Page 4 of Saved By My Alien Husband

3

DELPHINE

Six Days Left On Earth

I sat with my mandatory therapist, Dr. Selvill, for our monthly appointment. She held the results that would dictate the rest of my life in her hands as if they were simply a list of the characteristics she could see before her. In the years I've attended sessions, she has only ever had a look of calm neutrality, disinterest, or pinched judgment. There wasn't much in between.

Her room matched that. Lifeless. The space was gray, except for eggplant purple accents. Purple paired with other colors was fantastic, but with dingy gray? Not attractive. The drab colors seemed to suck the vibrancy out of her office. There was one lone painting on the wall, a painting of melting clocks on an empty beach. People said that this painting symbolized our goal—saving humanity before time ran out.

It was called the Persistence of Memory, and I'm sure it had a different meaning when Salvador Dalí created it. I wondered what he would think if he knew it became a symbol of Earth's extinction.

Artists wanted to be remembered, right? I hoped he was happy, wherever he was, knowing that his art was important to the last of his kind. Or maybe the irony would have disgusted him, you never know with artists.

Dr. Selvill tapped the corner of her tablet and looked up, waiting for me to speak.

We stared at each other, unblinking, for many seconds too long, the silence stretching between us.

It was awkward now, or a staring contest . I liked the latter.

My knees bounced uncontrollably, and I tucked them under me to stop the shake, adding my hands between my legs for good measure. That should stop the bouncing.

She tracked the movement and I knew it was because she hated that my shoes were now rubbing against her couch. She didn't care about my signs of discomfort. Why was I so nervous when I knew what it was going to say? If I’m about to be in charge of cleaning the building, who cares if I scuffed the furniture? I’ll deal with my dirty feet later.

“Do you want me to read the results to you now, or talk about how it feels to be in this moment first?” she asked me, hands poised over the tablet to record useless notes. She looked down, blinking and seeming to flip a page on my records, breaking eye contact first.

Dr. Sevill gave up on our staring contest. Bummer. I expected more of a fight.

I'd love to get a hand on those notes and see what she had to say about me over the years, and what she thought of Haven.

“It’s going to say server, there is nothing to really discuss,” I said. My voice came out flat, resigned. The sweat on the back of my neck clung to my hair in the most uncomfortable way, but I was currently sitting on my hands and unwilling to push it back.

“Why do you say that?” she had the audacity to ask me. There was no change in her tone, it was as level as the slicked back white hair and bun she always sported. Not a bump out of place. Her expression remained infuriatingly bland, that same clinical detachment I'd grown accustomed to over the years.

Scoffing, I said, “I’m not smart enough to be a savior. Not popular enough either.” The words tasted bitter as they left my tongue.

People liked to pretend that being popular didn't matter in a supposedly standardized test, but it did. You just noticed the patterns after a while.

“What gives you that impression?” Her fingers glided across the tablet to record my apathy. Again, I had to see those notes.

There was no need to drag it on. “Can you stop asking me questions you know the answer to? You’ve known me for over a decade. I don’t need to explain this to you. Rip the Band-Aid off, read it to me, and then I’ll go on my way for my last day of freedom before I start work assignments tomorrow.”

I had enough on my mind, anyway.

Was Haven gone forever? I took a nap this morning and actually had a dream. I couldn't remember the last time that happened. Haven was supposed to be there. He was always there. Was it really over? Swallowing the lump in my throat, I pulled out my hands from my legs and unfurled myself. I can't hide from this. I knew it had to end, eventually.

“As you wish, Delphine.” She sounded resigned. Who the hell knows why, but I didn’t have the energy to care. She closed her personal notes file with a few taps and went to my main chart, selecting what must be the section that shared my results.

Dr. Sevill read the words that I knew would be there.

“Delphine Lastley has been chosen for the server class.”

The air conditioning clicked on, a gentle breeze filling the air. My arms pebbled in goose bumps.

When I heard the results, I felt nothing. No anger. No sadness. Just numbness. This is what I always knew would happen, and I didn't have the energy to act disappointed when it wasn't a surprise.

“Do you know where to report tomorrow to get your assignment?” Dr. Selvill asked. She put down the tablet and folded her hands on her desk, staring at me with not even a flicker of feeling in her eyes. No transition, no checking in on my thoughts, no words of encouragement. She just moved on.

A slow realization coursed through me.

“You have never cared about me, have you?” I asked, standing from my seat. Sure, I figured she thought I was annoying, but when did she decide I wasn't worth caring for? How long has my pathetic life been just a task to her? There were only ten therapists in North America. While there weren't many people left in our domes, not enough that we'd stop worrying about birth rates, there were enough of us that those elite ten were always busy.

I hadn't realized I was just a number to her, too. Was she more animated with her other clients? I thought all her patients had this version of her, but maybe not. Maybe those she thought of as saviors had it better.

“What do you mean? I care about all the youths I am tasked to counsel,” she said with that even tone of hers. It rarely ever rose more than one or two octaves.

“Right, I’m an assignment someone tasked you with. Nothing more. I’m someone you judged long ago and were obligated to help,” I said, picking up my bag and walking out of the room.

Typical savior versus server self-righteousness. She was ready to do the minimum for me. Her cold professionalism was just another layer of the rigid caste system that governed our lives. Before she could open her mouth, I slammed the door shut behind me. It echoed in the hall with a satisfying clamor. It's not like she could refuse seeing me, but maybe I could transfer to one of the other therapists before my next session.

I hadn't cared that she wasn't warm or loving. No one in my life was like that, but I hoped I was more than a number. I had resigned myself to a lack of affection a long time ago, but I naively thought the one person I've been talking to monthly for more than a decade cared about my well-being in at least a roundabout way.

Haven was the only one that treated me like a person. Even Daryl, who fucked me every night, would simply move on to someone else when he got a new assignment. Michael, the leader of our dome, didn’t like me either and made that clear since I was a kid. Alexandra stopped talking to me after she changed dorms. And my parents? Well, they were clear I was nothing but a byproduct of themselves.

I was alone, like always.

Jaw clenched, I walked away from Dr. Selvill's office, hurt roiling inside me. Stalking along the corridor and out of the building, I sped to the atrium. Being in manufactured nature would likely cheer me up, right? At the very least, it would be less sterile.

It was one of the few places where the hazy film of the dome was lessened so more sunlight could come through. Of course, they had the UV filters on to shield the parts of the sun that were no longer friendly for humans, but seeing outside was actually possible. Going outside wasn’t advisable, when the sun bands weren’t predictable. Our entrances were mainly for those that had to move back and forth from the farming dome or special jobs. I have never left.

There wasn't much to see out there. It was mostly desert and twisted trees, some dangerous mutated animals, but I felt like there was something out there for me, somehow.

The atrium focused primarily on plants we could eat, but also some that helped increase happiness levels, according to our savior scientists. Gardening was a server class task, but determining the layout of the plants and what to cultivate were chosen by the saviors.

There was apparently a weird mountain that had a ton of seeds in it, prepped over hundreds of years for the doomsday scenario we were in now. One of the early apocalypse preparers stormed in with guns and took as many as they could get their hands on. That paranoid early alarm-sounder became the founder here. We were lucky in that regard. I heard the other continents had to scavenge for their starter farms, which was hard to do once the earth was heading full-swing into death with sun-bands, constant tornados, and the like.

I think we named one of our buildings after that prepper. Or maybe he is the statue in dome two? I forgot.

I kicked a pebble that fell from the plant area and onto the trail. If they wanted the plants to survive, they wouldn't put me to work in the gardens.

Reaching the section of benches in the “happy plants” area, I sat down in the first available spot. Other people had the same idea, for there were a few saviors taking a break. ?Their uniforms are a lot more expensive than what I'd likely wear every day from now on. They were all smiling and laughing, seeming perfectly happy. Couldn't they leave so I could soak up all the supposed happiness these plants would bring?

I leaned my head back, closing my eyes, face lifted to what little of the sun could shine through the dome. In the warmth, it felt peaceful. There were pleasant scents all around me, some kind of citrus, that I could admit added to the experience.

Staring into the distance for ten minutes, I tried to gather what I truly felt.

In the spirit of honesty, I admitted to myself that it wasn't my results that bothered me, or Dr. Selvill's lack of care. Sure, it hurt that so few people gave a shit about me, but it wasn't what tore at me. It was Haven. If I napped right now, would he not be there? Would I be alone again, like I was before the strange cat-alien-man of my dreams came into my life?

A rumble vibrated the bench and my eyes snapped open, seeing dust hit the dome as if in a sudden sandstorm.

“What is that?” one savior asked.

Something about their tone made me pause. Sitting up, I looked at the group and saw them pointing up at a different point in the sky. Following their gazes, I saw it, an enormous black ship descending from above, blotting out the filtered light.

“That's a ship!” someone yelled.

“No, that’s impossible. Right?” another savior exclaimed, voice trembling with fear.

Could it be? Was it real? My heart pounded in my chest as realization washed over me.

I jumped up from the bench and ran to where I knew the walkway would curve toward the dome's edge so I could get a closer look. The mysterious object was sphere-like, pitch black, shiny, and massive, too rich and sophisticated for our apocalyptic life. It had a middle outward ring, as if it were an oval divided by a plate.

Alarms sounded and an announcement came through the community speakers. It crackled as it gave me a dose of hope I hadn't dared give myself in years.

“Attention all citizens. This is an emergency broadcast. This is not a drill. An unidentified spacecraft has been spotted close to the perimeter of the dome. Go to your assigned bunker and await further instructions.” The robotic message repeated on a loop, but it was drowned out by the screams of saviors and servers running, doors opening as figures streamed out.

They rushed past me, a herd of fear, some narrowly avoiding a collision with each other and me. Debris kicked up by their stampeding stung my face. I jumped into the bushes, keeping away from the fray, and waited.

Palms sweaty, I stared up into that black sphere in the sky as it continued its controlled descent. Hope was a desperate thing in me; I had never let it soar as boldly as it did in this moment. A prickle of moisture formed behind my eyes.

“Soon, princess. I’ll be there soon.” His deep voice reverberated in my mind, reminding me that he was working to keep his promises this whole time.

He's here now.

“Haven,” I whispered. “You were telling the truth.”

When a gardener spotted me a few minutes later, he ran up with wild eyes. “Come with me. We have to hide.” He grabbed my arm and tugged me behind him.

“No,” I screamed, wrenching my arm away. “Touch me again and I'll gut you,” I snarled at the well-meaning man, the perfect rendition of the savage my therapist likely thought I was.

“Suit yourself,” he said, running back up the path, not willing to risk his life for a raving woman like me. It surprised me that he didn't add bitch to the end.

Turning in the opposite direction, I thought through what would be the easiest way to exit and meet the ship. I had to meet Haven, and I had to do it fast.

If our protectors got to him first, I didn't know what they would do.