My nipples grow taut and sensitive beneath my Zandian gown—the nicest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn. I follow his lead, taking the ball behind my head.
“Now throw.” The ball flies through the air through absolutely no help of mine. “You see?”
My laugh sounds strange to my own ears—sort of… husky. “I think you did that.”
“You try,” he coaxes.
I jog over to the ball and pick it up. Why does it have to be so damn heavy? Just lifting it over my head the way he showed me throws me off balance and I weave and stumble.
Tarek’s lips twitch.
I throw the ball. It flies through the air—for about the length of my leg. Then it drops and rolls. “Ooph.”
I bend over, panting, hands on my knees. My leg is starting to ache, and I rub it, hoping he won’t notice.
He comments immediately. “You in pain? Sit down.”
“No, it’s nothing.” At his lifted brow, I amend it. “Nothing unusual. It always aches when I do physical activity. But it hurts regardless, and this at least makes me stronger, so… I try to ignore it.” I rub the twisted muscles and sit down.
He comes and sits near me, not touching, but close enough so that I want him nearer.
“What happened?” He brushes a hand across my knee and I try not to gasp at the touch.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I swallow hard.
“I’m just trying to get to know you—”
Panic surges through me, even though this is what I wanted. I can’t talk about my leg right now. “Do you want to talk about this?” I snap, touching his forehead, near his left eye.
He flinches. “No.” His voice is cold. He turns away. “I apologize.”
“No. It’s my—I apologize. I’m so sorry.” I reach out again, hating to see his expression change. “Tarek, this is hard for me.”
He takes a breath. “I understand.”
We’re silent for a second. It’s quiet in the dome, and the only sound is some kind of metallic screech in the distance, maybe a saw. The light is soft and even, coming through the skylights above.
I don’t believe he can’t see. His eyes are so kind, so intuitive. Or am I imagining what I want to see there?
“It’s killing me that right now they won’t even let me see Enya. I want to see her, Tarek. I’ve been with her for so long. Don’t they know that I need to be part of this with her?” I’m helpless to describe it. “Why won’t they let me?”
Tarek rubs his forehead. “I know, beautiful. But they’re doing what they believe is best.”
“Well, it makes me feel like garbage.” Tears burst out. “Like I’m worth nothing. I was used to that back on Ocretia, but on Zandia, I thought—I hoped…” I sniffle. “That it would be different. That I’d be valuable. But now it’s like I just got tossed aside.”
“That’s not what it is at all.” He takes my hand, his voice earnest. “Zandians are not as aware of human emotions. They’re doing their best, too. And think of her mother. She’s been many solar cycles without her child. Surely you can give her this chance.”
I can’t answer. It’s just too much right now.
“And you.” I turn to him accusingly. “You never told me about her, on the ship. You were part of it, too. Just taking me because I was a tool, a means to an end. I want to be more than that!”
Now I’m sobbing outright.
“I’m sorry, Zina. I was under orders not to communicate her status to you.” His voice sounds pained. “I could not betray my commander. I wanted to tell you. I—worried. I still do.”
“You do?” Surprised, I glance up at him.
“Yes.” He clenches his hand on mine, then loosens it. “I didn’t want to surprise you with it. But”—he shrugs one shoulder—“it was out of my hands.” He pulls me closer. “Just give it time. Of course you’ll see her again. This is temporary, as she adjusts.”