A Hard Conversation, draft two

"Is it really so bad that you need to do this?" Kayla's fingers dug into my arm. "Do you really feel so terrible?"

I didn't jerk away, but I found it a bit difficult to maintain eye contact. Her brown eyes shone with liquid, and her lips parted, corners down-turned.

"Yes," I said. If my voice broke, I didn't acknowledge it. "This is not what I want for myself. But -"

Kayla swallowed hard. I took a steadying breath.

"But this is a good offer," I continued. "You know what it's like to live every day of your life without pain, or even fatigue, regardless of which realm you're in. I only get that sort of freedom when I travel."

A tear escaped the bounds of her lashes and trickled down her cheek.

"They're offering me a chance to stay, Kayla. They're offering me so much freedom."

Her nails caught at my skin as she pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest. I knew better than to reach for her, even as my throat closed up and my stomach dropped.

"All you have to do is stay there forever," she finished for me. "All you have to do is leave everyone else in your life behind."

I closed my eyes as I felt my own tears break from my control. My voice came out in a strained whisper.

"That's the gist, yeah."

I Know, Draft Three

"I know."

I didn't look up from the program I had open in Netbeans, continuing to set up the various objects I needed to create a useful calendar for Dr. Nexus's extra credit assignment.

"Good for you," I drawled. "Give yourself a cookie."

"No. I mean, I know why you're always sick."

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a long moment, before slowly turning my head, one eyebrow raised sharply, to look at the cretin who dared to address me.

Derek Delphi, the mouth-breathing no-lube jack-off cretin in question, apparently took that as an invitation.

He swung out the chair at the spot next to me, flopping back into it and lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Yup," he repeated. "I know why you're sick."

"Oh?" My voice was dry and flat to contrast his self-satisfied sing-song. "Do share what has taken a platoon of medical specialists more than twenty-one years to fail to discover. And then share your methodology, because I'm sure there's a Nobel prize in your future."

Derek smirked and took in a deep breath that puffed out his chest. I'm sure he heard a drum roll in his head.

I stared at him balefully.

"You're... not human," he declared.

I felt the wings on my back - the ones that weren't really there and that no one could see - twitch, but I managed to control my expression.

Not so much the exasperated sigh.

"An interesting if irrelevant conclusion, Dick."

He dropped his hands and sat up, the back of the chair springing upright with a thump.

"It's Derek."

I turned back to my schoolwork.

"You sure?" I asked lightly. "I thought you knew."

I kept my eyes on my code as Derek huffed, stood up, and hovered over me, casting a shadow on my laptop screen. As far as I was concerned, this interaction was over.

"Snake," he spat.

I continued typing out objects in Java.

It was another few seconds before his shadow left my screen as he stalked out of the lab.

Faces, Draft Two

"Strip that face off," she commanded.

"Are you sure this is the right time?" I asked. My eyes darted, taking in the dark recesses of the concrete nook, the fluorescent light sharply intruding from down the hallway, the slash of my colleague's mouth. We were alone, but my heart continued to race. "I think they might notice if these two disappeared."

She hissed, a low, harsh sound, air against fangs.

"We have bungled this mission. These faces are compromised. We must abandon this strategy and utilize another tactic." Her tongue clicked angrily, three times in quick succession. "You are silly, Salah. It is foolish to become emotionally invested in a face."

I rolled my spine, extending the sharp bones that this face did not wear in embarrassed threat.

"We can still utilize these faces, Grear," I insisted. "Their leader cares for this specimen - " I tapped a claw against my cheek "- and will forgive our transgressions against their laws if I continue to wear the likeness of her mate. We can make this work."

Grear narrowed her eyes in the human expression of anger.

"No. There is too much risk in relying on human affections. I am invoking the Statute of Hierarchy. Strip off that face. Our resources are better expended in a new plan."

My muscles locked, but to dispute the Statute would be to turn traitor. I reached toward my jaw and drew a long, sharp claw down from my ear to my chin, skin separating smoothly from the hard protrusions of my exoskeleton.

Across from me, I watched my ranking officer do the same, the pale skin of the face she had stolen sliding free to reveal the silky green-black curves of her natural form, reshaped to mimic Homo sapiens skeletal system. She tugged as she began to peel the flesh away from her neck, pulling it free of the jagged spurs that had been holding it against her, until it puddled on the concrete at her feet. With a roll of her head and a satisfied chirp, she stepped free.

"Are you done?" she clicked.

I visualized the human leader's features, the shine of light on her too-soft cheeks and the sensation of vulnerably blunt fingertips running down this form's smooth back.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world," she had breathed in my ear, her too-dull-to-damage teeth grazing my jaw. "You will save us all, Lily."

With a long, human exhalation, I pushed the face of her late lover free from the last spur on my toe.

"Yes, Grear," I clicked back. "I am done."

I tried not to look back as we slipped out of the concrete alcove and crept furtively through the fluorescents toward the exit.

The Weight of Silence

Sometimes, it is far too easy to fill your mouth with silence, to weigh down your tongue with all the words and emotions you tell yourself are better left unsaid. If you're not careful, you start to choke on the backup, gag on your secrets. No amount of dry heaving will stop you from asphyxiating. The only way to save yourself is to speak.

Such a shame that silence is a habit.