Arranged: Bound By Contract (girlxintersex)

Chapter 19

Chapter 19
Stella POV

I had to call Nathalie for help with preparing Mateo's lunch. She was quite useful. Of all my pals, she was the most helpful. While we—well, primarily she—were putting it down in the kitchen, I made myself useful by understanding how to cook. I make sure to take some notes. I've learnt how to season my oil and make it delicious. I learnt how to make tomato soup from scratch since we didn't have canned tomatoes.

The sun felt like the devil's fart, yet it didn't seem to bother Nathalie as she made her way to the garden. There were two flowers lined up in the newly churned dirt. My gaze focused on how far we still had to go.

Gathering all my bravery, I took the first step on the stairs. The sun was nearly set on the porch; just one more step and it would beam in. I take another step, and my body feels as if it has been lit on fire.

It didn't take long for the perspiration to flow over my body. I stared up at the house, jealousy rising in my breast, as Mateo sat away from the sun. This marriage was just helping her, and I'll probably tell her later that I want my million-dollar annual salary doubled—if I survive the heat.

Nathalie was knees deep in the black soil and she grasped a little shovel.

As she dug in to make a small hole, the stench of earth filled the air, forcing me to clamp my fingers beneath my nasal tube. The earthy aroma was too overpowering for me.

"How can you endure the stench?"

She looked up; her eyes were smiling more than her lips. This must truly be her passion. She would be a wonderful housewife. But something tells me her husband will cheat.

"Which scent?"

"Dirt,"

She shrugged, inserting all of her fingers into the hole and scratching it out like a hedgehog. I glanced down once again at the white shirt I still hadn't changed.

It was too late anyhow, because perspiration was virtually sticking to me. I felt gross. And now I have to stick my hands in dirt, which couldn't be much grosser.

She grabbed what seemed to be a vintage mental watering can. She wets the soil, and the stink becomes more noticeable to my nostrils. The dirt drank the water.

"Why would you do that?"

"It's a small token for the soil. You water it first, then add the plant." She did exactly that. She carefully set the plant in, scratched the soil back in, patted it around, and watered again.

"Now try it."

I looked at how soiled her clothes was from the earth. I looked down at my jeans.

I pick up one of the flower pots and dump it down. She screamed in horror, peering at the scattered soil from the container, her gaze gradually shifting to the flower, which was somewhat limp over. She quietly tsked. "Aww, it's okay."

I sneered loudly, "It's just a flower; it has no feelings." I'm the one with the feelings. I was the one about to collapse because of the stupid sun. I tried hunching over, but the length of the pants made it feel like I was giving my region a tiny wedgie.

When I had to kneel on the soft earth, my heart hiccupped.

"Every single creature have emotions," she wailed, as she give the flower pampering.

"They don't; if they did. Mateo wouldn't want me out here in the devil's asshole while she was inside. She'd hire a professional to handle all of this garbage," I could feel angry and irritated tears well up in my eyes.

"Gardening is a lovely experience. It is not a negative thing."

"Not when the sun is this hot." I fought, attempting unsuccessfully to remove the garment from my flesh. "I hate my life!" I growled and stabbed the dirt with the shovel's keen edge. The dirt churned up, and I was greeted by a few insects.

"Oh, my God! What the fuck is that!" I looked at the small black bugs and pink worms moving about. Nathalie giggled beside me, and I wanted nothing more than to drive the shovel into her head—then she'd be gone, and I wouldn't have anybody to teach me how to cook for free.

I stared with dread, my chest tightening as she scooped up the naked pink worm and delicately placed it in her hand. She moved her hand to her eye level and viewed the work moving about. Another burst of bouncy giggles comes from her little throat.

If I wasn't frustrated by my unjust life and the scorching heat, I'd probably find this rather amusing.

"I detest you, too!" I shouted, hitting her palm and sending the worm flying over into the sun. Her mouth slackened into a broad gulp. "It shouldn't be in the sun!" Her grimy fingers clamped into her face, putting dirt all over it.

"Good, now the fucker feels what I feel."

I went to the soil and began blindly stabbing at it, killing a few worms in its path.

"I freaking detest her! I hate her!" My terror of the dirt and what it contained had long fled, to be replaced with pure, bitter, creamy, hotter than the sun rage.


I stabbed. "I..." Stabbed, "hate..." Stabbed, "HER!" A snarl croaked forth.
"Urghhhhhh!" I lurched forward, my lips near to the ground, dead worms, and insects. "I HATE HER!"

I brought my palm to my face and gently moved my hair out. My lips progressively filled with a crazed grin. I turned to gaze at Nathalie, whose expression was one of sheer horror movie terror.

"I'm OK now. I am fine. I am OK." I giggled. "I am OK."

She nodded slowly, attempting to process what was occurring. "You're okay," she said in a wired tone.

"I'm sorry," I panted, realizing that I could have terrified her or potentially scared her away; I don't want my cook—I mean, probable friend—to be scared of me.
"I'm simply —" The plangent roar of a vehicle disturbed me, causing another irritated bone in my body to kick off. However, when I looked, it wasn't a truck, but a filthy silver Hilux pick-up van creeping into the adjoining driveway.

Spartan. It had to be him. The dusty vehicle bore his name all on it.

"Is this him?" I nonetheless asked.

"Yeah,"

"Cool," I laughed. Nathalie dragged me down with a man-like tug.

"Don't go," she snarled, her eyes blazing with anger. She clung firmly to me. I gazed between her hand glued to my flesh and her darken eyes. So she does have a little power.

"Why not?"

"I don't think you should talk to him. He is nothing more than a piece oftrash!"
His eyes were fixed on us through the van's window when the engine haltedabruptly, bringing everything she had spoken crashing down on his ears.