Page 57 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ellie

A nghar sleeps away much of the afternoon.

Every time he dozes off, I apply a little more of the berry goo.

Tiny little amounts so the pain doesn’t wake him.

I think he needs his sleep every bit as much as he needs the treatment.

The goo is good at knitting together the shallow cuts, but it doesn’t do much for the deeper one.

His belly is no longer swollen, his brow no longer feverish.

But even when I risk putting the goo directly onto the scab, the wound doesn’t seem to get much better.

While he sleeps, I eat, gorging myself on the supplies in the cave. I should probably question how they got here, but I’m just trusting that Anghar’s relief when he found this place means he knows who we are stealing from and that they won’t mind.

Because it feels too good to be full to worry too much about taking something that isn’t mine.

It’s the first time in my life that my stomach feels full, the rich and heavy ration bars satisfying me in a way the synthesised foods back home never did.

Even on the ship that brought us out here our portions were small, vacu-packed, freeze-dried disgustingness we were told were necessary for space travel - though I caught sight of the crew meals once and they sure as hell weren’t eating the same crap we were.

Just another way the upper tiers dumped on us bottom tier girls.

I refill the canteen at the river, starting to feel a sense of comfort in the immediate surroundings of the cave that probably isn’t wise.

Just because I’ve been out there a few times and nothing has gone wrong, doesn’t mean something won’t happen at some time in the future.

I try to remind myself of this every time I get the urge or the need to step outside.

I crush a few more of the berries into the water, drinking some of their bitterness down, before refilling it for the next time Anghar wakes.

I know I should head back inside, but also the water is cool and refreshing, and the muggy heat of the forest is starting to get to me.

I haven’t had a proper clean since we crashed here.

My clothes are filthy. I probably stink, and though all of this would have been much worse if I hadn’t already taken a dip in the river, I’m overcome with a need to scrub myself down.

I sit very still, listening as hard as I can, scanning my eyes round the trees, looking for any sign that I’m not alone.

I get nothing. I’m not sure I would, even if the trees were filled with those tattooed assholes, just waiting to jump me.

I think of Anghar’s goddess, the lady of the forest. Lina.

I’m not one of her people. I don’t even know if I believe in gods and goddesses.

Mercenia outlawed religion, and I’m generally inclined to believe anything they outlawed had some powerful good in it, but also, it always felt a little silly to me to send your thoughts out into the universe and hope some higher being heard them.

But that was back home. This is… wherever this is. Different rules probably apply, and if there is a goddess in these trees, there’s probably more chance of her looking out for me than anyone back home.

So I put my hands together, like I saw bottom tier folks back home do as they knelt in front of their contraband altars. I put my hands together and close my eyes. Speak with my thoughts.

And I feel stupid. I do. Appealing to someone I’m not sure exists to keep me safe so I can get a quick dip in the river.

But also, there’s something kind of restful about it.

Just being still with myself and my thoughts.

I never had the energy to do that sort of thing back home.

Sitting still after a long day at the slaughterhouse meant falling asleep.

After a moment, I relax into it, my thoughts coming less self-consciously.

Lina, I know I don’t belong here and I probably shouldn’t ask this, but if you could watch out for me, even just a little bit, I’d really appreciate it.

I wonder if Anghar and his tribe give offerings or something. Not that I have anything I can give.

But no, I do have something. Anghar calls me his mate, chosen for him by Lina.

Surely if the goddess is real, she’d want me to accept and embrace him as my mate.

And it would be easy, I think. The way my body hummed with desire when he touched me - the attraction I feel to him is just as real here as it was in the dreams. And he asked, he actually asked, if I wanted anything more.

Most importantly, he listened when I said no.

God, that was the hardest single syllable to squeeze out of my mouth.

Every nerve ending in my body was screaming ‘yes, more!’ But I was a little worried he would hurt himself and a lot afraid that the moment I give him what he wants, the kindness, the gentle nature, will be revealed to be a trick.

Just like it was with Supervisor Dahlen all those years ago.

I wonder what Neris would have to say about Anghar.

She was always the practical sort, making the best of the supervisor situation, trying to keep the girls who worked with her as safe as was possible, protecting them in whatever way she could.

She always seemed so in control, larger than life.

But I remember the day I got drawn on the lottery - won my chance at a new life on Alpha Colony.

I thought maybe she’d be jealous because God knows I would have been.

Even though I never really believed Alpha Colony was going to be some paradise, it was still a chance to make something better of myself, to have a better life than the one the bottom tier offered me.

But Neris just shook her head. “I’m glad it’s you,” she said. “I don’t think I want to be going anywhere.”

I thought it absurd at the time. She was five years my senior - coming up on the age when things start going wrong for bottom tier women, when the hard work, the chemicals we’ve been breathing all our lives, the terrible food, the sheer hopelessness of it all starts catching up.

It was probably her last chance to make a change, and she was glad that it passed her by?

“I’ve got it good here, Ellie,” she said when I questioned her about it.

“Nobody touches me who I don’t want to. I get extra supplies to feed the people I live with.

The work’s gruelling, but I can deal with it.

I already got the best a girl like you and me could hope for.

Why would I risk trading that in for something else? ”

And I wonder, is that what I’m doing with Anghar? Holding him at arm’s length because I’m afraid of trading in the ‘good’ that I’ve got for the chance at something better? I thought Neris was foolish, thinking like that. Yet here I am, doing the same thing.

I asked him to stop, and he did, and he didn’t even look bitter about it. In fact, he looked pleased - like he was happy I’d stood up to him. It was the moment for him to reveal his true intentions, and he just behaved exactly as he always does. The opposite of how I expect him to.

I open my eyes, see my own reflection in the water beside me. A skinny, frightened looking girl with a full layer of tightly coiled hair growing where her shiny scalp used to be.

There are so many things about that girl I don’t recognise.

I plunge my hands into the water, distorting her with ripples, and begin to wash myself.

I start by rinsing the blood and berry juice from my arms, then try to rinse the dirt from my clothes while they’re still on, but it’s no use.

So I take off my shoes and socks, peel off the jumpsuit, stripping down to the bra and panties I have on underneath, my vest abandoned on the beach.

The bra is itchy and dirty, so I take that off too, trying first to rinse it before deciding it’s a torture device and abandoning it entirely.

If I’ve got to be stuck on a primitive jungle planet, I’m doing it without underwire.

I’m kneeling in the river, trying to scrub my jumpsuit on the stones, when I hear movement behind me. I snap my body round, turning to the source of the noise, fear making my heart pound so hard in my ears that for a moment I can’t even hear any of the jungle sounds.

It’s Anghar. He’s pulled himself out of the cave, hand clutching his side still, but otherwise looking a little better.

And in the roar of adrenaline, it takes my mind a second or two to catch up, to realise that I’m sitting here in front of him, almost completely naked.

He stares at me and I stare at him, frozen in place for a moment that seems to last for an eternity.

Then my arms start listening to my commands, and I scrabble for the jumpsuit, pulling it out of the water and up to cover my body.

Anghar watches me a moment, then heads back into the cave.

I get as far as thinking I should get dressed, like right now, when he reappears, holding a pot.

He heads down to the river, sitting carefully down just out of the water.

I’m frozen again, hugging the jumpsuit against my breasts, just watching him as he pulls off his boots, wincing as he bends forwards, compressing his injury.

It takes me a moment to realise that Anghar isn’t even looking at me.

He just takes off his shoes, rolls up his trousers, then shuffles forwards just a little, until his feet are submerged.

His eyes close, and a look of pleasure crosses his face as the cool water runs over his toes.

Then he turns his attention back to the pot, removing the lid and scooping up a handful of goo from inside it.

It’s a different colour to the berry goo, a browny-grey that reminds me of the synthesised meat Mercenia fed bottom tier workers for their evening meal.

Anghar rubs the goo in his hands, then starts to massage it on to his skin.

He’s already shirtless, his torso exposed, the livid cut standing out against his green skin.

Like me, he’s covered in grime and blood - most of the blood his own - and he rubs the goo over himself, working it into a lather as he scrubs away at every inch of his skin except that one spot on his side.

After a few minutes, he scoops up a big handful of water and splashes himself.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch the little rivulets running down over his chiseled abs.

I flinch when he turns to me, catches me watching.

But Anghar just smiles, holding out the pot to me.

I edge closer, just enough to reach out and grab it.

I dip my fingers into the goo, feeling its oily texture.

It smells earthy and a bit sweet and I desperately want to use it, but I can’t hold the pot with one hand and clean with the other while still keeping my jumpsuit pinned to my chest.

So I gesture for him to turn round. He gives me a confused look, so I repeat the gesture, jabbing my finger in his direction then pointing it downwards and moving it in a circular motion.

I throw in covering my eyes at the end of it, then look at him without moving until comprehension dawns.

He nods, then rather than turning round, he gets up, walking back towards the cave.

I watch him all the way inside it, wait for him to reemerge, but he doesn’t.

Every time I expect him to behave a certain way, he does the opposite.

Every time he’s had the chance to take advantage, he hasn’t.

I think of how much I wanted to lean into the dream, but couldn’t allow myself out of fear it was a sign I was going mad.

I’m not going mad, and this is real, and Anghar has been nothing but consistent in his behaviour. Kind, considerate, gentle.

And I’m starting to think that, just maybe, madness now would be not leaning in. Not taking a chance. My heart flutters. Do I want him to touch me?

Yes. Yes, I do.

And not just as a distraction, or to make me forget. Because he’s Anghar.

Because he’s mine. Because I’m his. We were chosen for each other.

I always thought of belonging to someone as being a loss - a loss of self, of autonomy. Two things bottom tier girls have very little of. With Anghar, I belong to him, but he belongs to me right back. And I already know what he’s prepared to give, to sacrifice for me.

My heart beats a little harder, the ache between my thighs starting up again. I turn back to the pot, scooping some of the goo out and slapping it on to my arms.

Get clean first, get redressed. Then I can think about whether or not I’m ready to scratch the itch that’s been building inside me ever since I first saw him.