The Rapture

SIX

PEARL

It was the next day. At least, that's what I thought it was—I was not sure. There was no way of keeping track of time. No clock. Nobody in my room to withstand the ferocity of my frantic need to ask.

Lucky me.

The fever broke long ago. I could not sleep. I sat in the center of the bed, staring up at the white ceiling. I had already tried to open the door to venture out of the room, but it was locked. Maybe they didn't want me roaming around the vessel and finding things that scared the human shit out of me.

Smart aliens.

My nose burned from the smell of antiseptic. The sheets were even worse; they smelled like bleach. On the bedside table to my right was a lamp illuminating the room with a muted, silver light.

I had turned it on a few hours ago when the darkness was too oppressive. In the far top corner of the room, a small glowing orb sat, twinkling, attached to nothing. A camera of some sort? How did it just float like that?

"Can... can the guy with the white hair come back?" I asked the glowing orb. "I never went to sleep, so..."

Probably a dumb move on my part to ask. The guy was too tense around me, and it was clear he liked me little. Any further interaction with him would probably push it, but he was... interesting.

Was the fact that I found him interesting bad?

Even though he could probably kill me with a twitch of a finger if he wanted, I was the person who charged at danger with a wicked smile.

He had said he would return when I was awake, but I was getting lonely and he was taking too long. Spending too long in the dark with my mind doing nothing was killing me. What was Lare going to be like? How expansive were their collections of texts? Would they at least feed me regularly there, or what?

And most of all, would I be... alone?

My stomach twisted at the thought, but it wasn't from nausea.

I wanted to learn more about this frustrating, cold, brick wall of alien. There had to be more to him than just curtness and sinfully good looks.

Just when I was about to groan out of frustration, the door opened. I picked at the dry skin on my knuckles as he came inside, a rush of embarrassment heating my cheeks at the memory of that dumb fever dream.

Damn, that stupid dream.

"Hey look, it's my chaperone," I said, and looked up when he didn't respond right away.

"Are you hungry?" was the question I got, which surprised me. He was wearing white today, looking fresh and crisp, with the fabric of his undershirt fitting like a second skin. He was wearing the same jacket as yesterday, it seemed.

His attire was just as monotonous as his temperament. The only thing that stood out was the color of his eyes; vibrant, intense, and quietly observing as always.

I clenched my jaw. My stomach was empty, but I had no appetite. After so long being sick, it wasn't surprising that I couldn't stand the thought of food. "No."

"Are you thirsty?"

"Yes," I blurted.

He left, some kind of door shutting from the top down behind him. It made no noise. Weird. When he returned, he offered what appeared to be a glass of water. Condensation beaded on the outside of the glass and my parched throat practically spasmed.