Smother
Love is indeed, a terrible thing.
Out of love came children, children you didn’t necessarily ask for. Out of it came blindness, because everyone knows a fool is blinded by love. Out of it came a false sense of security, the type that makes you comfortable and calm before pulling the rug from beneath your feet. And out of it came possessiveness; the idea that whatever they do, you will do too.
Love is a very terrible thing.
I vow never to love, here, now. Because once I love, I will never be whole again. I will hurt them, I will hurt them like I hurt my parents. You see, I have a talent for destroying things. I destroyed my parents love, I destroyed my father’s love for myself, and I ruined the chance of ever being loved by my mother. You see, I have a real talent for breaking cupid’s arrow. I am the opposite of love.
I am like the devil, except the devil-pid. I am the one who daddy calls when his daughter falls in love with the biker.
That’s why I vow never to love.
I promise, here, now, to always—always—wreck it.
We—Turkish and I—meander to the field because at this time we truly have nothing more to do. I could pester the apes, taunt the spiders, but I just have no patience for anything to do with Amazonian’s right now. I want nothing to do with them. Nothing. I don’t want their heat, their estrogen, their high pitched voices.
Nothing.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do like the place. It is safe, secure, and wonderfully large. I can wander for days without seeing someone. I can also nest in the heart of the kingdom and be surrounded by sisters for days. Either or. What I don’t like, what I am struggling to like, is the consistent support.
I am used to being alone—I am good at alone. I am not good at being sociable.
Turkish, he is a hit. He has all the babes on speed dial. He flaunts with the Anaconda’s in the jungle, he boasts about himself to the apes, he pesters the sisters for attention. That boy is at home.
It is why I picked that kingdom—for him.
If I had my choice, I would be best served as a misfit on some mountain. Alone, disregarded.
I liked that idea.
But instead, I am trying to be a chameleon, for the sake of my partner. I am trying to blend myself into the social atmosphere. I am not doing so hot. How I fix myself is by focusing on something—anything. Castes, peace and war. I focus myself on bettering myself for the kingdom.
After all, I have big plans for my home. I need it strong first.
I don’t have to socialize to better my kingdom, I just have to be good at acting when the role is casted.
Right now, I am auditioning for the part of a mare recruiting an indigo flower from the field.
You let me know if I make the cut.
“Hello,” I say as I arrive at the already well established group. I feel Turkish tighten around my neck as I inhale a familiar scent. Magnus—handsome fellow he is with that uncanny resemblance of someone I feel I should know—is across from me. I wouldn’t forget that golden face anywhere. I nod to him briefly.
Did you just nod?
Turkish, enough.
I am disappointed.
Get off me.
I am not disappointed enough to remove myself from my own personal taxi, and heater thank you very much.
I feel his muscles contract around me as he lifts his head from the pillow also known as my withers, “a party around the blue light. How exciting.”
The thing with Turkish is he always sounds nice, sounds generous and manly. He always sounds polite and genuine, he just has that about him. I on the other hand always have a very cold distant tone. Feminine, surely, but disengaged.
There are two females I have yet to meet. One, who reeks of the Valley and has a very prominent voice. Another, softer and less abrasive with perhaps a little more obvious discomfort about socializing.
Silly girl, never reveal your weakness.
I smile briefly, not because I know them but because it seems like the diplomatic thing to do. Acknowledge the fellow recruiters and don’t burn bridges in the process.
Lagertha truly wasn’t thinking when she invited me to her door. She really doesn’t know me, if she did she wouldn’t trust me with keeping doors open.
I am also very good at slamming doors shut.
And throwing away the key.
“We are from the Jungle,” Turkish states, though doesn’t shift from my neck. I feel his wariness of the ground whenever more than two horses are around. He doesn’t trust his speed when on dirt. Certainly, he is fast in the water and can climb higher than most would assume, but when travelling on land his ten foot body is a heavier burden. He knows he isn’t fast enough to dodge the flying, stomping hooves of fifteen hundred pound mammals, and he isn’t about to risk it for a recruit.
I have a feeling I won’t be casted for this role, coach.
