Page 12 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)
SEVEN
ARABELLA
I stomp around the farm, forcing myself to do the bare minimum so at least the animals will be okay.
But my hands won’t work right, my thoughts won’t line up, and everything keeps slipping through my fingers.
I spill a bucket, water soaking into my jeans like a cold slap.
The hay’s running low, and I forgot to figure out where I put in an order.
Ellen’s kitchen is nearly out of fresh food, and I’ll have to get something delivered because I’m not allowed to drive. Another thing I can’t do.
Another thing that makes me useless.
No, I can't let this get me down. I need to regulate.
I need to swim.
I storm inside and grab my wetsuit from the room where my blank canvas sits, staring at me like an accusation.
It’s been weeks since I finished anything.
I used to love the feeling of a brush in my hands, but now every stroke feels wrong.
Why can't I paint? I thought I had something with those new designs. A spark, a fire—something real. But Gara’s right.
It’s all muddled. Just another mess I made .
I suck in a breath, holding back the sob trying to claw its way out of my throat.
If I can’t produce something, my dreams won’t work.
I’ll never make enough money to support myself.
I’ll always be scrambling, always relying on other people who eventually get tired of me screwing up and leaving things half-finished.
Gara’s right. I’m not helping. I never have.
I press my palms hard against my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the feeling of everything closing in. My brain fights so hard to keep up, to be useful, but it’s like running against the tide. No matter how hard I push, I never get anywhere.
I’m never going to get anywhere. And I’m so, so alone.
I shake my head. I've got to keep going. Giving up isn't an option. Working with my brain is.
I go to Ellen's lake, the area she dug out for Nicole's rehab horses in anticipation of getting the go-ahead on the planning permission.
Something niggles me about that, but I set it aside as I shimmy into the wetsuit.
I need this swim to wash everything out of my mind.
Cold water helps center me in my body rather than bounce around my head all the time.
“It's just a bad hour,” I tell myself. “Next one will be better.”
Focusing on swim lengths back and forth, back and forth, helps me lose myself in the rhythm of breathing around my strokes and the cold sinking into my bones.
Finally, a sense of calm settles over me like the water sluicing over my body.
It doesn't make my problems go away, but I feel a bit more able to cope with them.
Once I’m breathless and shivering, I pull to the edge of the grassy bank, keeping my torso and legs submerged.
I love how crisp the ice-rimmed grass and dead leaves feel in my wetsuit gloves, stiff until snapped when they crumble to pieces.
Playing with them through my gloves, I wonder how I’d capture the sparkle of ice against the black, like stars strewn across space.
Two boots come into view. “Arra-bellah, I need to talk to you.”
I tip my head back and my chest feels like those crushed leaves, suddenly vulnerable with Gara towering over me.
“Okay, what’s up?” I push my gloved hands against the bank and heave up and out to sit on the side.
Gara stares at me, gaze scanning down my throat to my chest and then along my back, his face unreadable.
Grabbing the towel I brought out here, I start rubbing myself down vigorously. “I kinda want to talk to you too, but you first. What is it?”
He paces. “It’s ah, uh, um…”
I watch, fascinated. Gara’s never been tongue-tied before. “Is something wrong?”
He drops to his knees in the hard, frozen mud, crushing the grass flat, and presses his forehead to the ground. He mumbles something.
I stop drying. “I can’t hear you.”
He raises his face, eyes tormented. “One of El-len’s chickens strayed into the replicator beam.”
Oh no, the shiny laser thing, which Gara told me to avert my eyes from. “Shit, is she okay?”
“I… Uh… I don’t know.” He points up at the brow of the hill.
I shade my eyes to see. A silhouette of a chicken stalks the crest, but… it’s three times the size. “Oh, fuck, that’s Old Mae. She’s huge!”
“The replicator beam must have accelerated her metabolism and exaggerated her structure.”
“You can make things taller? Cool, I want to use it on me next,” I joke, still staring at the oversized bird.
“No,” he snaps, back to being harsh Gara. “The implications are unknown, there are too many variables, anything could go wrong?—”
“Relax, I’m joking. It’s my way, kind of how I say hello.” I tilt my head at the prancing chicken, outlined by the sun. “Is she purple now, too?”
“Underneath her brown feathers, yes.” Gara sounds so miserable.
“Look, we’ll fix it somehow.”
He gives me such a look of hope it cracks my heart, but he quickly lowers his head. “Prepare yourself for the eventuality that we might not be able to.”
“Well, yeah, with that attitude, you’re heading straight for fail city. You need a cup of optimism in your life, Gara.”
He looks puzzled by that.
“Not an actual city. Or a cup. I mean, you're being pessimistic.”
“I’m… We’re bred to be pessimistic, to always take the worst case.”
Bred? “Doesn’t mean you still can’t use that cup. Here.” I mime pouring out a cup of tea and hand it up to him.
He stares at the empty space, then at me.
Feeling stupid, I'm about to drop my hands when he lifts his at last, wrapping them around mine. They blaze with heat, especially after the lake, and I can't help but sigh with relief.
“You're cold and shaking,” he accuses.
“Guilty as charged.” My fingers fumble with my thick mohair socks, and his gaze roves up my leg as I roll them up my calf. He looks like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out of his mouth. He just catalogues every move I make pulling each sock to my knees over my drysuit.
Once I'm done, I jump to standing. “Okay, let’s go catch that chicken. I could do with a run, I have to get moving or I'll freeze to death out here. ”
Gara’s shoulders bunch, and he gives me the intense glare thing he does. He mumbles something.
“What was that?” I scrub the towel over my shoulders as we walk. It is really cold today, and I need to keep moving.
“I’m warm. In an emergency, you can… Is this an emergency?”
Gara tongue tied again? Is it my birthday? I hide my smile in my towel. “No, I’m pretty well practiced at cold training.”
His shoulders relax. “So I see.”
We walk a few more steps towards Mae before he asks, “Is lowering your body temperature a common human pastime?”
Whoa, he’s chatty. I snort. “Very few people put themselves through this. I love how it calms my mind while I do it, and afterwards? Makes me feel normal.”
His eyes meet mine, the outer irises as green as rust on iron, the inside a brilliant aquamarine like tropical waters. “How does this ‘normal’ feel?”
“Like I’m drunk but my mind is sharp.” My teeth start to chatter, but I can’t feel how cold I am. Uh-oh.
I wobble a little, and Gara thrusts his arms toward me like he’s going to catch me.
I hold up a hand to stop him. “I’m fine.”
Those sharp eyes study me like I’m… well, a new species.
I belong here, buddy. You’re the invader.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks, chest scales making little clicks as they fit together. Is he bracing himself?
“Yeah. Right. I know I’m annoying and all over the place and… too much all the time. I want to check… Are you mad at me, or just mad in general? Because if it’s me, I can try harder.”
And for the third time today, Gara gapes at me. His scales go light green shading to peach on the edges, glinting like an opal in the sunshine.
Just then, Mae spots us and heads toward the yard with a booming cluck, body balanced between her two new long legs instead of plonked on top. Her neck is longer and her beak more curved and pronounced, and while she’s the size of a medium dog, her long legs put her at the height of a small pony.
I speed up, and Gara keeps pace. “We can talk later. Let’s catch that chicken.”