Uncivilized (Uncivilized 1)

Such a simple answer for a terribly complex problem.

Sure... there's food everywhere, but what Zach means is that he truly has no way to earn it. He has no transferrable skills, no education, and no work experience. He's virtually unemployable except for maybe manual labor and, even then, you have to have skills or experience.

Is that why Zach wants to return to Caraica? Because there at least he's needed? He's important and he can survive? Whereas here... it would be such a struggle to catch up to this society that left him behind so long ago?

I know, without a doubt, that Randall would gladly have Zach stay with him and would provide for every comfort he could ever wish for. I also know Zach will never... ever accept something like that. He'd rather be homeless and starving before he accepted that type of lifestyle. He has too much pride to ever submit to that.

But on the flip side, I know Randall would never let Zach just take his charity. Randall has all but made a formal offer of employment at Cannon's if Zach were interested in that. I'm betting Randall would also want Zach to complete his education and would help him obtain that.

Interesting things to consider, and maybe I need to broach this more with Zach. Maybe if he saw a way to survive and flourish here, he wouldn't want to go back.

Maybe he'd want to stay here with me and build a life.

Probably more wishful thinking on my part, but a wish is better than nothing and, right now, I have nothing to entice him to stay.

Chapter 25

Zach

My eyes roam over the classified ads with frustration, looking at the "Help Wanted" section and seeing job after job that I'm either unqualified for or that I've already applied to.

Nothing. Not a single call back for an interview.

I feel like such a lame-ass when I fill out the applications, really only able to provide my name, current address, and two references.

Moira and Randall. My lover and my godfather.

No education. No work experience.

No call backs.

The front door to my parents' house... correction, my house... opens and I turn my body from my perch at the kitchen table to see Moira walk in like a ray of sunshine. She's carrying two grocery bags in each hand and, when her eyes light upon mine, she smiles at me brilliantly.

"I got some gorgeous steaks for us to grill out tomorrow night. Randall said he'd join us for dinner. Oh, and more Cocoa Puffs for you, and I bought Lucky Charms for me."

I want to laugh at her silly joy in grocery shopping because Moira seems to have been lit up from within this last week since we've moved into this house. She's enjoying the role of homemaker, easily slipping into a new lifestyle with me. She cooks and keeps the house clean, has planted flowers in the front yard, and even repainted the kitchen and living room.

Hefting the grocery bags onto the counter, she chatters away about meeting a woman at the store that had twin baby boys. I don't hear longing in her voice, but I do hear absolute happiness as she recounts how cute they were dressed alike, even with matching pacifiers stuck inside their tiny mouths.

And my mood turns even darker than it was a moment ago. As Moira seems to be happier with where we've settled, I've become increasingly frustrated and bitter. My life seems to be running just one day into the other, and I'm succumbing to boredom and restlessness.

Sure, Moira and I still go out almost every day to explore the area around us. We go shopping, see foreign films, take tours of galleries, and have picnics in the park. We read newspapers together and discuss the most interesting articles. We drive out into the country and take in the scenery, stopping at country diners to try southern home cooking. I'm busy every single day with Moira and yet, I find it all frivolous.

Except when I'm fucking Moira. That is the one thing that makes me happy, and there's nothing pointless about that union. It gets so much better every single time I touch her... kiss her... stroke her soft skin, and she whispers sweet words of abandon to me. It's what keeps me going... keeps me motivated to push forward and continue to try to find some unity with this new life I'm leading.

"So, any luck with the job search today?" Moira asks as she puts the steaks and some milk in the refrigerator.

Pushing the paper away, I sigh in irritation. "No. All the same stuff I've applied for already."

Her voice is cheerful and encouraging. "No worries, baby. You'll find something soon, I'm sure of it."

"It's kind of hard to get a fucking job when I don't have any experience," I snap at her, and then watch as her body jerks as if I've slapped her.

I sit poised... tensed... ready for her eyes to narrow and for her to spit words of anger back at me. Instead, she stares at me a moment, and then her eyes soften. She walks up to me and drapes herself across my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and nuzzling her cheek against my shoulder. "I'm sorry. Please don't get frustrated. It can take a while to find a job, even for people with a lot of experience. Besides... if it's really important to you, you know Randall will hire you at Cannon's."

Bitterness that feels like hot ash wells up inside of me, and I push her off my lap. I stand up and throw my hands out to the side of my body. "Of course finding a job is really important to me. Don't you get my frustration over this? And just drop the fucking Randall thing. Taking a job from him is like taking the fucking money he piles in my bank account. I can't do it."

Spinning from her, I walk back toward our room.

Yes, our room... formerly my parents' room, but we took that one since it had the bigger bed. Moira fitted it with new sheets and a comforter done in browns and beiges... much more masculine she asserted. Reaching into the closet, I pull out the tuxedo that I'm going to have to put on for tonight's dinner party that Randall is throwing in my honor.

Fuck, I don't want to go to this thing. Large crowds are not my thing and I'm tired of the endless curiosity about me, and the probing questions of what it's like to live like a heathen, and everyone being completely flummoxed that I would want to return there to live. I constantly have to justify my desires to everyone.

Everyone except Moira. She silently accepts my decision, even though I see the sadness in her eyes whenever I talk about returning.

"I'm sorry, Zach," I hear softly from behind me as her arms slip around my waist. She presses her cheek to my back and holds me tight. "I know this is hard on you. What can I do to make it better?"

I briefly cover her hands with mine as they rest on my stomach, stroking my thumbs over her skin. She feels so good, plastered up against me. Warm, tight security. Comfort. I'll miss fucking Moira when I leave, but damn... I'll miss this as well. I've never had it in my life, and now that I've had a taste, I know this will be a terrible loss that I'll have to live with when I go back.

For about the millionth time, I rage inside over the unfairness of my situation. I've so long ago committed my heart and my loyalties to Caraica that I feel powerless to do anything but return. It almost feels like a moral obligation at this point. I know when that time comes, I'm going to be devastated to leave Moira.

I know without a doubt her memory will haunt me, and not just because of the stellar sex. No, it's turned into something so much more than that. My ability to talk to her for hours on end and even my ability to sit in absolute but comfortable silence with her is a treasure I've never had. Not even with Paraila.

That thought also darkens my mood to a foul blackness and suddenly, her hands upon me seem almost stifling.

Pulling Moira's arms away from me, I step out of her embrace and turn to face her. "You better start getting ready. We're going to have to leave soon for the party."

Disappointment fills her eyes, but she gives me a smiling nod of understanding and heads for the bathroom. I think briefly of joining her in the shower, but then decide against it. I don't think I can handle intimacy with her right at this very moment.

"So, then the priest looks at the bottle and says, 'Good Lord! He's done it again'."

Everyone standing in our group laughs uproariously, and I plaster a fake smile on my face. I didn't get that joke, nor the other two the pudgy bastard had told the cream of Atlanta's society.

Looking around the massive ballroom that sits in the east wing of Randall's mansion, my eyes search for Moira. She had walked off several minutes ago to use the restroom, and my skin was itching to have her back at my side. I feel uncomfortable with these people that I have nothing in common with, and it's torture trying to bear up under their scrutiny.

Finally... there she is... walking back in with a confident and graceful stride. She's wearing a strapless, white gown that plunges low in between her breasts, knotted in the center of her chest with a crystal, rhinestone flower. When she walks, a slit up the side reveals her long legs with her feet encased in crystal-studded sandals that add about four inches of height on her. Perfect alignment for me to fuck her standing up without having to bend my knees to compensate for the height difference.

I pull away silently from the group and make my way across the floor to her. Reaching out, I grab two glasses of champagne from a nearby waiter and when her eyes land on me, they shine with delight and tenderness.

We come together, and I hand her the glass. Her delicate fingers take it from me, and she takes a small sip.

"You look like you could use this more than me," she murmurs.

"These people are strange," I tell her. "If one more person asks me what monkey tastes like or if I crap in the jungle, I'm going to strangle someone."

"Has it really been that bad?" she asks in commiseration.

Anger sparks within me, but I rein it in tight. It's not for Moira. "These people are so condescending to me. Half of them talk slowly to me like I'm a half-wit."

Rage flashes across Moira's face. "Who did that? I'll fucking have their balls. Randall will have their fucking balls."

"Easy there, tiger," I tell her, my chest flushing warmly over her protectiveness of me. "I'm a novelty. I get it. But I can't fucking stand this party."