Citrine (Deliverance #3)

16. Eli

16

Eli

I can barely feel my body as I wake up, hazy and hungry. A throbbing headache follows my slow return to consciousness, making me want to go right back to being unconscious. My mind flickers between confusion and awareness, but I know I shouldn't go back to sleep.

Someone's watching me. Closely, not too far away. Probably him.

My eyes snap open when the sound of a stick breaking pierces my consciousness. Just a few steps away from me is the giant octo-man staring at me unflinchingly. A strangled scream escapes my throat, and he finally moves, his tentacles driving him backwards.

My scrambling movement does nothing good for my throbbing headache and it feels like my skull is about to split in two. However, this is my chance.

"Wait!" I call despite myself.

He pauses and looks at me with his usual annoyance. At least that is what I think I read from him. He stands frozen in the same spot, the annoyance on his face shifting to accusation. I blink my eyes open, keeping my gaze on him.

"You stole my voice. Why?" he accuses again.

"If I knew the answer to that, buddy, I wouldn't be in this position, now would I?" I reply dryly but he doesn't look amused.

I decide to try again. He thinks I'm prey, yes, but I need to understand what's going on. I've never spoken this language before. I can't even call it a language since it's just mostly whale-like noises and dolphin-like clicks.

Talking is my life-blood, though so I'll take any form of communication I can and I want to know more.

"I don't know why I can speak your language, either. Something strange is happening to my body. This is not how I usually am."

I can't tell his facial expressions accurately, but I know I caught his attention. He growls at me lowly and I look down at his feet… tentacles. They're squirming on the grass, the force of his weight crushing the blades flat.

I have to crane my head up to look at him as he is quite tall, though judging by the way he has his tentacles arranged, he is using them to push himself into a more threatening position. Not that he needed help to look freaking scary as hell.

I keep my observations to myself and continue to communicate with him.

"Look, this isn't my home planet. I don't know where I am or how I got here. I'm healing faster than I normally would and my hair… it's different. My body has been altered."

His gaze briefly dwells on my hair before it moves down to my face, still silent. Somehow, I feel like I'm being judged by him. It doesn't feel nice to be judged by an alien, any more than all the looks I used to get when I was on the street.

As if I would have chosen that for myself, just like I didn't choose this.

"Do you know where we are? Is this your home?"

"No."

His tone is bitingly cold, which seems like a feat since he is clicking and singing. When I make similar clicks they don't sound quite so… violent.

Still, I'm grateful he even bothers to respond. He could just as well reach out to snap my neck, but he's staying in the same spot. Is it even a he? I just assumed. With that aggressive attitude and possessiveness, as well as the deep voice, I'm sure about it.

I don't like making assumptions about gender, but something tells me he won't answer me if I ask, and he will probably get angry that I want him to reveal anything about himself.

"Thank you for saving me last night . "

He cocks his head at me, and I realize thanking him didn't translate. Yet again.

Try as I might, I can't convey the words to him. I let out a long string of synonyms, then move on to Spanish, but none of them come out as clicks or song.

What kind of language doesn't have a word for gratitude?

Everything about him is just so weird. Those shark-like eyes seem to stare into my very soul, impatiently waiting for me to cease this conversation.

"I didn't mean to save you," he responds.

That shocks me, leaving me unable to respond. What does he mean by that? I saw him snap that crocodile-like creature in half with my own eyes. Was it because he was initially hunting the creature and saving me as a snack?

Is that why he propped me up on the rock I broke my arm falling off? Did he expect me not to get down from there and to wait for my death?

"So, why did you?" I manage to ask.

"I don't know why. You did something to me."

"I'm not capable of anything like that."

"I know you did," he growls. "Stop lying, female."

"I'm not lying," I say, fighting the urge to scream out in frustration.

He looks more frustrated than me, though. "I would have preferred to eat you than keep you alive."

I know what he's saying, but the implication of his words sends a shiver down my spine and a lingering warmth between my thighs. Although the feeling isn't unfamiliar, it's confusing.

How logical is it to be aroused when a terrifying and frankly rude creature tells me he's going to eat me? It's not, but every single time I see him it surges again.

It's sick.

"Something is really wrong with my body. My body is… excited, even though my brain thinks differently about you."

He understands the meaning of my words and snorts.

"You have such a weak body. It is no wonder you can't control it."

Those are his parting words as he departs from the grassland. His tentacles leave a trace in the grass, the proof for my questionably conscious mind he was truly there, and this interaction was not a figment of my imagination.

"?Que te folle un pez!" I yell after him as he leaves.

I wince almost immediately, feeling my head recoil from my headache.

As I hear the crashing noises of his movement stop and a splash as he enters the water, I remember what the direct translation of that was.

I hope you get fucked by a fish , I recite in my head.

Absolutely perfect, if I say so myself, although I can see my padre's look of censure for being so crude.

If anything deserves crudeness, it's this situation. And this infuriating person.

If my arm wasn't throbbing, I would appreciate a good belly laugh.

I don't have the luxury.

I'm not used to swearing at somebody or telling them off. In fact, I don't think I've ever cursed someone out before. It feels strange to my tongue, like burning coal rolling off it the more I push the words out.

However, I feel a strange kind of relief.

As a service worker, bowing my head and swearing under my breath just fit me more, but this is a new world.

Maybe it's time for a new Eli.

Still, it takes several long minutes to push aside the anxiety of being rude to him to the back of my mind so I can focus on more important things. I rotate my ankle again and find that it healed fully through the night.

After shakily rising, I realize I can walk properly, and my leg no longer even hurts.

I still don't know how I'm healing so fast, but my arm still sends spikes of pain if I try to use it. Whatever it is, it should get to my broken arm soon. Judging by the angle it's at, it would probably not be a great thing if it was healed right now.

I look around, searching for what to use as a cast to set my arm or it'll heal crooked.

Using the enormous tree as leverage, I steady myself, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through my arm. My eyes scan the area and lands on foliage thick with fallen branches, vines, and sticks.

I move toward it, thinking of how I would make my cast. I sift through it, pulling out a branch to make a splint and a vine to wrap my arm, and some sticks to support it so my arm will heal properly.

It'll take some work and imagination, but I will make it work.