Oblivion - Michael Jan Friedman [42]
“Is everything all right?”
Jolted by Jiterica’s voice, Paris blinked and realized that his friend was peering at him, her features arranged in a slightly puzzled expression.
“Uh, fine,” he said.
Her puzzlement seemed to turn into concern. “Are you certain you’re all right? You seemed…distracted.”
He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Not at all. You were saying…?”
Jiterica smiled again. “I don’t believe I was saying anything. I was simply waiting for you to make your move.”
Paris swallowed. Make my move…
Again, he saw her empty suit in his mind’s eye, and felt the strangely intoxicating prick of cold, cloying mist…
The ensign swore under his breath. How in the name of reason could he not be distracted? Being so close to Jiterica seemed to inexorably bring back the memory of how it felt to be enveloped by her…trapped in her…
It was a feeling of undeniable sensuality. Undeniable pleasure. And yes, undeniable intimacy.
So undeniable, in fact, that it had scared Paris right down to his soul. He could admit that now, if only to himself. That was the reason he had left Jiterica’s quarters so abruptly, wasn’t it? Because he was scared to death of the sensuality he felt in every alien molecule.
But it wasn’t just sensuality—it was more than that. When he was unexpectedly immersed in Jiterica, he felt a deep and profound sense of belonging—a sense of comfort, of familiarity and undiluted acceptance.
A sense of something that felt to him a lot like love.
Not that Paris knew what love was. Not really.
After all, he had never been in love with anyone. As far as he could remember, he had never even come close. He had been too wrapped up in his studies, in his desperate attempts to meet his family’s lofty expectations.
But, Paris asked himself, how could he love someone who was so vastly different from him? How could he have feelings for someone he couldn’t even hold?
He didn’t know. And yet, he had those feelings. He wasn’t imagining them.
So what was the right course to take? Was he supposed to tell Jiterica how he felt and try to make a go of it with her?
No, Paris told himself. It’s too crazy. It would never work, no matter how much he might want it to.
He had to stop it from going any further. And he had to do it now, before he did something he would ultimately regret.
“Oh no,” said Paris, doing his best to look disappointed. He had never been very good at deceiving people, but he was hoping that Jiterica wouldn’t notice.
She looked understandably surprised. “What is it?”
Paris sighed. “I just remembered that I’m supposed to prepare a report for Mister Simenon.”
“A report?” she echoed.
“Yes, on the engine tests I ran for him this morning. I’m, er, sure you had to submit reports to him too. I mean, when you did your rotation in engineering.”
“I don’t recall doing so,” Jiterica told him.
“Well,” said Paris, “maybe he doesn’t ask everyone to do them. But he won’t be happy if they’re late.”
“I guess not,” she said.
“You don’t mind our cutting this short, then?”
“Not at all,” said Jiterica.
“Sorry,” he said—a bit lamely, he thought.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” she told him. “I understand.”
No, he thought, I don’t think you do. But he said, “Thanks. See you later, then?”
“Yes,” said Jiterica, “later.”
And she got up to leave. Paris got up as well, purely out of habit. However, he wasn’t feeling particularly chivalrous after what he had just done.
He watched Jiterica turn and walk away from him. As she got closer to the doors, they opened for her, and he felt an unexpected urge to call her back—to tell her he wanted her to stay after all. But he resisted it.
Then the doors closed, and she was gone.
He took a deep breath, then expelled it. He hoped that he hadn’t hurt Jiterica’s feelings. After all, it wasn’t her fault that he felt this way about her.
It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It had just happened.
But Paris wouldn’t let it go any