If I allow myself to get injured, she can even treat the wound like in theBeauty and the Beastmovie. I’ll not yell at her like that boorish moron, either. I’ll treat her right. Always. And, later, when she learns I can heal myself faster than she can treat a wound, I can confess having wanted her near me.
Women love feeling wanted and needed.
Given how self-sufficient I’ve had to become in my lifetime, finding ways to specifically make sure she understands her importance is vital.
And I’ve one such opportunity for her to assist me at present—given that I either enlist her help in checking my messages or turn the rather obnoxiousVoiceOverfunction on.
“My feather.”
Elegant, she turns toward me in a shush of her robe. “Yes?”
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I say, “There’s a faerie path, a trod, that leads to the human realm beside the bench over there.”
Her breath catches. “There…is? Where does it lead to?”
“Zahra’s road, a few bushes away from her house.”
My beautiful soulmate swallows a lump in her throat.
I press on. “I get signal on my device near the trod. Would you mind letting me know what notifications I have?”
She clasps her hands together in front of her nightgown as she follows me past the pool and to the bench. I sit first, and she takes the spot next to me, as far from my side as appears reasonable. I’d have half the heart to feel offended…but I’m sitting. With my soulmate. On a bench in my garden. On a bench I crafted with my own hands in the garden I’ve long since tended in an effort to ward off the loneliness.
No one else has ever sat here before. Just me.
It hurts a little to take in air, and I fumble handing her my phone. “Sorry,” I whisper, calming myself enough to locate her hand. I place my phone in it and hope my stupid friendisn’t being too stupid if he’s sent me any more stupid messages aboutconsent. He is very stupid in text, because he takes full advantage of the fact faeries can lie in text. “Feel free to start at the top,” I say.
She says, “Whimsy is thinking of you.”
I laugh. “Aw.”
“You have Discord?” she asks.
Humming, I lean back on the bench. “Yes, I’m in Zahra’s LARP group. We meet once a month and play pretend in her backyard. I don’t care right now what they’re talking about.” And the likelihood I skip LARP day for the foreseeable future is high.
In the stillness of her calculations, it occurs to me this effort at helping her feel useful may open up an opportunity to escape. Problem is, if she escapes to Zahra’s through this trod, I won’t be able to save her from the woods.
That’s a dilemma.
Zahra has a lovely home.
If it weren’t currently afflicted withinfant, it would be an excellent place to stay. More excellent than staying with me in this stone prison of unfamiliarity and threat.
Except.Except. Zahra does not have a pool.
Ido.
Women love pools.
But…what if Danielle would choose not being around me over having a pool?
“Do I have any text messages?” I ask, harsher than I wholly intend. I should not take my own inadequacies out on my soulmate. She has done nothing wrong. She likely will never do anything wrong.
“Yes,” she says, so quietly.
I contain myself, soften myself, murmur sweetly, “What nonsense is Xios saying now?”
“It’s from Zahra.”
