Echo Hemisphere

8: My Iguana

 "Okay, she's clean, has a haircut and she has a few pairs of clothes."

"You got bad news?"

"Actually, yes," Kuri'Shii braced himself for the worst, "she isn't growing her arm back any time soon." His contorted expression forced a temporary grin onto mine. "In all seriousness, it looks like there are tons of whip scars on her back. She says they whipped her as a form of punishment and then started to cut off parts of her arm until there was nothing left."

I folded my arms, wondering why exactly they would hurt her so excessively. But at the same time, slaves were treated similarly. But as far as I knew, it usually never came to the scenario where limbs were cut off or they were forced mute. "That's not unusual for slaves, but why such a little teenage girl?" He raised his tone with the word little.

"Good question."

"Another question," Kuri'Shii leaned forward and stared me straight in the face, "what kind of clothes are these?"

"My clothes. She picked them out." He furrowed his brow with concern, "My Mother Earth shirt, that pink skirt, with her little black belt and boots, and she's not letting go of the cloak I lent her."

He knew what each of those looked like, maybe surprised she would have a sense of fashion that bad, especially since she doesn't know what the term mother earth means. He broke out in a loopy smile, "sounds like some, uh, super-amateur cosplay project she's got going on there."

I smiled too, "yeah." He stayed silent with a distant look. I noticed there was a light shade of pink over his face and a bottle cap close to the wall behind him. "What happened to the fizz?"

He turned his guilty eyes away, "I drank it."

"All of it?"

He continued his sheepish look, twiddling his thumbs. "...Yeah."

I clutched my crossed my legs, disappointed and stunned, "that was for celebration." I lightly tapped him on the shoulder with my fist. "That's a no."

"Well, too late now." His words slowed down, starting to choke on them.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

He grasped his arms, scrunching his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Is it all the shock of meeting her?" It wouldn't be surprising if that was the reason, because I left the soda with him specifically because I trust that he doesn't drink often.

His eyes widened, unsure of himself. "I don't know." His eyes started to moisten up and his voice cracked like a thirteen-year-old girl who barely started her first period. All in spite of the clear fact that he's an adult man. This is entirely out of character based on who I've known him as from our shared lives. I imagined he would start fanning his eyes soon enough. I stifled the possibility of a smile for the ridiculous irony.

I could completely relate to not knowing why I cried many times in my life. Dropping the subject would be the best course of action. "How about you calm down and we can both check up on how Hanko's doing, then I can search around on the web for a mechanic, does that sound okay?" I can play the role of the understanding Mother quite well.

He sniffed, "okay." His tears flowed down his face like a waterfall, his cheeks flushed.

We entered my hotel room where Hanko sat on the bed trying to stuff her face with all sorts of food I retrieved for her from the mini fridge. She flicked her vibrant head to us. Her bright green hair curling out in every direction hovering over her shoulders with extremely slanted bangs; the best I could do without screwing up even worse than I already did.