L'Enyorance

He was your f-father, he was -" She was standing in front of me again, looking me up and down, head ticking, and then bobbing slightly. I had never seen one of hers angry before. She was baffled and frustrated beyond all Fideus. "Why?"

I put my arms around the beast and leaned into her with all my weight. Her venters were warm, almost prickly, against my cheeks, my arms. "I want to tell you. I do." I sighed and took a breath of her: all mildew and burnt cinnamon. "I’m sure he never did."

And then the Cuc’s arms were on my shoulders, twining around my neck, her fur almost molten. "He was a great m-man. He was y-your father, Mercè." She ran her forearms down my back and pulled me into her.

"You never suspected, did you? Could you suspect? Can yours even begin to understand?"

"He w-was a good father. You can n-never say anything"

I waited for it: the shame, the guilt, the touch: any of it. I wished desperately that I could feel it, resurrect it, use it for whatever it was worth right then. I wanted to hate her, because he wasn’t there. "He was NOT a good father! You can never know how he was!"

"D-Don’t say that, tiny Mercè." Llòrdes squeezed me into her, the claws of hind arms rasping my lower back. Her bellies tightened and began to spasm, walling me in a cleavage of muscle. She purred into my ear. "He never hurt you."

I refused to cry. I could barely breathe now, as it was. I clawed at her bellies, pinched blindly at tufts of sinew. Jaw limp and bludgeoned with pain, I could only whisper: "How do you know what he did? You’re not one of us. You’re just an animal, a thing. How can you ever know?" I was losing my voice.

Llòrdes nestled the crown of my head with her snout and blew on my hair. Her breath was slush; it was thick and cool and oozed through my drenched scalp.

"You c-can never understand what he d-did for me, girl. I d-don’t care what you s-say. He never h-hurt … S-Say it. Say it, girl!"

I felt a rib crack and coughed. Somehow, I had begun to cry. The Cuc wedged me into her, harder and harder. My jaw began to dislocate. "You do know, don’t you? Did he confess to you? I bet he did. But you still can’t under-" I sputtered under the strain of the last question. My jaw just popped out of its sockets.

"Say it! Say it, Mercè! He was g-good. You don’t k-know what he did for m-me … I don’t w-want to do this to m-my little Mercè …" The creature trailed off.

Her arms were back around my neck, her nails at the base of my skull. She was killing me, I knew it.

But does she really know, I wondered.

And then:

Why can’t I feel it anymore? Why can’t I still be sure, now of all times?

This is the last bit of anger I can ever feel, I thought. All this time, it occurred to me, and this is all I have to show for it.

Maybe I felt another rib snap, just before she dropped me on the floor.

END