Abducted | Book 1 | Vreekar

nine |

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"That's what it feels like when you touch me. Like millions of tiny universes being born and then dying in the space between your finger and my skin. Sometimes I forget."

― Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You

Vree had left some time last night, or early in the morning. After showering, I paced around in my room, wearing the long skirt and tank top, the towel hanging from my shoulders as my hair air dried. 

I felt anxious, but I presumed it was normal considering I'd been traded in by my government, and forced to live with aliens and make babies. 

I had been stuttering around in my thoughts all morning. 

Even though I told Vree I'd accept our circumstances, I completely let my emotions and fear get the best of me when I spoke passive aggressively to him the other day. Right after making up with him.

Way to go Naomi. 

I felt guilty, but more so I was worried he was mad at me. I had gone to sleep quickly after being taken back to Vree's place, and I felt well rested, but I also must have skipped dinner.

A knock on the door of my room broke my train of thought, and I looked to the door, "Come in?" It sounded more like a question than a command. 

Vree stepped in, clad in his all black getup, eye-patch, and unamused face. 

The only different thing was he held a large cardboard box in both hands.

Is he kicking me out? "Pack up Naomi, and go breed with another male. I've had it with you and your mood swings."

I wrung my fingers together. 

I spoke first, "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't be immature about our situation and I let my feelings get the best of me and I acted out yesterday- I- I didn't mean to be so passive aggressive. It's just hard to normalize this whole thing about creating babies and then separating and I can't get my mind and my emotions to work together on this. And - I'm sorry. I'm rambling again. I just- sorry." I sighed, and sat down at the end of my bed.

He shifted his grip on the box a bit and stepped inside. His face was stony but something about his presence told me he was hesitant to speak. 

He looked at me with his good eye, his voice a deep uncertain rumble, "I acknowledge the difficulty that comes with getting accustomed to what must do, and I do not blame you." He paused, shifting the box again, "I also see you have been sleeping a lot." He stated, then continued, "I am aware that when someone is emotionally unstable they sleep often or little."

 His gaze flickered away from mine as if guilty, then back again, "I too, . . . apologize." He paused again as if apologizing was choking him, "Though I stated my dislike for our situation, I have been trusted with the responsibility to care for you, and I have not been doing that." 

I looked up at him with hope. 

"Additionally, It was not my intention to worry you yesterday." He finished. 

I let out a big breath, and suddenly it felt easier to breathe. Like a knot in my chest was undone. 

I gave him a small smile, "Okay." 

That wasn't so hard. I stared at the ground and thought about his words. He's paying attention to me. He notices how I sleep and when I don't. And he feels guilty.