words slide across the back of my neck. I can hear the pain there, the longing, the absolute yearning that beats behind my breastbone.
“You don’t understand-”
“Don’t I?” He snaps back? “I had a life on Earth. A shitty one now that I’m finally clean long enough to realize it, but I had one. I was the most sought-after model. Ethan, do this. Ethan, do that. No, don’t do that with your lips. Twist. More. More. Suck in your ribs. I want abs, not flab. Every minute was filled with demands, shouts, and orders.”
Things go silent for a moment, and part of me longs to turn so I can see if what he’s saying is true, if it’s evident in his eyes and soul. But I dare not move. I dare not break the tenuous connection forming between us.
“Then there were the pills,” he eventually croaks. “I thought my manager only gave me something to help me cope with the fast lifestyle, the bingeing and purging, the late nights and even earlier days. But no.”
The bitterness coating the air is all too familiar. Even now, I still feel it in my mouth like ash.
