Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135784 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
"You should have made them stop."
I shake my head. "They can say what they want, because they don't matter. I get a lot more done here as Lankham os'Riit, worthless junker. No one looks at me twice. That suits my needs."
"Worthless?" She looks offended on my behalf even as her fingers knead my foot. "Just because your limbs suck?"
"They're a mark of how important I am, just like everything else." The conversation is getting into dangerous territory, and her hands are making my cock twitch despite the pain I'm in, so I pull my leg out of her grasp. "I'm station trash. I come from a poor family, and that meant I was sent to the front lines in the Threshian War. I should have died, but I was captured, instead. When they finally bothered to retrieve me from the war camp, the military was in such disgrace that no one cared what happened to any soldier afterward. We were a problem that they needed to make go away. Some of the guys with better families and rankings got what was left of the prosthetics. The rest of us got what was left over." I slap my bad leg. "They look at me, see cheap parts, and know I don't matter. It's not worth starting a fight over."
Her eyes are big and dark as she folds her hands in her lap and gazes up at me. "It sounds like your people abandoned you when they lost the war."
She doesn't know the half of it. I bitterly want to point out that I was imprisoned for a year after the war was even over, just because no one could bother to save those of us that were left behind, but I don't. She doesn't need to know. It'd probably break her too-fragile human heart. "Yeah, well, now you know why I prefer to be alone."
There's a look of pity on her face as she watches me, and I don't like it. I get to my feet, limping away. "I'm going to shower and use up some of their hot water instead of mine."
"Okay," Sophie says in a soft voice. "Thanks for talking to me, by the way. I appreciate you sharing. It helps me understand things a little better."
I glance back at her, but she's still seated on the ground, her legs folded under her, a gentle look on her face. "Thanks for the massage." I rotate my bad shoulder, wincing at the pain, but the movements are fluid at least. "Helped out."
"Sure. An ooli wife has to be good for something, right?"
I…have no idea what to say to that. Is she hinting that she'd like to be my wife? Flustered, I avert my gaze and rush to the lavatory, slamming the door behind me in my haste to get away.
22
SOPHIE
An ooli wife has to be good for something, right?
God, why the hell did I say such a dippy thing? It sounds like flirting, even to my dumb ears, and I groan, burying my face in my hands. Today must have me rattled. That has to be why I'm acting so stupid. It's just been more than a little terrifying to venture out on the station, wearing a mask and praying no one would see through it. An ooli female seems to be a good choice for a disguise, though I feel bad that everyone's so cruel to them. It keeps me safe, at least, but I don't like hearing the awful things that everyone says to Jerrok, right to his face. He's been good to me today, protective and understanding, and my dislike for him is ebbing by the moment. He's looked out for me. Supported me. Understood my panic.
Little surprise that he hates leaving his station. Everyone's been so cruel to him over his cybernetic prosthetics, as if he had a choice over them. It sounds like everyone that was supposed to have his back abandoned him. That he's been mistreated by both the military and probably everyone in his life. No wonder he's so bitter. No wonder he's caustic and biting and impatient. I want to be angry over my past, too, but I'm too vulnerable—right now I'm just doing my best to survive until the va Sithai brothers return and I can go back to them. Not that I feel like I belong there, but I'm low on options.
The water in the bathroom kicks on, and the scent of soap drifts into the hotel room. I think about how his muscles twitched and jumped, and how frustrated he was with them. He dragged his leg a little today, too, and I suspect his prosthetics are hurting more than he's letting on. I look at the hard, awful floor with the thin blanket on it. I can't make Jerrok sleep there. It seems the height of cruelty when there's a perfectly big bed in this room and I'll only take up a corner of it.