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Souls of the Night Vol. 3

28

Brentwood stared at the lump of tissue floating in the incubation chamber, which was little more than a few million unspecified cells. In the huge tank with the plexiglass pane, the thing that would be Brentwood's mate in a few weeks looked pathetic and disgusting. Nevertheless, Lexington's clone stared at it once again, completely mesmerized. It was an almost self-sustaining system, but several times a night Brentwood checked the tubes going in and out, the cables going in and out, the connection to the computer, the fuel levels of the generators that would kick in if the power died so the new clone wouldn't "abort". He even pretended to study AND to understand the daily reports that the printers spit out on the clone's condition and development progress. Something Thailog had initially smiled at, both in good humor and spite. As if the copy of the Manhattan-clan runt of the litter was anywhere near as clever as the original. As if Brentwood had any knowledge of the reports and could take over all the clone care and maintenance tomorrow if he had to. How ridiculous.

On the one hand, of course, it was good that Brentwood was cognitively simple even after 25 years (and still smarter than his brothers since he had chosen Thailog back then) but even though Brentwood was loyal to Thailog, he sometimes had these tendencies to act on his own. This had not happened in the first few years, or just on such a small scale that it could only suit Thailog. He had given him such a long leash that the clone had become independent enough not to bother him every time he asked for food or wanted to fly out. But the first great emancipatory achievement that Brentwood had accomplished (or failed to accomplish) on his own was his involvement in Enya's emancipation. Detachment, that was probably the right word.

Although she was utterly disgusting and sickening in many ways, she was far more manageable in the long run than the real Doctor Sevarius had been. Since she was somehow Brentwood's "gosling" (he avoided the term hatchling even in his thoughts otherwise he would really throw up) and she had imitated him quite a bit in the early days, it had also seeped into her subconscious that Thailog (even in a child's body) was beyond reproach. The Master. Even if she and Brentwood had to be called to their senses every now and then when they became too exuberant and didn't show him enough respect. All in all, despite her numerous flaws, the wench was an asset and easy to manage. Smart Gargoyles simply needed servant "slaves" to take care of the tedious business of the day and of being human. To keep up appearances. So Enya was acceptable.

But the more Thailog thought about it, and now that the clone was moving into a more stable embryonic phase, stubby arms, legs, tail and wings were beginning to form (something that absolutely thrilled Brentwood as if he really was the father and not just breeding a sex slave here) the more Thailog grew to dislike the thought of another gargoyle in his 'clan'. More slaves were good. But even if he manipulated Enya into keeping the programming even simpler and less flexible than with the first clones (something he would have to butter her up for), apart from "Obey", it didn't mean that this clone couldn't pose a threat. To Thailog's power and control over Brentwood and Enya.

Even after all these years, programming clones was tricky. The MK-Ultra program in which programs were whispered to cognitively and mentally mature people, which were triggered by code words or visual stimuli, was simple. You could build on existing consciousness and hide the foreign information between old memories. But this was not possible with clones that were "born" like blank white slates. Whether it was a simple new command like Obey Thailog or a whole textbook full of character traits and behavioral instructions - these blank slates were so hungry for input that they automatically thought and developed in different, sometimes undesirable directions. Even if this new clone, designed after this Nate, was conceived solely as Brentwood's Cocksleeve (there was probably no crueler fate), it didn't mean that this clone didn't imprint incorrectly and rebel against Thailog along with Brentwood and Enya. The thought alone made Thailog growl and Brentwood turned his head to where his master was sitting on the stairs.

"Master with me Etan-watch?"

"Etan," Thaoilog repeated with a sniff.

Brentwood beamed all over his ugly face and turned his head back to the incubation chamber, his face bathed in the artificial orange glow of the incubation fluid.

"Yes, Etan. Like Thailog name reversed. Etan mate. Etan soon ready."

"You don't have to explain to me how you came up with that name. I'm not a damn fool," Thailog growled as he stood up and strolled down the stairs as if none of this bothered him.

Then he stood with his arms crossed next to Brent, who was still crouching on the floor in his frog pose, adoring the pile of cells as if they were more important than Thailog himself. At first he had thought it was amusing that Brentwood thought he could steal and then create a mate. He had briefly been interested in the fact that this Nate was apparently a little firebug and could shoot fire out of his hands with some kind of trick - something any robot could do but nothing special enough to claim for himself. He assumed that Brentwood had gone overboard with his imagination again and exaggerated everything. But this renewed display of independent thought, of needs that overrode his servitude, this latest emancipatory act that somehow undermined Thailog, triggered feelings in Thailog for which there were names, of course, but which he would not allow himself to think at all.

He placed a hand on the head of his servant, whom he had convinced for 25 years that he was his "partner", which the little clone acknowledged by looking at him with wide eyes because of this rare touch. Thailog showed his most disgusting, lulling grin that was also a threat.

"As long as you never forget that I am the leader of this clan and he will never forget that either, I look forward to welcoming your Etan soon," he lied masterfully.

Brentwood grinned like the idiot he was.

"He'll be the best Etan. Better than Lexington's mate. Just like we're better than the others."

"Of course we are."

"Master will like Etan. Etan will be perfect. Will love Thailog like we do. Best leader for best clan."

Brentwood had gripped Thailog's wrist. Over the years, Thailog had grown enough that he was now Brentwood's equal in height and weight, but he still felt with a bloody ego-cutting certainty that Brentwood was stronger than his prepubescent child form as the little clone stroked along his master's arm. Slowly, deliberately without turning his large blood-red eyeballs with the white pupils from his face as if he wanted to soak up every twitch of muscle in his face.

Thailog forced himself to keep smiling superiorly and not jerk his arm away as Brentwood's disgusting and spidery fingers found their way under his shirtsleeve and ran up to the vulnerable crook of his elbow. He paused there, staring at Thailog with a manic grin as his claws poked the skin in a barely noticeable but almost certainly unconsciously threatening way. It didn't hurt at all. Nor should it. But it proved something else. This touch was not allowed, this touch was something the adult Thailog would have smashed Brentwood against the wall for. There was something dominant and sexual about it, even though it didn't go beyond the crook of his elbow, and another display of Brentwood's increasingly annoying flaws, which soon became impossible to ignore. It was hard to find anything that visibly disgusted Thailog. Brentwood and Enya managed to do this time and time again and the world's most infatuated first clone had to summon all his superior acting skills not to drag his claws across Brentwood's impertinent face.

He managed to keep his free hand from trembling as he lifted it and patted Brentwood's cheek patronizingly.

"It's going to be good," he said. Brentwood made it worse and worse as he nuzzled his face into Thailog's hand, again cheeky and overly avid.

"Perfect," he corrected and Thailog shuddered in disgust.

"Have you checked the supply pipes yet?" Thailog asked and of course Brentwood had only minutes ago but as minutes melted into hours and hours into minutes down here, Brent immediately turned away and did just that. Thailog, for his part, turned and marched up the stairs. He did not flee. He really didn't. Alexander Thailog never fled! He ... just beat a strategic retreat. He pushed the door open and shut again with agitated gargoyle strength and stood in the room, trembling and pressing his claws into his palms. Enya, dressed only in worn underwear (oh, she would have made a good old-school gargoyle in that respect, she wouldn't wear any clothes at all if he didn't bossily demand it), was perched on one of the high chairs at one end of the kitchen counter, looking up from one of her plates.

She was having another one of her munchies and everything from cronuts to fruit, to cold spaghetti with yesterday's Russian meatballs and pieces of the Russian's dried meat was spread out around her and bitten into. Thailog glared at her, his eyes lighting up and making her leer at her plate again and nibble on her cronut a little less greedily and disgustingly, the icing sticking on her chin and all the way up her nose. He took a deep breath and trudged into the open kitchen and began to wash his hands and arms thoroughly, very thoroughly, with lots of soap and water so hot it almost burned his gargoyle skin. Then he opened the fridge with wet shirtsleeves. He grabbed the bottle of orange juice and the gin. He couldn't reach the top cabinets and refused to hop around on the countertops like a hatchling so he grabbed Enya's glass and poured out the water that had been in it before mixing himself a drink that was far too lax to get him as wasted as he needed to be. His damn child body couldn't handle pure alcohol - something that made this life so much harder. He regularly tried a red wine, but he didn't like them (yet).

"He doesn't pay much attention to me either," Enya muttered from her seat and Thailog stared at her hatefully. She thought HE was jealous of the pile of cells that Brentwood was already fucking in his mind! He should shove the cronut down her throat for that alone.

"I don't give a damn if he pays attention to you. I'm pleased when he's busy with himself. You should be glad too."

"We both know, if you'd let him -"

She groaned as he grabbed her sloppy ponytail and dragged her to the ground, cronut and other food being swept away by her flailing arms. She fell to the ground and he yanked her head back up. Whenever surprise and pain came at the same time, her perfectly designed yet completely degenerate body seemed to react normally and she grimaced in agony. Something that finally gave Thailog some satisfaction and reassurance in his growing power.

"'If I had WHAT? Doctor? If I had fucked him when I was an adult? If I had let him fuck me now in this immature body? Tell me what I failed to do?"

"I was going to say- if you had been a little kinder to him. I think ... not even that Brentwood is about sex. Or about age. Or about gender. I think ... he's about ... I don't know, attachment. Sex too, of course, but he wants a willing partner. He doesn't just want a toy. He wants a mate. Someone who makes him feel good and right."

"You think?" he asked sweetly in his child's voice.

"I think so."

"Then why aren't you enough?" Enya stared at him, her face pale and full of spaghetti sauce and frosting. Physically a grown woman, a brilliant mind but with the attitude of a feral child and the sex drive of a raunchy nymphomaniac. Her expression became hard and bitter.

"Just as he doesn't want a child, he doesn't want a human being. He only sees a human being in me. At best his sister. He doesn't want a human. I wouldn't have had to create Etan if you Ahhh -" She moaned as Thailog gripped her hair harder, so hard that he almost tore off her scalp. But now her moan wasn't just pain. Disgusted, Thailog let go of his "foster-mother" and Enya's upper body slammed to the ground, crushing grapes, cronut and other things to mud. Thailog looked down at her with a snarl and he knew she wasn't just shaking because of pain or indignity, neither of which bothered her, he knew. He couldn't even hurt her because she - this body that the doctor had thought was perfect - didn't work that way. Brentwood was slipping away from him. Enya slipped away from him. When manipulation was no longer enough. When pain had no effect ... what else could he do? Thailog - the most powerful being in the world, currently slowed down but thought himself soon on top again - felt as if the ground had been torn from under his claws. For the first time - no, for the second time in his life, he was afraid. Not of death. Not of being turned into an egg (or a squishy pile of cells like the one down in the cellar). But of his little clan slipping away from him. It had been too long since he had proven that he was the Alpha here and it was time for him to change that.

"Don't waste food, Doctor," he hissed, watching Enya crawl around on the floor, picking crushed morsels off the ground or scraping them off her body, which was naked except for her top and underpants. He pondered and tried not to let it get to him that the woman creeping and munching in front of him didn't even recognize this as humiliation.

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"...and Chat and Alistair have beaten me four times at Mario Kart - within 20 minutes. They're so sweet together and even though Ali graduated from Brown - but you might know that - so she and Chad harmonize so well and you can feel that they see each other as equals and what the other lacks is filled in by the other without anyone feeling superior."

"That sounds great. Our couple role model perhaps?"

Nathaniel laughed one of his glorious not exuberant loud but self-conscious laughs that made my stomach feel fluttery. It was his fourth day at LeXa ltd. - or rather evening because of course I had put him on the evening shift, which suited his current day-night rhythm (and so I could see him more often) and it seemed to be going well. Very well in fact. He kept the visits to the clan every other night but had now moved them to the mornings and had dinner with us. I was a little worried because I was afraid that he was adapting his circadian rhythm far too much to suit us (me) but he said he was fine, it felt "natural". Well, if that was one of the echoes, I hoped it would linger because it seemed to be going well. Nathaniel looked good. Content. More confident despite the new surroundings and all the strangers.

It had been a risk to put him in team 34, which had been incomplete for years. As a rule, teams consisted of a minimum of five and a maximum of eight people, but something had always been wrong with this one. To be honest - I had chosen 34 based on the social media profiles of its members. Chad and Alistair Kyme were videogame nerds like Nate, liked cosplay and fantasy movies and seemed very harmonious despite very different professions in my company (maybe that's why they were so harmonious - they didn't cling). I also practiced not to cling. In this respect, perhaps really a role model of how relationships should be. Anthony Morris had almost only pictures of cloud formations, rainbows, sunrises and sunsets on his Facebook page (perhaps an amateur photographer or someone who just liked to daydream), was calm and not pushy and I imagined that this would meet Nathaniel's need for stability. It also softened the exact opposite impression of the last team member. I put my head in my hands, watching him spellbound, as Nate continued his story after another bite of his sandwich.

"And Lavonne - she's - I can't even describe what she's like. She would probably summarize it as ... um - totally out of pocket. Cause ... she uses that Gen Z slang even though she's too old for it. And she only has photos of her outfits and insects on her cell phone. She says insects are her spirit animals? Is that what they call it? I don't know. Did you know that she has perfected the movement patterns of those robots that scurry over rubble with six or eight legs without tipping over - because they are based on insects."

I smiled broadly and he lowered his eyes with a grin. I still missed his blue skin. But I loved his eyelashes, which he had as a human and they contrasted so beautifully on his cheeks when he lowered his eyes. There was something so damn sensual about it.

"Of course you knew that - she works for you."

"I don't know all the employees - the heads of the divisions report to me. But believe it or not, I hired Lavonne myself - her thesis from Caltech wowed me. I had to have her for LeXa," I commented, popping the last bite of sandwich into my mouth and fighting the urge to wipe my hands on my black mission jeans. Inevitably, everyone understood that after not spending much time around my company for the past few months (for obvious reasons), I was now spending a lot more time at LeXa for the same reason. But that didn't mean that Brooklyn made me permanently neglect my other responsibilities. I wasn't forced - but even Nate said patrolling was part of being a gargoyle. He had looked a little wistful at that and I wished again that I could take him up in the air with me again. Not on a dangerous mission. Just glide. Maybe he would be receptive to wearing one of the old Xanatos gargoyle battle suits? No, I couldn't imagine Nate being comfortable with something like that. And he wanted to do human things again. He wanted to settle down and find his footing - literally. I couldn't sabotage that, not even out of affection.

"Lavonne Smith," I returned to the lighter topic. "A very exuberant woman, isn't she?"

I reveled in the sight of Nathaniel's face turning red up to his ears. At work, he had his hair in such a way that his left, frayed ear was rarely visible. His teammates had noticed, though, and had bought his story about the " bitey neighbor dog" that had caught him with ten (whichever dog would rather "chew off an ear" than aim for the throat). Nathaniel, wonderfully embarassed, fidgeted a little.

"Exuberant - yes. That's the right word. But warm and welcoming. Chat calls her the pack mom and I guess that's true. She's cool. But ... and I think ... well she's really not subtle and I think she's interested in me like a woman is interested in a man."

I laughed softly and wiped my mouth with a napkin.

"What's funny about that?" he asked, furrowing his brow with a grin. Of course I knew Lavonne Smith was hitting on him. I'd even seen her touch him on the knee once in the surveillance footage, and I'd even seen Nate cringe on the screen but apologize in his sureall polite (or rather conflict-shy) way and run off to wherever.

"It's funny because I know Miss Smith is wasting her time. One word from you and I'll rush to your rescue, you know that. But you're a grown man and our rule three came from you. If one of us needs the other's help, he may always ask as well as the other can offer help - but if you don't ask, you don't need help. Or ... is this a situation where we bend the rule? I could put her in one of the anti-molestation trainings."

Nathaniel grimaced, but he could see from my expression that the situation didn't trigger me into action and that I found it rather funny that my friend was being hit on by a woman. Funny and ... justified.

"You're a good-looking man. You shouldn't be surprised that other people are now looking at you. And not with pity."

Nate blushed a little, put down his food and wiped his fingers before picking up his glass of water and drinking it without taking his eyes off me. I licked my lips because I could see his Adam's apple moving on his clean-shaven skin. He was a beautiful man. Still very slim but I was getting used to his human form again. He was handsome. He was desirable. I desired him and wanted to lick his Adam's apple and kiss his neck and other parts of his body. We hadn't had sex since the night before he had changed back and heaven, I wanted him so much but I wouldn't make the first move. I didn't want to push him when he hadn't yet arrived in his new life and old body. But he was beautiful! Not a maltreated creature full of scars and wounds and so pain-ridden and mentally devastated that he couldn't straighten his back or meet the gaze of others. I had seen him in the surveillance footage and had seen how well he dealt with his new colleagues - in Team 34 and in the accounts department. He didn't cower in front of his boss either - a man in his sixties with a calm voice and an equally calm demeanor. Although I had also told the head of accounting that Mr. Sharif was acquainted with me, so he should be damn friendly and lenient with him because otherwise I would dangle him from the nearest flagpole. Of course I hadn't said it exactly like that, but my toothy smile had certainly helped him to read between the lines.

"When are you going to tell her that you have a fantastic lover who is at your feet with claws and fangs?

"I'm definitely not going to tell her like that. Or ... or should I? I mean, not the Gargoyle thing but the boyfriend thing?"

He looked up uncertainly from the sandwich he had just been holding in his hands since he picked it up again.

"I could stick one of the patches on and we'll take some photos. No one knows me as Lex Eyrie here."

"Mhmm..." Nate seemed to think about it. Then he looked startled for a moment. "Oh. I'm just babbling about my breaks. You must think I'm not working at all."

"I don't think that at all. I can see that you're working and your supervisor says you're trying very hard to catch up and have a bright mind."

"You see me working?" Nathaniel smirked at my apologetic look and my flattened ears.

"I - I told you I'd check on you! I didn't break our rule about that."

He let me fidget for a moment then reached over his kitchen counter where we were sitting and nudged my brow bone, which immediately sent a surge of happiness and relief through me, which of course he knew.

"I figured you'd keep an eye on me. I'm not angry with you. Don't be afraid to speak the truth," he repeated the first rule and I grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to it. "Don't be afraid of speaking the truth," I repeated.

"Is the camera in my screen," he asked quietly, something flitting across his face that was vaguely reminiscent of fear.

"No. Up on the ceiling. Not exactly above your desk, but at the entrance to the office. One of the normal surveillance cameras. I just ... point it in your direction every now and then," I said, clearing my throat. "It's not as if I'm constantly watching you and struggling with whether I shouldn't make evening patrols through the company. I'm not. So... I could-."

"You could. It's your company."

"Partly," I said with a grin, and Nathaniel's look was so warm and calm that it took a load off my mind. Still, I asked.

"I'm so glad you're okay with your teammates and your new work environment. ... Everything good? Apart from work?"

"What do you mean?"

"You feel good? In general? In, well, in your body?"

Nate looked at me blankly for a moment before smiling and nodding. His smile became a little uncertain. Just for a moment, but even that worried me. I tried to be better - but it was so hard when all I really wanted to do was pack him in bubble wrap.

"I'm fine. I'm settling back in."

I took a big sip of my Coke so that I didn't sound quite so grim but rather carefree and casual about the following. "And it's not too much to work in the evenings and spend early mornings with the clan? Your rhythm is almost completely reversed. Do you sleep well during the day? Being awake at night and sleeping during the day isn't healthy for humans in the long run. Ask Elisa."

Nathaniel pushed his sandwich aside and leaned over the narrow counter, our plates and half-full glasses between us. I mirrored his action and our lips found each other in a soft lingering kiss where his tongue briefly dipped into my mouth. I sighed longingly as he broke away from me and we smiled at each other just inches apart. "You can't stop worrying about me." He said it with affection and I knew he didn't mean it reproachfully.

"I really want to."

"I know. I think ... Caring is your way of showing love. One of the ways you show love. As long as you don't patronize me, I actually like it."

"Well, I like it when you like me," I said and leaned forward and now he was approaching me.

Oh, his tongue, his blunt, straight teeth touching my lips. I got goose bumps all over my body and almost imagined that Nathaniel's body was exuding the familiar magical warmth, but much better was the thought that his body temperature was rising because of me. I got up from my chair and leaned forward as the arm I wasn't using to push myself off the counter found the back of his head and pulled him closer to me to deepen the kiss. So much for my intention not to make the first move. But was it even like that? One of Nathaniel's hands found my neck and went under my Kevlar vest and dark T-shirt. Since when did touching my collarbones get me so excited? Probably because we hadn't done it for a while. Cuddling yes - extensively. And I was happy with that because it was really nice. But if Nate's balls were half as blue as mine, then he wanted it too. Oh, how much I wanted him to want it. That the Brentwood incident and his retransformation didn't weigh him down in this regard.

Which apparently didn't because my tail had crept under the counter to his side (okay, I'd let it creep) and was now squeezing and rubbing him between the legs. He moaned more than approvingly into my mouth as I rubbed his erection and was so sweet that I left his mouth unattended for a moment to plaster his cheeks, his temple, his forehead with kisses. He lowered his head at the latter, then groaned and gasped for air and yanked his head and upper body up, wiping both glasses off the counter with a frantic move of his hand. They smashed on the floor between the kitchen and the living room. We both stared at the broken glass and the puddles of water and coke for a moment but when I turned back to look at him I noticed how hard he was breathing and how startled - no, completely terrified - his expression was as he fixed the mess on the floor as if it was acid and would erode through the new floor any second.

Then he looked up and at me and his open mouth twisted into a cramped, apologetic smile.

"There was a spider in my glass," he said and I knew he was lying to me. We had promised each other to tell the truth and he was lying to my face. And I knew I couldn't even push him to admit the truth because that went against all of doctor Davis' recommendations and he had to ask when he needed help. If he didn't ask, he would handle it on his own. I hated that damn rule. My lover stood in front of me, pale and smelling of insecurity and confusion, not daring to tell me AGAIN what was really going on in his head. I was too burdened to do anything but smile and pretend to buy the lie. Together we cleaned up the broken glass, Nate leaving me to wipe up the liquid as if he was almost afraid of it. It didn't occur to either of us to resume our previous activity. I kissed him goodbye. He kissed me but we were both probably relieved to get away from each other. Me out of disappointment and Nate out of ... I don't know. I loved him and his lying didn't change that, but he had to come to me. He was already breaking the rules but I wouldn't do that.

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When Lex was gone, I sighed with relief and sadness at the same time and went into the bathroom with stiff legs. I switched on the light and saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror out of the corner of my eye.

"Not again," I whispered, closing my eyes and rubbing my face with both hands. In my mind's eye, I saw the marvelous lights and illuminated streets of Manhattan as if I were a gargoyle gliding over them. Just like in my dreams. So I opened them again. They were beautiful images and I didn't mind seeing them in my dreams, even if I woke up crying afterwards without really feeling sad. Just ... longing. So incredibly longing. Sometimes it really felt as if I could feel the wind beneath my wings, as if my body was being lifted and carried. But it wasn't real and now I was seeing these images even when I was awake? Maybe it was like cleaning up, I thought. When you were tidying up, it always looked worse for a short time than before. My brain was certainly tidying up after this back-and-forth transformation.

I could tell by the look on Lexington's face that he knew I had lied to him. He had been SO disappointed. But I coped with that what my mind did to me. It- some things just scared me. I would talk it over with him if there was something to talk about.

I looked down at my hands. "They're just echoes. Just echoes," I whispered. And rubbed my hands and fingers together. There were four fingers and the thumb. Not three including the thumb. No claws. Just thin fingernails. Lex hadn't felt any claws when I'd touched his neck either - he would have commented on that. I couldn't tell him that I kept feeling my gargoyle limbs or seeing my old gargoyle face in reflections.

What I saw wasn't real. Nor was what I felt. But it felt real. These echoes were truly confusing. Often, mostly during the day, I didn't feel anything or when I was at work or distracted by my teammates, nothing happened for many hours. But it had just been a bit too much not only to perceive my hands as different, not only to have to hold the lustful gargoyle grumble in my throat, but also to see my reflection when I lowered my gaze to the counter. Blurry in my water glass but clearly blue-skinned and with horns growing on my face and forehead where Lexington had just placed his kisses and certainly hadn't felt a horn. I hoped Lex didn't hold it against me. I would have liked to make love to him, but I wasn't sure if he even wanted me as a human that intensely. Well, now I knew because he would have gone with it if it hadn't suddenly been too much for me. I rumbled in frustration and growled even more intensely in frustration that it really sounded like a gargoyle sound.

I looked up and noticed out of the corner of my eye how my skin, which was in reality humanly latte brown, shimmered blue, how wings rose above me, how horns were swinging over my head. When I finally dared to turn around and look at myself head-on, there was "only" the human. Normal skin color, no wings, no horns. I grabbed my shoulder and ran my hand over my one shoulder blade. There was NO wing. Why did it feel like that? I knew the technical term for it - phantom pain. But it didn't even hurt. It really was phantoms that were tormenting me.

"Just echoes," I whispered, not sure why I wanted to cry.

Not all sunshine and roses, huh?

Thanks for reading, Q.T.