BONDED

by S. D. Harrison

  I’m afraid to move, not wanting to believe what I’ve seen. “That’s not possible,” I hedge. “Why would your DNA be different than anyone else’s?”

  “Well, for starters, I don’t have...a concrete body, I guess you could say.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. His words are well rehearsed, a story he has held onto for quite some time, but has obviously never told. The secrecy of it is evident in the way he monitors my eyes, waiting for a reaction. I’m waiting for the punch-line. “At least not one of my own. Not a permanent one. But I can copy what I see, make myself look different. Markus says it’s a built-in defence mechanism, allowing us to blend in with our surroundings. My DNA can take on whichever form I need to survive,” he hesitates, skipping over something important. “In this case, human.”

  “This isn’t the part where you tell me you’re a werewolf, is it?” I try to say it as a joke, but it comes out more like a whisper. I wanted his secret. I didn’t want this. Whatever this is.

  “Oh, I wish!” he exclaims, running a hand through his hair. “Think more E.T., less Silver Bullet.”

  “You’re not serious.” I’m amazed I manage to find my voice. He is certifiably nuts. “You’re batshit crazy,” I say when he doesn’t say anything in response.

  T.K. shrugs. “Probably; I know some of us are.”

  “Us?” I hate myself for entertaining his delusions. Because that’s what this is: a delusion. He has taken my insanity and twisted it into his own.

  I don’t dare mention the dreams, not after this.

  “There are maybe a few hundred others like me here. I don’t know. I’ve only met a handful.”

  “Your family?”

  “Part of that handful. Most of us group together. Survival, you know?”

  “So you flew your space ship here and made camp? Crashed here on a meteor? Come on, T.K., enlighten me. I love sci-fi.” My voice is filled with patronization. He is mocking me.

  He has to be mocking me.

  “About twenty-five years ago some of my kind began to mutate. They became stronger and faster until finally they decided they were too impressive to share. The un-mutated were weak, lesser, and a waste of resources. They started a planet-wide rebellion, massacring the weakest of our kind. Our home became a war zone; no one wants to live like that. Some of us came here. Some went elsewhere. Some crazy bastards even chose to stay, though god knows what happened to them. It’s not like we can call home and check in. I came here when I was two. I don’t even remember not being here. I’ve only heard the stories. To me, this is all there is.”

  I don’t know what you’re supposed to do if someone has a psychotic break in front of you. Call 9-1-1? Sedate them?

  “The others are different than we are. More...advanced. They have abilities I can’t even dream of.” The word dream fills me with unparalleled dread. It’s clear the dreams were a warning. My mind knew what I did not, alerting me to the deception and telling me to beware.

  T.K. misinterprets my fear. “This is overwhelming you, isn’t it?” Now the fear is in his eyes.

  “You’re not crazy, are you?” I ask, shifting on the bed so our bodies are as close as possible without embracing. “I mean, you’re obviously crazy. But you’re not lying.”

  “No more than average.”

  “So you’re an alien.” It feels weird, wrong, and mental to say aloud.

  “I like to think of myself as human. Like I said, I can’t remember being anything but human. I feel human. I act human. For all intents and purposes, that’s what I am. At least, I am now.”

  I can’t think of what to say, so I opt to punch him in the arm.

  “Ow! I’m strong; I’m not invincible to pain. What was that for?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this before? Don’t tell me it’s some huge secret, either. If it was, you wouldn’t be telling me now.”

  T.K.’s face softens as he rests his hands against my face. Every time he touches me, tingles travel through each nerve in my body, creating a path of fire in their wake. “That’s why I tried to avoid you at the start of the year. We decided it was too big of a risk for me to be with you. Heaven forbid you saw something or overheard something and I couldn’t stop you from telling the world. You’re not exactly the easiest person to control.” The way he says it makes it seem like he’s reciting someone else’s opinion, not his own.

  “But you’re not exactly giving me a choice here. I find it incredibly hard to say no to you, and I’m tired of shutting you out,” he continues. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to be with you. You deserve to know what that means.”

  I stare at him incredulously. I can’t deny the way he controlled the lights, or my subconscious telling me something was wrong through my dreams, but I’ve been taught to believe what he is telling me is impossible.

  How can you deny the existence of something if you’re staring into its eyes?

  His eyes.

  “You’re not an easy person to forget, Raye. God help me, I did try. But from the second I saw you, I don’t think there’s been a chance in hell of keeping me away from you.”

  “Even if I didn’t want you near me?” I say, my voice cool. I can’t decide if I’m angry, or scared, or freaked out. For all I know, I’m having a schizophrenic break.

  “If for one second I thought you didn’t want me around, I mean really didn’t want me around, I would have backed off.”

  “That probably would have been easier.”

  “Probably,” he replies, lying back on the bed.

  “Did Marcella receive the same lecture?” I ask. “About getting involved with Lindsay?”

  “No. Lindsay is…different.” When I begin to protest, T.K. corrects himself. “She’s not as stubborn as you, or as observant. No offense, but do you think she would ever pressure Marcella to tell her anything? Or find herself in a situation like this where the truth comes out?” My silence seems to give him permission to continue. “You know I’m right, and so does my family. From the beginning, getting involved with you meant telling you the truth. The others aren’t comfortable with that.”

  “I assume they’re going to be pissed when they find out you’ve told me?”

  T.K.’s face morphs into one of concern. Whatever reaction his family is going to have, he isn’t looking forward to it. “They’ll have to deal with it. Don’t worry about it, okay? I would never let them do anything to you.”

  “I wasn’t worried they would do anything to me…” I say, the new thought making my mind suddenly more alert. “Do I need to be worried? Jesus, T.K. I never asked to be involved in this!”

  “Hey, calm down.” He pulls me toward his chest. I hate that the gesture soothes me immediately. “Like I said, they won’t do anything. And you sort of did ask to be involved in this–demanded, really.” He tacks a smirk onto the end of his sentence in an attempt to show me he isn’t upset with the pressure I put on him to tell me the truth. “It’s sort of a relief that you know,” he says, lightly pressing his lips to the top of my head. “I don’t like the idea of keeping things from you. It goes against my whole plan to woo you and make you fall madly in love with me.” His voice is light and teasing, but I sense a seed of truth to his words. I roll my eyes at him.

  “I have one more question,” I ask, my voice casual as I lean back on the bed next to him. His proximity increases the speed of my heartbeat tenfold.

  “Okay...” he replies, cautious.

  “When I was drenched earlier, did you really not look?”

  The heat creeping into his cheeks alongside a devilish smirk is all the answer I need. “Jackass!” I hit him with a pillow.

  “What? It’s not like I saw anything I didn’t like!”

  “Oh my god,” I groan. I’m a conflicting combination of mortified and satisfied.

  T.K. brings his face right next to mine, his lips a soft tickle against my cheek. “I promise, next time I get you naked, you will not be frozen solid.”

  “An
d I’ll be aware!” I say, not realizing what I’m implying until it is too late. My face shifts enough so T.K. can kiss me without having to move.

  He takes my lower lip in between his teeth, pulling me into his body.

  The kiss is incredibly slow and over way too soon. When he pulls back, he put his lips to my ear and mumbles, “As long as we agree there will be a next time.” He nuzzles his head into my neck and falls asleep almost instantaneously.

  I stay awake for hours afterward, still trying to decide which of us is crazy.

  CHAPTER 16

  In the morning my head is clear and all the revelations from the previous few hours of consciousness have sunk in. T.K. isn’t human. He is a thing inside of a fabricated shell.

  He is also pressed up against me when my cell phone goes off at exactly 10:52 a.m. I feel him stir beside me as I reach for the nightstand to pick it up. The display warns me it is my mom.

  “Raye?” Her voice is louder and shakier than I have ever heard it. Is she crying?

  “Uh, hey, Mom.” My voice is groggy from disuse as I sit up in bed and glance at T.K. His arm is still wrapped firmly around my waist, although I can tell he is in the process of waking up. I had all night to move it away from me, but for some inexplicable reason, I didn’t.

  “Oh, thank god!” she breathes, her voice catching on the last syllable.

  I watch T.K. slowly open his eyes. He looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he has ever seen mixed with a dreamy sense of disbelief. I try to keep the butterflies at bay.

  “Raye, honey, your car was found at the bottom of the river. It went off the bridge and fell through the ice.” The way she says bridge makes me realize why she is so shaken; it’s three years ago all over again.

  “Mom, I’m fine. It, uh, it wasn’t me. I’ve been home all night,” I lie. I don’t know how to explain that an alien rescued me after I unintentionally drove off the same bridge my dad had nearly three years prior. I vaguely wonder how long it would take her to have me committed.

  “Thank god,” she repeats. Someone must have stolen your car. When they told me the keys were in the ignition but no body was found… Oh god, I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I must have left my spare keys somewhere. Maybe someone found them?” I say, trailing off. T.K. is arranging a blanket around himself as he tries to sit up. He gives me a questioning look. I hold up a hand, pushing him back down.

  “They must have. I’ll sort everything out with the insurance company. We’ll have to go buy you another car before school starts back up.” Mom continues rambling about the facts, her voice still a little crazed. I feel bad for the fear she must have felt, but I also feel pleased she felt anything at all. She promises to be home before dinner and to bring take-out Chinese food. I’m not going to hold my breath, but it’s a nice gesture in theory. I hang up the phone and look at T.K.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he says, his smile lazy and at ease. “I take it they found the car?”

  “Yeah, they think it was stolen, which I’m pretty sure counts as insurance fraud, but at least I’ll get a new car.” I wince at the potential of having to take the bus.

  “And maybe better snow tires?” he suggests, reaching for my waist. I jump out of his range, almost toppling off the bed. He looks both hurt and amused.

  “I think I’m angry with you.” I tuck my hair behind my ear as he flops back down on the bed and groans.

  “Of course you’re angry with me. When have you ever not been angry with me?”

  “You’re an alien.” During my non-sleep, I decided to believe him–only because the other option is schizophrenia or a nervous breakdown, neither of which appeal to me.

  “And you’re a brat. That doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

  I don’t think anyone has ever called me a brat before–at least not to my face.

  “Well, I never decided how I feel about you. So the alien thing is sort of a big deal. How do I know I can trust you after you’ve lied for so long? Your whole life is a lie, T.K.”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious why I didn’t tell you about this before. I’m putting a lot of trust in you here, with my whole life and the lives of my family. The least you can do is trust me in return.”

  I know the words resting on his lips, the accusation of manipulation, the cruel way I held his hand and led him to believe everything would be alright if only he would be honest. I feel the words hover in the air between us, but T.K. doesn’t speak them. Instead, his face begins to burn with frustration as the battle contains itself within him.

  He’s getting upset, but I can’t stop myself. Every defence I have tells me to push, push, push. “You want to talk about trust? How do I know you won’t become bored with me in two weeks and bail on me for some freshman with a Barbie doll figure?”

  “Do you think that little of yourself?” he shouts, pushing himself up off the bed. Apparently freshmen are his breaking point. “God, Raye! What do I have to do to convince you I have real feelings for you? Risk my life? Tell you my deepest secrets? Pour my goddamn heart out? Oh, wait! I already did all that. So, what’s next? What hoop would you like to watch me jump through now?”

  I stand to face him, my body filling with rage to match his. T.K.’s fists are clenched, and I’m gripping my cell phone so hard it is probably going to snap in half.

  “Get out!” I shout, pointing to the door.

  “Fine! Why don’t you tell me when that goddamn wall is down? Glad you’re not dead,” he shouts, slamming my bedroom door shut behind him.

  I’m so angry I want to cry.

  But I don’t.

  ∆∆∆

  I spend the rest of the week in bed, trying to convince myself that one: I am not crazy, and two: I am not interested in T.K. When I’m not busy doing either of those things, I’m avoiding my mother, who has taken to working from home. She claims the office is dead so there is no point going in, but that has never stopped her before. I suspect the real reason is to make sure I’m not suicidal. The effort is as motherly as she has ever been.

  The insurance company bought the story of car theft because Mom is a badass attorney and they were scared of her wrath. My mother, however, isn’t fully convinced–or she is so freaked out by the incident her maternal side has been triggered. Sixteen years too late, but still, it seems it is there nonetheless.

  I wouldn’t mind the time with her if we actually spent time together, but other than the fact I know she is under the same roof, little has changed.

  She does take me into the city to buy a new car, though. I select a beautiful red Jeep Patriot that looks all-weather capable as I’m now paranoid of ice. They even have one in stock at the dealership, so I’m able to go back later the same day and drive it home for an extra fee.

  Mom and I kill the time in-between shopping at some of Winnipeg’s finest stores–another chance for her to prove her love by tossing around lots of cash.

  By the time I’m able to head home later that evening in my new Jeep–decked out with exceptional and exceptionally expensive winter tires–my back seat is loaded with an entire new wardrobe and a cat palace of scratching posts for Oswald. Seemingly, my almost-death has made my mom discover a love for cats–at least for small, extra fluffy grey cats with green eyes.

  Halfway home, my phone rings from the car’s internal speakers. It takes a moment before I’m able to remember where the answer button is, but I figure it out before it goes to voicemail.

  “Raye!” Lindsay cheers before I even say hello. “I have exciting news. Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

  “I was out car shopping with my mom all day. I’m working on driving home now.”

  “Oh, should I call back later? You shouldn’t drive when you’re distracted.” Lindsay is another person not convinced my car was stolen. When I called to tell her about the accident–I couldn’t tell her what actually happened for obvious reasons–she almost had a panic attack. It took two hours to convince her tha
t yes, I was fine; no, I was not suicidal; and no, she did not need to come over.

  “It’s fine. This thing has Bluetooth. I kind of love it; I bet I could hit a moose and not even notice. What’s going on?”

  “Well, Katie is having a New Year’s Eve party! And you’re invited.”

  “What did you have to do to swing that?” I ask, knowing full well Katie still despises me for the T.K. incident.

  “I pulled a card from your playbook and went with threats,” she says proudly. “I told her if she wanted to stay on the team, she had to invite everyone. She caved in pretty quickly. I’m not sure if T.K. will get an invite, though.” She says it with a hint of an apology, like I care.

  I did not tell Lindsay about my night with T.K., nor did I tell her he is less than human. I debated telling her about Marcella, but I figure if T.K. is a harmless alien–theoretically, at least–Marcella probably is, too.

  “Good riddance,” I reply.

  Lindsay makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. “You’ll come, right? I know social time isn’t your thing, but it’s New Year’s.” When I’m silent for a few beats, Lindsay continues. “If you don’t want to go, I can always come over and we can hang out at your place. It’s up to you.”

  I picture myself hanging out at home with my mom hovering in her office pretending not to monitor me, and Lindsay sitting next to me pretending not to miss Marcella; the choice is easy. “We can go to the party. I could use the distraction. Pick you up at nine?”

  “Eight-thirty? I told Marcella we’d meet her at the party at nine. That’s okay, right?”

  “As long as she doesn’t bring her brother, it’s peachy,” I reply, mock-cheerful. Maybe Marcella isn’t a dangerous alien, but it doesn’t make me like her any more than I did before.

  ∆∆∆

  Two days later I dress myself in a gold, sequin party dress I bought because it cost three hundred dollars and my mom hates it. The thing barely hits mid-thigh and accents my chest perfectly. I’m not wearing it to show off; I’m wearing it to see the look of annoyance on my mother’s face as I leave the house. She thinks sequins are tacky, as she reminded me numerous times while in the store. I sort of agree, but my fashion sense isn’t the priority.