The Day They Came (WATTY AWARDS 2016)

Chapter 13

Xyzle looked down at the orders he received. They made his stomach churn, and his hands shake.

Why would his father ask him to move Claire to the ship's dungeons? Why did she need to be made an example?

It was well past noon, but he had not been allowed to take lunch to her. In fact, his new orders included an order to stop seeing her, completely, unless otherwise instructed by his father.

He was to take her to the dungeon after she fell asleep that night. She was never to know that it was him that moved her.

This felt wrong. His heart pounded when he thought about what could happen to her in that dungeon. His cheeks felt cooler than normal. His face had...what did the humans call it?

His face had flushed. That was the word. Flushed.

He went up to his room, and began to pace. There were butterflies in his stomach, according to what the humans would say.

This was more than a simple case of nerves. It was a mix of euphoria, nerves, and something he couldn't quite put his finger on. That something special made him wonder, again, if his race had it wrong about love.

Could this heart pounding, face flushing, stomach churning feeling be love? For Claire?

He couldn't take it anymore.

He left his room, and began to walk to Claire's. Xyzle had had enough of taking the orders that made his head spin. The orders that made him question everything were the worst.

He kept a look out for his father. After what happened last time he disobeyed a direct order, he was less than enthusiastic to be caught.

He slid his key card through the little reader. It opened the door for him.

Claire looked up. Her face was pale. Her eyes had widened when he came in.

"My father told you that you're not getting off this ship alive in the end, didn't he?" He shut the door behind him as he asked.

"Y-Yeah." Her voice shook. She sounded genuinely scared.

He sat down beside her. She moved away slightly, as if he were going to hurt her.

"P-Please...don't." She was clutching the blankets tightly, her knuckles white.

"Claire, I am not my father." He moved away, trying to regain the trust he had somehow lost. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You lied to me, Xyzle!" Now she began to yell at him. The metaphorical knives she was throwing hurt. "You let me believe you liked me!" She got off the bed and began to hit him with a pillow as she yelled.

He took it quietly until she went for something harder. The metal rose he'd made for the peace offering was now in her hands, and she was hitting him with it.

He didn't need to hold it to change its shape. The next time she hit him, he turned it into a metal shackle and wrapped it around her wrist.

"You backstabbing traitor!" If that was supposed to be the lowest of the lowest blows, it really didn't hurt his feelings.

He touched the metal cuff again and it encased both her wrists.

She stepped away from him, moving backwards until she was against the window. Her hands moved violently, trying to get out of the cuffs. Since they formed to her wrists, they were tight enough to keep her wrists inside, but loose enough not to hurt.