getting shot. Of weapons shredding things, people, and animals.
A black, depressing sadness enveloped all of it. Thick, oppressive sadness, as well as depression and loneliness. It clogged her throat and chest to the point where she had to bow her head and pray for it to go away.
Compton was not a happy man. The smiles and laughter he had shared with her so far had been a disguise, the same way she used her human self to disguise her true self. Challa fought back the tears.
“I take it you’re not from around here.”
She glanced up. Small talk. He was trying to have a conversation with her. Find some common ground where they could become comfortable with each other because comfortable led to being open and honest. Honesty led to confessions, and her biggest confession still lay in the distance. Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve only been here for a little more than seven years.”
Touch me, Compton.
She sent it as a wish. A prayer. A fervent but silent request.
Touch me, Compton. Can you read me?
Even if all he relayed to her was sadness and depression, she wanted that connection with him. One step at a time, one revelation at a time. It was all she wanted. And everything she needed.
Touch me, Compton. Please.
His hand reached over and clasped one of hers. Challa felt her body react to his touch and his warmth. Sweet, pungent oranges burst in the air around her like bubbles. She sniffed, afraid to move for fear of losing any one of the thousand sensations rushing through her.
“You know, you’ve never told me your full name.”
“Challa Heela Doon.” It was a small confession, but it was a start. She was grateful she could say anything sensible at this moment.
“Challa Heela Doon. Challa Doon. How unusual.”
She loved the way he said her name, the way he tried to copy her accent. After all this time on Earth, she hadn’t been able to get rid of it although she’d tried.
“Challa, how long have you been working at the carnival?”
“Almost two years.”
“Wow. And all that time as an alien girl?”
As an alien girl. Challa felt her emotions rollercoastering. Like everyone else, with the exception of Lawson, he believed her true self was a costume. To the rest of the world, that was what she wanted them to believe. But not her life mate. He had to know the truth. She had to tell him that the green skin and talons and wings were not a costume. But would he accept her once he found out? In every circumstance, Challa had believed her true life mate would be Ruinos. Compton Scott was not Ruinos. He knew nothing about being Ruinos.
Would he accept me?
“How did you land a job at the carnival, if you don’t mind me asking?”
More questions. Should she tell him everything now, or wait?
There’s no time to wait, Challa . In two days’ time, the carnival will be gone, and you with it. And Compton will remain here.
But what will happen if I tell him? What happens then? Will he remain here? Or will he come with me, with the carnival?
What if he doesn’t want to come with the carnival?
Oh, dearest heavens, what will Lawson say? What would he do if I try to leave the carnival again?
Challa fought the memories of past attempts she’d made to escape Lawson’s hold. In too many ways, being in the sideshow was just like being enslaved by the Arra. Yes, she no longer feared being eaten, or tortured, or repeatedly raped like some Ruinos she’d seen. But her freedom was no longer hers. Her future was measured in miles, from one town to another, and in days, from one show to the next.
Unable to answer, she kept her face averted from him. Suddenly Compton released her hand, and her lunch was slid in front her. Challa grabbed her sandwich with relief and began cramming it into her mouth.
Chapter 9
Promise
He watched Challa dig into her grilled cheese sandwich as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. Compton took it as a positive sign. Like an idiot, he had been asking
A black, depressing sadness enveloped all of it. Thick, oppressive sadness, as well as depression and loneliness. It clogged her throat and chest to the point where she had to bow her head and pray for it to go away.
Compton was not a happy man. The smiles and laughter he had shared with her so far had been a disguise, the same way she used her human self to disguise her true self. Challa fought back the tears.
“I take it you’re not from around here.”
She glanced up. Small talk. He was trying to have a conversation with her. Find some common ground where they could become comfortable with each other because comfortable led to being open and honest. Honesty led to confessions, and her biggest confession still lay in the distance. Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve only been here for a little more than seven years.”
Touch me, Compton.
She sent it as a wish. A prayer. A fervent but silent request.
Touch me, Compton. Can you read me?
Even if all he relayed to her was sadness and depression, she wanted that connection with him. One step at a time, one revelation at a time. It was all she wanted. And everything she needed.
Touch me, Compton. Please.
His hand reached over and clasped one of hers. Challa felt her body react to his touch and his warmth. Sweet, pungent oranges burst in the air around her like bubbles. She sniffed, afraid to move for fear of losing any one of the thousand sensations rushing through her.
“You know, you’ve never told me your full name.”
“Challa Heela Doon.” It was a small confession, but it was a start. She was grateful she could say anything sensible at this moment.
“Challa Heela Doon. Challa Doon. How unusual.”
She loved the way he said her name, the way he tried to copy her accent. After all this time on Earth, she hadn’t been able to get rid of it although she’d tried.
“Challa, how long have you been working at the carnival?”
“Almost two years.”
“Wow. And all that time as an alien girl?”
As an alien girl. Challa felt her emotions rollercoastering. Like everyone else, with the exception of Lawson, he believed her true self was a costume. To the rest of the world, that was what she wanted them to believe. But not her life mate. He had to know the truth. She had to tell him that the green skin and talons and wings were not a costume. But would he accept her once he found out? In every circumstance, Challa had believed her true life mate would be Ruinos. Compton Scott was not Ruinos. He knew nothing about being Ruinos.
Would he accept me?
“How did you land a job at the carnival, if you don’t mind me asking?”
More questions. Should she tell him everything now, or wait?
There’s no time to wait, Challa . In two days’ time, the carnival will be gone, and you with it. And Compton will remain here.
But what will happen if I tell him? What happens then? Will he remain here? Or will he come with me, with the carnival?
What if he doesn’t want to come with the carnival?
Oh, dearest heavens, what will Lawson say? What would he do if I try to leave the carnival again?
Challa fought the memories of past attempts she’d made to escape Lawson’s hold. In too many ways, being in the sideshow was just like being enslaved by the Arra. Yes, she no longer feared being eaten, or tortured, or repeatedly raped like some Ruinos she’d seen. But her freedom was no longer hers. Her future was measured in miles, from one town to another, and in days, from one show to the next.
Unable to answer, she kept her face averted from him. Suddenly Compton released her hand, and her lunch was slid in front her. Challa grabbed her sandwich with relief and began cramming it into her mouth.
Chapter 9
Promise
He watched Challa dig into her grilled cheese sandwich as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. Compton took it as a positive sign. Like an idiot, he had been asking
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