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Mm…
Something glides over my bottom lip. My chin. My Adam's apple. The entire length of my collarbone.
What—? Are those—?
Fingers. Those are definitely fingers.
A pair of them.
And they feel good. So good. Pleasant tingles follow their slooooow path down my—oh, wow!—naked chest.
Wait! When did that happen!? How did I lose my clothes?
My breath hitches. My heart pounds. I want so badly to open my eyes.
Why can’t I open my eyes?
As I start to wriggle over something soft—a bed?— a musical chuckle tickles my ear. I get the distinct impression I’m the butt of some private joke. Not that I have the ability to feel miffed about it for very long. Fingertips brush against my oddly sensitive nipples, forcing a gasp out of my lungs—and the last coherent thought out of my brain.
Whoa!
I don’t know if I want to push this mystery hand off me or guide it somewhere more fun. Either way, it’s a moot point. My wrists are bound above my head with what seems like a…
Chain?
Oh…
It must be the xenonite chain.
Right. Of course. That makes sense.
Maybe. I don’t know. Nothing sticks to my prefrontal cortex. All my brainpower is being used to process the sudden throbbing sensation in my nether regions.
The stranger moves on to my ribs, my abs. Wow! Yeah! Okay! I’m now positive a more exciting touch is in my future. All I have to do is calm down, stay put, and be a good boy.
If that’s what I really want.
Those ghost fingers reach the sensitive skin below my belly button and—oh, God! Yup! That’s definitely what I want, alright.
My penis—no, no, my rock-hard cock twitches in time with my heartbeat. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. But just when I think a pair of lovely hands will start relieving that intense, overwhelming ache between my legs, they settle on my hips.
And refuse to move from there!
A whine explodes from my throat. I’ve never been this—What? Confused? Frustrated?—turned on in my entire life! My pelvis bucks in desperation. I need to… I need to…
I need to fuck into something. Something warm and tight. Like a strong grip. Or a skilled mouth. Or a wet, contracting orifice.
Something!
“Rocky, please—”
I jolt awake, my right shoulder thrashing against…
My cot?
Air rushes into my nose. My eyes blink rapidly.
Oh, boy. It takes a second, but my brain eventually recalibrates. I’m in the crew dormitory and not…
Certain parts of my dream suddenly sharpen into excruciatingly crystal-clear focus.
What—!?
What was that?
I’ve had some wild… let’s say, “nocturnal emissions” since coming out of my coma—likely the consequence of a stressed brain—but this one takes the cake.
“You awake, question?” Rocky asks from his makeshift “bedroom”.
I don’t need to peek over my shoulder to know he hasn’t been a slouch while I slept. No doubt still plugging away at the chain we’ve been working on for the past week—and counting.
Okay, my dream is starting to make a lot more sense now.
“Yup,” I yawn, sitting up. The heels of my palms rub my eyes. “I’m up. I’m up.”
“Good, good,” Rocky says. “Eat now. Then lazy human can help with chain.”
I drop my hands and turn my head. Sure enough, Rocky’s expert fingers add link after link after link to our “little” project. All without the slightest hint of a pause.
I’m struck by how precise—almost elegant—his movements are. Again.
I seem to constantly be impressed by Rocky’s finesse. Meanwhile, my clumsy paws have to fumble for the glasses stashed away in my bunk’s side alcove.
I practically toss those suckers onto my face while another yawn whooshes out of me. Ew, the corners of my dry mouth feel wet and sticky. I wipe them with my fingers. Yup, I’d been open-mouth drooling in my sleep.
That’s the thing I focus on. And not the raging hard-on trapped in my flight suit.
I’m not much of a singer. Heck, I don’t have a musical bone in my body. But despite all that, I’m on the lab floor—chaining yet another buttload of links together—mouthing along to the song streaming through my headphones.
Jamming out’s been the only thing keeping me from going crazy these last eight days. And you know what? It’s pretty easy to set aside years' worth of insecurities under those circumstances.
Normally, I’d play my music out loud. Rocky seems fascinated by Earth tunes, even if he doesn’t get them half the time. But after my imagination’s little escapades last night, I need some space. In whatever way I can get it. That means making good use of Stratt’s “don’t tick off your crewmates with your weird tastes” defensive measure.
Rocky hasn’t questioned me on it yet, thank God. That’d be hard to explain. Hey, buddy! Sorry, I’m avoiding you. Just a little weirded out by the sex dream I had of us last night. Don’t worry, I’ll snap out of it soon!
Yeah, that’d go over well.
Anyway, I’m guessing Rocky senses my need for alone time. Especially after my excessive “sponging off” this morn—
I freeze.
Oh no.
Rocky’s impressive echolocation means there’s no such thing as “privacy” aboard the Hail Mary. If he felt the need to check up on me this morning, nothing could have stopped his sonar from picking up my—
Crud!
Is that why Rocky hasn’t been talking to me? Is he feeling awkward?
No. No way. First and foremost, Rocky’s a scientist. Or, well, scientifically minded. He wouldn’t be mortified by something like that. He’d be fascinated! So, if anything, he’s probably reacting to my obvious discomfort. Yeah, he can be a bit pushy in his pursuit to study… well, me—but he’s never been downright inconsiderate.
I shake my head and start chaining links again. Chain, chain, chain.
Yeah, Rocky’ll just wait until I’ve stopped sulking to spring any questions on me. Assuming he overheard my “me time” in the first place.
Ugh! I don’t want to think about that. And because I don’t want to think about that, it’s all I can think about.
Stupid brain.
“Shouldn’t be so complicated,” I mumble-sing instead of thinking more thoughts. “Just hold me and then—”
What he did was wicked in the Lord’s sight; so the Lord put him to death also.
My hands stop a second time.
Where had that come from? And why do I know it’s from the Old Testament? Why am I suddenly quoting it to myself? In this context?
Better yet, why does it hit me like a punch to the gut?
Huh.
Maybe I am religious. At least slightly. It’d explain my sudden panic over doing something morally meaningless.
And it really was meaningless! I was relieving myself! That’s all! My only goal was to move on with my day. Going “to town” was the fastest way to achieve that. Sue me, God!
Ugh.
I scrub a hand down my face.
This is one self-discovery rabbit hole I don’t need to go down. Not days before doing something so dangerous it could send me straight to the “big man” Himself.
“Can you help me? I’m bent,” I sing a little louder, picking my task back up. “I’m so scared that I’ll never get put back together. Keep breaking me in. And this is how we will end. With you and me, bent.”
It helps, I think. My brain is more focused on Rob Thomas’s crooning than “being put to death”.
With you and me, bent.
Hm, that’s an interesting lyric. It kind of reminds me of myself and Rocky; we’re just two broken individuals, fitting our ugly pieces together until they fit.
Then again, a lot of things remind me of Rocky nowadays.
For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world.
Ha! Joke’s on you, weird preacher voice inside my own head! I didn’t lust with my flesh or my eyes! I didn’t have a thought in my head as I did my business. Ergo, I did nothing wrong. So there!
A strange sort of relief comes over me at the realization. At the same time, my music player ticks to the next song on my playlist. A familiar progression of guitar chords hits my ears, and I grin.
“And even though the moment passed me by, I still can't turn away. 'Cause all the dreams you never thought you'd lose, got tossed along the way.”
Of all the dreams I’d toss, this last one definitely makes it to the top of my list. Followed by the one I had about Principal Whittier. That one still gives me the heebie-jeebies all these years later.
Man, it’s funny how I remember that! And not—
Blessed is the man who endures temptation; for when he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him.
What temptation, Father Ryland!? It was only a weird dream! Something totally outside of my control. I’d never willingly think of a colleague like that. It’s my subconscious who’s the weird pervert around here, not me. (See: The Principal Whittier Dream. Eugh!)
I don't understand. Why am I torturing myself now? Is it because I’m bored? Am I looking for something to stress out about? Or some outlet to direct the pent-up adrenaline in my system?
A muffled tapping breaks through my song—and my train of thought.
Tap-tap-tap.
What—?
Tap-tap-tap.
Oh!
I pull my headphones down around my neck and turn my attention toward the sound.
Rocky, once again, taps a single finger against the xenonite partition separating our workspaces.
“Grace okay, question?”
Rocky’s other hands are no longer working on his part of the chain. His entire carapace is tilted in my direction, his focus solely on me.
It’s kind of sweet. Rocky can handle several complex tasks at once. But for me? He pauses everything. Something about that makes my stomach swoop and my heart… skip… a…
Beat.
I think about you all the time
But I don't need the same
It's lonely where you are, come back down
And I won't tell 'em your name
John Rzeznik’s voice feels like a noose around my throat.
Oh, fudge.
No, no, no, this—I can’t—it’s not—
“Grace?” Tap-tap-tap. “Everything okay, question?”
Rocky’s attentiveness—and my chest’s reaction to it—only makes my rising horror worse.
I set aside my end of the chain.
"Yeah, buddy,” My voice cracks. “Everything’s—” I stop my playlist before yanking my headphones off. They clatter to the floor. “Everything’s alright. I just—sorry, I just need a second.”
I shoot up like a rocket and rush out of the lab.
Although “personal space” is pretty much non-existent on the Hail Mary, Rocky does occasionally “look away” from me. Mostly while I’m eating or…
I curtain myself off in the water closet.
My behind plops onto the zero-g toilet, and I start to hyperventilate.
Why!? Why would I do this to myself? Why would I fall in love with my very taken, very alien best friend? Is it not enough that he’s giving me a chance to live? To go home? Is it not enough that he’s helping me save my entire species? How could I ever want more?
How could I—!?
How could—!?
Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife.
Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's goods.
I cross myself without thinking.
Huh. I crossed myself.
Am I Catholic? I suppose I could also be Lutheran, but—no, that doesn’t feel right.
No, no, the more I sit on it, the more I can feel the Pope breathing over my shoulder.
Shoot. Well, that tracks.
But the guilt I’m feeling is anything but excessive. I mean, what sort of evil monster am I? Am I really the kind of person who would creep on their best friend? Who would try to wreck their home after everything they’ve done for me?
No wonder I shot myself into outer space. I had to minimize the damage I could do on Earth.
A cold sweat prickles over my forehead. I bow my head and close my eyes. My right thumb presses into my index finger.
“I believe in God the Father almighty…”
The Apostle’s Creed surges out of me. It’s more muscle memory than anything else. I certainly don’t remember the words until they spew from my mouth.
I rub my fingers together. I don’t know why. I just do. It’s important for some reason.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy Name,” I whisper. The tears start to come. “Thy Kingdom come, thy Will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread.” My throat clicks. “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
Oh, Rocky. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please.
“And lead us not into temptation,” I sob pathetically. “But deliver us from evil. Amen.”
It’s not enough. I know it's not enough.
Again, I rub my fingers together, and that’s when I realize: I’m praying with an imaginary rosary.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” The irony of that statement causes my stomach to twist. “Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.”
God, I hope that isn’t soon. If I die now, before I have a chance to help save Earth, to help save Erid, there’d be nothing keeping me from damnation. I’m looking at an eternity of hellfire and brimstone. Or, worse…
An afterlife trapped in a lake of ice. My eyes frozen shut by my own tears. Deprived of the ability to cry until the end of time.
…grief that finds a barrier in their eyes
turns inward to increase their agony…
Wow! Thanks, eleventh-grade English! I totally needed that image in my head.
In any case, Ptolemaea—the section of hell reserved for those who betray their guests—is a prison I would rightfully deserve. Unless I do something good with my life. Something that makes me worthy of Rocky's forgiveness.
“Amen."
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
The bottom of Rocky’s carapace slams into my lap with his every enthusiastic bounce on my cock. “Grace! Yes! Good. Good. Good,” he trills, high-pitched and needy. I can feel another dribble of mercury run from his ventral seam, down my shaft. It makes my already soaked thighs that much stickier—hot. “More, Grace! More!”
As always, Rocky’s wish is my command.
My hands brace around his body as I dig my heels into the mattress. Using that added leverage, I thrust my hips in time with his movements. Holy. Fucking. Shit! The wet, tight heat of his mouth is incredible. On instinct, I drive myself faster, harder, deeper inside him. I’m totally mindless, lost in the perfect sync of our bodies.
Gosh, we’re so, so good together—even in bed. Especially in bed.
One of Rocky’s hands tightens on my shoulder. Another starts to tug at my hair. Two others dig deeper into the meat of my thighs. “Give, give, give, Grace,” he warbles. “Please! Give to me.”
“Give you what, sweetheart?”
I’ll give you anything. Anything. If you just keep moving like that.
"Baby,” Rocky seems to gasp through his vents. He tightens around me. Oh, holy—! I’m close. I’m close. I’m so damn close. “Want Grace-Rocky baby.”
What!? Is that—!? Is that even possible?
Argh, I don’t care! I chase after our mutual orgasm, consequences be damned! In fact… I want… yeah, yes, yes, I want a baby with him. I want nothing more than to knock Rocky up. To give him a tiny pebble to bring home to Adrian—
Adrian.
I wake up drenched in sweat.
The quilt wrapped around my legs doesn’t do me any favors in that department. But I don’t make the effort to untangle myself. My skin’s so tight, I might actually burst open if I move.
And I am in no mood to act the part of an overcooked sausage right now.
My burned arm hurts. My chest hurts. My throat hurts. Everything hurts. All thanks to my tossing and turning and wheezing.
Gosh darn it! I hate these stupid dreams!
Something—someone—skitters behind me in the dim light of the dormitory. “Grace have nightmare, question?”
“Yeah, buddy.” I find the wherewithal to wipe my face; it’s wet. Gross. “A pretty bad one, too.”
After letting out a couple of soft trills, Rocky coos a soothing tune for me. It’s the best comfort he has to offer. Not that I’m complaining. There’s only so much he can do on the other side of a xenonite barrier. It’s not like he’s able to crawl into bed with me or anything.
Gosh, what I wouldn’t give for that to be possible…
All the same, I appreciate his gesture. Maybe a little too much. My wishful thinking starts to warp Rocky’s melody into one of my new favorite songs.
Pretty boy
Scared of the rain, by God
Tend to the row of your violets
With your eyes all over me
Watching, hoping
The wind blows slowly
So I can keep you a moment
Wouldn’t that be something?
I drift back to sleep. But only after promising myself to pray the rosary in the morning.
I sat at my desk. Dog-tired. Nauseous. Jittery as all get out.
An open textbook stared at me from underneath my lamp—mocking me. I was torn between throwing it against the wall and sobbing into my hands.
I couldn’t do this anymore! I couldn’t go on studying for my finals like my whole world hadn’t imploded the week before!
I wanted to pick up the phone and cry to my parents about their accident. About how the two people I loved most in the whole world were never, ever coming back.
And wasn’t that ironic? A bit funny, actually. Downright fucking hilarious!
Something possessed me in that moment. Maybe it was my need for an old comfort. Maybe it was the spirit of my very Catholic mother come to haunt me. Maybe it was my desire not to lose my security deposit over a hole in my wall. I had no idea. Either way, for the first time in a long, long while, I bowed my head in prayer.
“Most holy Apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus,” I muttered to the patron saint of lost and hopeless causes. A saint I stopped believing in years ago. “I place myself into your hands at this difficult time. Help me to know that I am not alone. Please pray for me, asking God to send me comfort for my sorrows, bravery for my fears, and healing for my suffering. Ask our loving God to strengthen my faith and give me the courage to accept His Will for my life. Thank you, St. Jude, for the hope you offer to all who believe in you.
Amen.”
Unfortunately, in the months since remembering I’m a lapsed Catholic, my subconscious only seems to have doubled—no, tripled down on my “renewed” faith.
I lose my pen. I pray to St. Anthony.
I check for another taumoeba jail-break. I pray to St. Albert.
I have to fix one of the screens in the “Don’t Go Crazy” room. I pray to St. Joseph.
(I think of Rocky as a potential mate. I pray the rosary.)
At night, before bed, I kneel next to my bunk and pray for so many things. I ask angels to guard the Hail Mary on its way to Erid. I ask the Virgin Mary to intercede on my behalf. I ask the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to bless and keep Rocky safe.
Rocky. Rocky. Rocky.
Everything always comes down to Rocky in the end. I’m starting to think I worship him more than I worship God.
Blasphemous as it is.
Ugh.
I hide in the bathroom. Again.
I sit on the toilet and breathe through my heart-pounding panic. Again.
I pray my imaginary rosary. Again.
I beg God to please, please, please set me right this time.
It won’t work. It never does. It’s just a matter of time before my thoughts about Rocky stray from strictly platonic.
Again.
Though I do get some relief out of my ritual. Kind of like taking painkillers for a bad burn. The sting’s still there, but it’s something I can ignore for a little while.
However…
Just like with painkillers, I’ll eventually develop a tolerance to my fanatical praying. I need to find a permanent solution for my guilt.
The knuckles of my thumbs knock against my forehead.
Think. Think. Think.
Augh! Jiminy Christmas, what more can I do? I mean, I’m not a completely vile person. I risked my life to collect taumoeba for Pete’s sake! And I spent months breeding a nitrogen-resistant version of those little bastards. For two whole solar systems, I might add!
I gave up my chance to go home to rescue Rocky from his derelict ship. I sent the beetles back to Earth with my findings—despite said planet tossing me out like week-old garbage. I helped ensure the continued survival of two sapient species. I’m allowed one little sin after all that, aren’t I?
No.
Not yet. It’s still not good enough. And I know exactly why. There’s one sin left I haven’t atoned for.
Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour
I bring my clasped hands to my mouth and exhale shakily.
Rocky keeps assuring me that Erid will welcome me with open arms. Hail me as a hero! I’ll be taken care of. Given a home, food, enrichment—whatever I need.
But let’s face it: I don’t deserve any of that.
Rocky’s willing to do so much for me, and I’m not even willing to be totally honest with him.
And it’s not like there haven’t been ample opportunities to confess my feelings. Conducting lab experiments, repairing the Hail Mary, hanging out in the “Don’t Go Crazy” room. I just… couldn’t bring myself to face Rocky’s rejection.
Because not only am I a freak, I’m a coward, too. Stratt was right on the money with that one.
Ugh! I should tell Rocky about how I feel. Before he’s unknowingly trapped on a planet with a total creepizoid like me. That would be the right thing to do.
Besides, I can’t keep living like this. Half-starved. Half-pained. Feeling like it’d be better if I just—
Whoa! Ryland Grace, you stop that right now! If I die, it won’t be by my own hand. Besides, suicide is a sin. That’d just buy me a one-way ticket to hell. No thanks!
After taking a deep breath, I get up and open the bathroom curtain. Rocky’s ball immediately rolls over to my feet.
“Grace okay, question?” Rocky nervously fiddles with one set of forefingers. (Or, what I currently perceive as forefingers.) It’s a different gesture than the one he uses when he's thinking hard about something. How do I know that? I just know. After spending enough time obsessing over a guy, you start picking up on the subtle differences between his various mannerisms. “You in defecating room a long time.”
I automatically plaster on a smile. “Yeah, everything’s fine, pal.”
No! Come on, Ryland. You can do this.
My smile drops.
“Actually,” I sigh. “We need to—”
Oh boy, my heart tries its best to leap out of my throat. I take a fistful of hair from the back of my head and tug.
“—I-I need to tell you something.”
There’s no way I’m having this discussion in the crew dormitory. Or the lab. Or the cockpit. Or the “Don’t Go Crazy” room. Or, really, anywhere I exist regularly. Not unless I want to be reminded of Rocky’s rejection every single day for the next three years. So, for the sake of my own sanity, I lead the object of my horrible, terrible, no-good affections to the area of the Hail Mary I go to the least: the cupola.
I use its bottom-most panel as a seat and hang my head in my hands.
I can do this. I can do this. I can do—
“Grace…”
“Sorry, sorry, this is just hard for me to say.”
I look up. Rocky—his ball practically crammed between my knees—is suffocatingly close.
And I’ll never get to have him like this again.
God, this was a terrible idea. What was I thinking? I’m not ready to lose this. To lose him.
Of course, it’s too late to do anything about it now. I’m already committed.
My eyes start to well up. Great. Perfect.
“And, um, before I do… say it, that is…” I blink, trying to keep my tears at bay. “I need you to know that I get it if you want to keep some distance between us from now on. I won’t be mad—”
Rocky somehow finds enough space to inch forward. “Grace. Speak. Now.” He stomps with every word.
Okay, here goes nothing.
Goodbye, Rocky. You were the best friend I ever had. I’m going to miss you so, so much.
“I think I have feelings for you.”
There I…
I did it.
I… did it.
A beat of silence passes.
Then, Rocky warbles, “Good or bad feelings, question?” He slowly brings one of his rear-facing claws down twice. Like he’s afraid to emphasize the question.
Crap! I screwed that up, didn’t I? I never considered colloquialisms! Or what they might imply!
“Good! Good feelings!” I blurt out. “Er, well, not bad, anyway. It’s not that I hate you or anything like that. It’s the opposite actually. I—”
“No understand.” Rocky retreats a little behind his forward-facing arms. “Why is good feelings bad, question?”
The lump in my throat thickens.
“Because I like you more than a friend should. I-I like you—” I stop myself. It’s time to be direct. “I love you like a mate.”
Rocky’s carapace rises. “Grace want to be Rocky’s mate, question?”
“Yeah, buddy,” I laugh—if a little hysterically. A couple more tears roll down my face. “I'm… I'm in love with you.”
Rocky trills and squeaks and makes all manner of excited noises. I’m not sure how to interpret them. For all I know, he could be laughing at me. Or he could be sounding off an Eridian war cry. I have no way of knowing.
After a few more seconds of chittering, Rocky trails off. “Confused. Why leak out eyes, question? Obvious I feel same. Love, love, love Grace! Want Grace to be mate.”
Huh!?
There’s no way I just heard that right! Rocky wants to be my mate?
I don’t want to get my hopes up. But my heart lurches up into my ribs anyway. “You do?”
“Yes!” Rocky rocks from side to side. Again. And again. And again. His two "front" claws clench with every sway, like he wants to grab onto me. “Rocky will make Grace mate! Happy, happy, happy!”
Wow! This is…
This is incredible! I never thought in a million years that Rocky would return my feelings. And I want to feel giddy about it. I do. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t consider the other person involved in all of this.
“But what about Adrian?” I mutter, wiping my eyes. “You’re not planning to break up with her for me, are you?”
Rocky stops his dance to shake his carapace. (Body language he adopted from me, by the way! And yes. I am a little smug about it.) “No. Adrian first mate. You second mate. Both equal in Eridian culture.” He presses an open hand against his ball. “Acceptable?”
I don’t even have to think about it.
“Yes, of course!” I grin. My hand mirrors his. The xenonite is so warm in my palm. “As long as you think Adrian will be okay with it, too.”
“I know Adrian. Will want to make you second mate, too.”
“Oh.”
Well, that’s a surprise. I didn’t think I’d get one mate out of this whole deal. Let alone two.
I guess I’m Eridian married now.
I should have known my days of using the water closet as a makeshift confessional weren’t over.
With a groan, I sink onto the toilet seat. My hands cover my clammy face.
Three months. I had three guilt-free months of wedded bliss. Then, all of a sudden, the nightmares started up again.
For the last ten nights, Dream-Stratt would sit me down in her office and glare at me with her beady little eyes. “Dr. Grace. You’re a coward, and you’re full of shit,” she’d hiss. “You say you love Rocky, that he is your spouse. So, why haven’t you told him the whole truth? Why haven’t you told him that you weren’t willing to sacrifice your life for those of billions? That you weren’t willing to sacrifice your life for him?” After an awkward eternity of silence, she’d lean forward and add, “Does he know that I was the one who saved his life? That if it weren’t for me forcing you onto the Hail Mary, he would be dead right now?”
I slap my knees and growl.
Yes, actually! I told him everything! And you know what? I had to stop him from turning the Hail Mary around so he could give you a piece of his mind.
Except…
I rub the tops of my thighs as I rack my brain.
Maybe Rocky doesn’t fully understand. Maybe I think I’ve told him everything, but there’s some crucial detail I forgot to add. Maybe that’s what my conscience is trying to tell me. Maybe my brain isn’t sick after all. Maybe I really do need to—
Ugh, I’m so tired. I want to go back to sleep. But I can’t. Not until…
I straighten my back and raise my right hand to my forehead.
Bonk-bonk-bonk.
My hand drops to my lap.
Hm…
Rocky must be knocking his ball against the bulkhead. That, or the Hail Mary is haunted. I can’t say which option I like better. I’d be less embarrassed in front of a ghost—that’s for darn sure.
I open my mouth to say… something. Anything, really. But Rocky beats me to the punch. “Remember what thinking machine say, reframe nightmare.”
I sigh.
Of course Rocky knows I had another nightmare. Did I really think I could fool him with my lame “need to tinkle” excuse? He can hear my heartbeat for cripe’s sake!
And still…
Rocky gave me the space to collect myself. Sparing my very fragile ego.
I rub my sore eyes.
God, Rocky’s so good to me. I don’t deserve him.
No, rewind that. Let’s reframe that thought. Just like Rocky said.
I feel like I don’t deserve him. Not because it’s true. But because there’s probably some sort of chemical imbalance in my brain.
So sayeth the portable Earth thinking machine!
And who am I to argue with Rocky’s hours of research on human mental illness?
Besides an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-merciful God—Rocky argued—wouldn’t want me to punish myself like this. Not after working so hard to bless my life with Rocky’s presence—his words, not mine. (Although I can’t say I disagree with them.)
The conversation made me think of Steve Hatch and his intense brand of optimism. “Do you believe in God? I know it’s a personal question. I do. And I think He was pretty awesome to make relativity a thing, don’t you? The faster you go, the less time you experience. It’s like He’s inviting us to explore the universe, you know?”
Or, in my case, inviting me to find Rocky.
I stand up.
Yes. Rocky knows who I am. And he loves me for it.
I don't need to deserve it. I just need to accept it.
Before I free myself, I close my eyes and lower my chin. Not out of compulsion, but because I… I want to. I pray to a God I’m not sure I believe in, to a universe I’m not sure is listening, and to Eridian ancestors I’m not sure are out there.
I pray for Rocky. For Adrian. For me. For us.