Fields of gold

Fright

"Did he cause any trouble ?", Myriam asked, concerned for her friend.

Eleanor shook her head, tongue-tied. Myriam probably wondered if her forceful push to abduct the man was a mistake. Instincts screamed at her to save herself. Perhaps she could just climb in the car and never return to the cottage ? Survival instinct dictated that she put as much distance as possible between her and the alien.

Another part of her outright refused to leave him alone, and confused by this new world. Reason and compassion warred in her chest, and it tightened in response.

"Come on, Ella," Myriam smiled mischievously. "You could do with a man in your life."

Eleanor's jaw dropped open at the absurdity of the concept. "Are you seriously trying to set me up ?"

With an alien ?

The idea was so preposterous that she almost choked.

"Look, the guy is so fucking beautiful he could own any runway. And you're the only one to understand him. And I bet he's about your age."

How far into surrealism could her existence descend in ? To discuss a potential match with an alien adamant to return to his birth place?

"Don't dream," she snapped. "As soon as he is healed he'll return to his family."

"Have you found it ?" Myriam asked, curious to learn more about the mysterious patient.

"Not yet."

A wide smile split Myriam's face and she nicked Eleanor on the shoulder.

"Then take advantage of your time with mister gorgeous here. He's not fit for sex yet, but at the rate he is healing..."

Right. He's an alien. A frigging alien !

"Please stop, Myriam."

"You prude."

But the screams that resonated in her head never made it to her lips, and Myriam climbed in her diminutive car and waved goodbye. Eleanor's heart missed a beat when the blue Vauxhall picked up speed, feeling like she'd just missed her cue to survive. Perhaps, if she ran fast enough .... ? But her feet were glued to the ground of her cottage.

With a sigh, Eleanor watched her friend's car disappear downhill with apprehension. A few feet away, a lonely alien, golden mane shining in the sunrays, sat upon her sofa. Ever since she'd discovered he came from another world, he had not made a move towards her. Could it be than the movies were wrong ? That all those that came from outer space were not evil ?

With a sigh, the young woman gathered her courage and retreated in the house.

"Laurëfindelë," she called, voice strained.

His head snapped up, gaze guarded, hand twined upon his knees. Just a nod, to indicate he'd heard her. Fighting the instinct to flee, Eleanor perched upon the sofa's armrest, far enough to be able to spring backwards.

"What do you want ?" she asked, her voice hesitant.

He watched her, brow furrowed, as if he struggled to understand her words.

"Why are you here ?", she insisted.

"I do not want here," he said slowly, his musical voice deadened. Then his gaze deviated to the side, and got lost in the luxurious nature. "I go home."

He sounded so wistful.

"Will you hurt me ? Hurt... humans ?"

He shook his golden head, wavy strands dancing in the light.

"No. I no hurt. Eleanor-va meldië. I friend."

His gaze conveyed such an earnest light that she swallowed. Before she could truly quell the fear away, she needed to crush her overactive imagination.

"Are you real ? Is this your real form ?"

He frowned; of course, none of what she said made sense.

"Can you transform into something different ? Is this a disguise ?"

Still no luck. He might have picked up a few words, but they failed at forming a concept. Roaming her brain, she tried another approach.

"Are you a mask ? An illusion ?"

This time, he seemed to understand what she meant; thank God his ability to learn was superior to hers.

"No hiding. I am... me."

Eleanor snorted; just him was overwhelming enough without the fear to find something, otherworldly, lounging upon her sofa. When his hand brushed hers, warm fingers enclosing around her own, the young woman felt her heart settle. There was such peace in his touch, such warmth; a genuine caress of skin upon skin.

If it was a spell, she'd eagerly drown in it.

"What... fear ?" his lilting voice asked. "No danger. No Raxë."

Well, man, when you watch Alien you tell me.

Time for the deep plunge then. Eleanor took a deep, cleansing breath and caught his eyes.

"Can I... trust you ?"

Blue eyes flickered with hope, and he nodded at once. This time, there was no hesitation with words when he responded.

"Yes. And I trust you."

For a long, painful moment, Eleanor considered their entwined hands, and what it meant to choose the path she was about to take. After all, her mother was crazy; who said she wasn't walking the same line ? Who cared, really ? She had no lover, no children, only a few friends. The only one in danger was her. With a long exhale, she eventually nodded and stood.

"Alright. Welcome to my home, Laurëfindelë."

The gentle alien inclined his head in thanks, and she couldn't help but notice how his shoulders slumped in relief. Whoever that person was, the purity of his heart entranced her. And so, Eleanor stood and disappeared in the little office of the cottage. If they were to cohabit, she needed to get a room for herself. As she pushed and prodded her furniture, the sound of breakfast being cleaned reached her; Eleanor smiled. She would grant him that little task, provided he did not pull too hard on his healing muscles.

Many, many boxes of books and clutter later, she could at last unroll the futon on the floor of her office. Then, she picked her favourite items from the closet, arranging them in between thesis, another set of books, and her computer. This would have to do.

"Laurëfindelë sleep here."

Eleanor jumped in fright; how the heck was he so silent ? Her heart drumming, she narrowed her eyes at him; he lifted his hands sheepishly, asking forgiveness with a slight smile. The young woman sighed; with his angelic face, she was bound to lose any further argument. But not this one.

"No. You need to heal."

She would explain, much later, how the futon was traditional in Japan, and not so good when mending broken bones and scorched skin. And with his height, he might not even fit in ayway. The gentle alien frowned slightly, but nodded his assent. Whether because his lack of vocabulary, or because he accepted her logic remained to be seen.

For the moment, she would bask in the pride of reaching a tentative equilibrium. Whatever would come next could wait.

Ella, the alien tamer.