“What now?” I ask the question, figuring it will tell me which Zed made it in the end.
I brace myself for the answer. I hope the good Zed survived, of course, I’m not so much of a masochist I want to spend the rest of existence being intermittently vacuumed for orgasms by Aberks. But as selfish and dangerous as the bad Zed was, he really knew how to fuck me. He knew how to break me in the very best way. He knew not to indulge me… oh god, do I miss the Zed who sold me?
“Milkshake?” Zed dodges the question in a way I can only describe as disturbingly devious.
“I’ve been through a lot. I just want to know who made it. I need to know.”
Zed leans in so his lips are right next to my ear, speaking with a devilishly deep voice. “I am giving you what you need, my little human fuck-pet.”
Fear, excitement, and arousal spike through my thoroughly ravaged body.
“Bad Zed,” I gasp.
“Milkshake,” Zed says, bringing a cheerful straw to my mouth. “Vanilla.”
“Good Zed,” I gasp.
But it is not either one of them, is it? I sip reflexively on the straw. He is both of them. The old and the new. The good and the bad. The filthy and the sweet, all wrapped up in one massive, muscular package.
Just one Zed. Just one me.
Just the two of us.
Together.
Forever.
EPILOGUE
Six months later…
It has been several months and we have not once been swallowed by a time squid. We seem to have returned to a simpler time, a single strand in which our actions have consequences, and not the other way around. It feels good to have cause follow effect. I can’t explain my relief to anybody who hasn’t woken up in a bush, been rescued by an alien, and then witnessed him fuck/fight an evil iteration of himself to save me. It’s not a relatable experience, so I usually don’t mention it. If anybody asks where we met, we say it was at a gas station. It’s boring enough that they don’t keep asking questions past that point.
“How much for the orange shag throw, dear?”
A puff of purple hair asks the question, and a wizened old hand complete with extremely long claws strokes the fabric of one of the pieces we have on display.
“Uhm… er…” My throat goes a little dry. I am trying to overcome my fear of flurbs, but once you’ve seen a pot put on to boil for you personally, prejudices are formed.
“Four dollars, or we accept trade-ins in good condition,” Zed answers the question for me, his big hand on my shoulder quietly reassuring me that all is well. Not all flurbs want to eat humans. Some of them have already eaten and are quite full, thank you.
Zed and I are selling refurbished mid-century modern furniture at various fairs. It is a quiet life, but a good one. Today the fair is busy, there are thousands of customers milling about, looking to buy a bit of anything. Zed’s knack for trading ensures that we always have food to eat, and his newly developed conscience ensures he will sell anything—except me.
“I love you,” he murmurs in my ear, wrapping his massive arms around me from behind, and enveloping me in a loving embrace.
“I love you too,” I smile up at him, as he gazes down at me, his eyes gleaming with all the passion I used to dream of.
“Three-fifty?”
Zed lifts his eyes from mine and smiles at the customer, our story coming to a peaceful and profitable end with one little word from my alien mate and master. “Done.”
The End