Human trauma 2, p.20
Human Trauma 2, page 20
part #2 of Human Trauma Series
Once outside, Martinez scanned the area around him, something Grula noted and chuckled, treating the Human’s vigilance like a joke.
“Brother, chill out,” Grula insisted, lighting a cigarette.
Though it was not tobacco, it was Hyrala, a similar narcotic Martinez knew what he lit—Hyrala was the universe’s more common way of giving species nicotine. Tobacco was more potent and had not become popular outside military units attached to Humans.
After Grula lit his cigarette, he offered the just-lit one from his lips to Martinez; following a moment of pause and jamming the pistol in his belt, the Human grabbed the offered smoke.
Martinez was not the type of man to smoke, but if it was offered, why say no? Grula was clearly trying to break the ice between them. Martinez and many other Human NCOs have done similar things when they want to chat with someone.
“So what do you want?” Martinez said, cutting to the chase and taking a drag on the cigarette.
“In all honesty, I wanted to chat with you and try to convince you that Kyroll is not as bad as he seems,” Grula replied. “My old squad leader—is a troubled man.”
Martinez did not actively reply but rolled his eyes and leaned back against the truck bed, letting the Aveix veteran continue.
“I know you have heard about him from little Lysa and likely Nelya too,” Grula continued. “How he is cold, distant, and uncaring?”
“I have, what about it?” Martinez replied flatly, flicking away some ash.
“Brother, I just want you to give that stubborn ass a chance—as big of an ask as that is. I know how this will likely go once the squad leaves,” Grula sighed, cracking his neck and open-palming toward the house.
“Even if he is troubled, what he does will be his problem. Hell, it will be more of an issue for Lysa and Nelya than it will for me,” Martinez shrugged. “I really do not care about how he feels. But I do give a relative rat’s ass about those two.”
That was something the Human truly believed in; his safety could get bent, and Kyroll’s health could likewise go the way of the dodo. The only thing that mattered inside those walls was Nelya and Lysa.
Granted, they did for different reasons, but it was an issue of blood between the two lovely women.
Grula lifted his boot and stamped out the butt of his cigarette while sighing, “Yeah—I figured you would say something like that.”
“What else would I do?” Martinez questioned as Grula clambered into the cab and held his hand out toward Martinez.
Without being asked, Martinez put the pistol’s grip into Grula’s hand. Grula was wasting his time trying to ask much of the Human. He was regrettably aware of the History between his god-daughter and her father.
They were silent as the Aviex’s other meaty gripper moved the slide, checking the chamber for ammunition. “Try not to kill one another,” he chuckled, slipping the weapon into the dash.
“That’s easier said than done from what I’ve seen,” Martinez replied, gesturing back at the house where Nelya and the other troopers were filling out.
“Yeah—I know, brother—I know,” Grula sighed before pausing and waving goodbye to his squad and Nelya, who did likewise. “Just don’t let that ass get to you,” he continued after turning over the powerful engine in his truck.
“Fuck man, call me if you need a hand with the old snot weasel,” Grula said, leaning over and handing Martinez a card.
It was not some special digital chip with his contact that would be thrown away after downloading the information; no, Grula had given him a genuine paper-printed contact card. Martinez had never seen one in person. Sure, they existed in the fiction media he and Lysa watched. But they were not used on earth even before the great uplifting half a century ago.
Holding the hard print in his hand drove home how truly backwater this section of the planet and universe was. You could not get this on earth without having a bunch of money, or it was for some specialized product—like the hard cardstock that came with his silken bedding.
“Sure,” Martinez replied, still not entirely trusting Grula, something the professional man noted with a simple grunt before pulling away, his tires crackling on the stones.
Martinez did not respond as Grula drove away, watching his truck’s rear lights vanish over the horizon. Turning around, he was shocked and unnerved that the others were watching him in their trucks, knuckles whiter than usual due to the Aviex’s pale complexion.
Most of them gave Martinez a genuine smile and a quick nod before starting their vehicles and departing. Offering him a goodbye in standard as each pulled away, something he likewise did.
Until the only one of the squad who did not seem to be happy about his presence was left, Kyroll withstanding.
He was the older-looking Aviex from downstairs who sat immediately off to Kyrolls side earlier that day.
Unlike the others, this man had grayish hair, tired-looking, nearly black eyes, and wrinkles as deep as canyons across his scowled face.
This guy was still glaring at the Human when the others were mostly staring at him cautiously, or with a nearly overflowing curiosity.
“Burkla, you should head home—Frela won’t want you out too late,” Nelya said, interrupting the awkward stare-down.
He sneered toothily at Martinez for another moment before looking over at Nelya, “Yeah, I would hate to keep the Gra’hu waiting,” Burkla nodded before putting his old rattling truck into gear and rolling forward.
Burkla ensured Nelya could not see the gesture he sent Martinez’s way while rolling past; unlike the Aviex language, Martinez needed no translator to understand what running your thumb across your neck meant.
Some gestures were universal, and that threat sent a shiver down his spine.
What in God’s name was wrong with that guy—and Kyroll? But Martinez had no doubt tonight would answer most of those issues.
Martinez walked over toward Nelya and was going to ask what he had missed between the conversation in Aviex earlier that day. He also wanted clarification on how Grula had implied they had chatted about her grand plan—but life had other plans for the duo.
Flowing out the open door and filling their heads with panic, Lysa and Kyroll yelled at one another in Aviex. Sharp curses, a smashed glass, and what Martinez prayed was not the sound of someone eating a hit followed right after.
Hearing that put Martinez’s ass into gear.
“Ah fuck!” Martinez exclaimed, running past Nelya, who flowed in behind the Human.
Nelya was glad Martinez could not understand Aviex; hearing Lysa or Kryoll launch such venom at one another was unreal. As they rounded the corner, she had already heard them calling one another brain dead, bastard, whore, and she hoped she misheard Kryoll calling Lysa a Vuric’s whore.
That would be beyond even his moronic ass. Nelya at least prayed it was.
She had expected that they could have been left alone for a few minutes without any issues, especially after her firm warning to Kyroll that Lysa and Henry were only giving him this one chance to not be an asshat.
But apparently, her Gra’hu must have thought his snide comments about Martinez would have been far more well-received than Lysa was or should tolerate.
“You waste of air; How fucking dare you!” Lysa hissed in Aviex, jamming her sharp nail into his chest.
“You brought that fucking thing into my house, around your moth—” Kyroll started to reply, but because of his train of thought was interrupted by a mixture of the other halves of the two relationships encroaching, even if they were approaching the issue in two drastically different ways—namely because Martinez could not have heard him calling the Human a freak, monster, animal, or Vuric, an Aviex word that is used similarly to the rest of the universes term Vein-slicer.
“Kyroll! Stop right now!” Nelya snapped, grabbing his shoulder and ripping his attention from Lysa—and Henry who forced himself between them and was making no effort to shield Kryoll from Lysa, giving Kyroll and Nelya his back.
That was something that Nelya had more time to focus on, and it would have melted her heart. Lysa had made it well known over the last few days that she would have no issues with her argument with Kyroll becoming physical—and with her training, age, and just that Male and Female Aviex are in no way less hardy than the other, that could not end well.
That and Nelya regrettably could see Martinez joining in and thrashing Kyroll because her husband likely would fight back. If they both fought Kyroll— at least one of them would need stitches, and it would assuredly be Kyroll.
“Whoa, whoa, Ruh’ah, it’s okay,” Martinez assured, gently holding Lysa’s shoulders and getting between the pair standing over a shattered mug in the living room.
“Don’t you dare use that word, you filthy animal,” Kyroll replied in Aviex, having not bothered to change back to Standard.
“Pound sand, you old bastard,” Lysa hissed in Aviex, ignoring that Martinez and Nelya were even there. Both had to actively keep the others apart, though Nelya was more gently trying to get a word in to get Kyrolls attention, while Martinez might as well be keeping Lysa from skinning her father. “Don’t you have even the slightest amount of care for me and my joy?”
Nelya looked at Kyroll, who honestly looked slightly shocked by the comment. She and Kyroll had spoken about how much he regretted what had happened in the past and how his main goal with Lysa, which was her safety, had only caused issues—he just had the emotional flexibility of a rock.
“Don’t you say a word,” Nelya softly interjected, taking advantage of his pause. She spoke loud enough that Kyroll could hear, but hopefully not so loud that her emotionally charged daughter.
Not that her not hearing genuinely mattered. They were pulled tight like piano strings and were one wrong move from soiling any chance of them salvaging their relationship.
“Oh no, Mother, let the fucker say it!” Lysa hissed, having heard Nelya and venomously remembering the last time they spoke when Kryoll had essentially expressed that she could never date or be around anyone non-Aviex. “If that dalcop thinks he knows anything about me, Ruh’ah, or our lives, he can say it.”
“Don’t you dare,” Nelya reinforced, before looking back at Martinez and was about to ask him to please get Lysa out of here for the moment so she could speak to Kyroll.
But her dear Gra’hu, just had to be himself again: an old, stubborn, stupid man, who had no idea how to deescalate anything, nor had any relevant understanding of Lysa’s emotional issues.
“What do you know? I’m trying to keep my stupid daughter safe from these fucking monsters who will be more than happy to—” Kyroll started but was stopped by a deafening slap across his face from Lysa.
Martinez tried to wrangle her back after she slipped past him to strike her father. But it was not needed; she did not speak, or even look at him after leaving the non-mangled half of his face as red as his eyes.
Fuck, none of them moved, breathed, or did anything for the next few moments. The world had fallen silent, leaving only their orbit high heart rates as an indication they were still alive.
If a nail dropped in the room right then, it would have been more voluminous than a gunshot and just as deadly.
Lysa paused and looked at her hand, unable to accept that she hit him back, then toward Martinez for reassurance. But her Human’s look of anguish did not help. No, it cracked her heart like ice on the pavement.
Lysa knew she crossed the hard line of no return; they all knew it.
Instead of pressing her attack or begging her father to try to understand—she sniffled and rushed out the back door, all those years of hate overflowing in that one millisecond-long strike.
Martinez rushed after her, not even waiting to hear Nelya asking him to watch after her daughter; the Human did not need to be told to do so. The older Aviex knew he would.
Neither Nelya nor Kyroll spoke or breathed until the guest house door closed loudly.
Nelya sighed, stepped back, and took a deep breath. This was an unmitigated disaster. How in all the universe did she mess this up so badly? What happened? What could she have changed to not have her family despise one another?
Kryoll stepped closer and was about to speak, but Nelya placed a firm hand in the center of his chest to stop him, “Sit down now!” Nelya said as calmly as possible.
She did not need to yell or hiss right now. Neither would help, after all.
But Nelya doubted this could be salvaged. For all she knew, Martinez and Lysa were packing already, both about to leave her and her Gra’hu’s lives for good.
The wizened woman hoped that blunder would not be the final wedge between her daughter and Kyroll—But she needed answers before that fortune could even be guessed at.
Section Twenty
A Past Best Forgotten
Martinez paused Inside the guest house once the door closed behind him, wanting to think about what to do next.
Yes, he knows to follow Lysa into the bedroom, but after she slammed the door so hard that paintings fell off the wall—he wanted a rough plan of action.
Breathing deeply and stacking the fallen artwork against the wall gave Martinez enough time to prepare.
After all of what he had seen and what Nelya had told him, Martinez knew he had to be the problem. He was sharp enough that even with the language barrier, he could tell Kyroll was focusing on him: pointing, glaring, and snapping teeth.
If Martinez were a betting man, which he was, he would bet that Lysa was trying to stand up for him.
If her standing up for him led to her doing something she already regretted—it was his turn to confront her Father, well, after he settled her aching heart. Lysa deserved that much support and more.
Slowly opening the door, Martinez could barely make out the sounds of Lysa sniffling. For a moment, he wondered if she might not be crying, but he thought that until he was close enough for her meek noises to overcome his tinnitus.
His Ruh’ah was sprawled out on the bed, burying her head deep into the plush pillows. Her hair draped around the pillows, engulfing her shoulders, upper torso, and the surroundings. If not for seeing her heaving chest, he could think she was trying to snuggle up because she was cold.
Walking over and sitting beside her, Lysa’s body sunk against his back. After sitting down, Martinez laid a hand on her shoulder and gently rubbed it, shockingly causing her to recoil as if he was about to hurt her more.
Thankfully, after a few moments of soothing contact, Lysa seemed to realize it was Martinez giving her beatific reassurance and not her mother, father, or some other specter she conjured in her mind; at that point, she somewhat settled once again, but her hammering heart was like a fist repeatedly striking his palm: it was steady, powerful, and unyielding in its presence.
“How are you feeling?” Martinez questioned, unsure of any more appropriate way to broach the topic.
Lysa looked over her shoulder at him. Her usually soft face was contorted with puffy eyes and was as sopping wet as the pillow. With an almost anguished look, Lysa attempted to smile, hoping doing so would help her look strong and capable, but that lasted only a heartbeat at most.
“Henry—am I detestable?” Lysa questioned with shocking earnesty.
It did not seem like the other times when she called herself a monster; at those times, Lysa was parroting the treatment from the aliens surrounding her. This was in no way like that. No, it was a question pulled up from the darkest dredges of her soul. The mere act of asking the question burned her throat.
It was the result of years upon years of doubt, self-hatred, and external hostility finally catching up to the vampiric woman. Her finally lashing out against the core of her hatred shattered any bulwark against the thoughts like glass.
“I don’t think you are,” Martinez replied, genuinely smiling at her, finding the question frivolous.
He would not have laid with her, cared for her, or traveled half a planet away to know her family if he believed her to be detestable.
That was not the answer Lysa wanted to hear. In her state, she was likely reaching out for his assurance—even if it was for a delusional reason.
Instead of looking uplifted and happy, Lysa twisted back to the pillow and screamed into it, unleashing her fury at the plush silencer.
“Babe, it’s alright. It was a moment of passion,” Martinez said after a moment of pause, wanting to phrase it to not sound like he was laying the blame at her feet.
Lysa whined and grumbled, pulling the pillow tighter, kicking the bedspread, trying to release all the pent-up emotions.
“After that?” Lysa questioned, barely peering out of the pillow.
“Yes, it’s alright,” Martinez assured. “We can get through this.”
Martinez only assured her of that because they still had each other. In a way, both were alone, but they still were there for one another.
“Genuinely?” Lysa sniffled, shifting around in the bed and grabbing Martinez’s waist while laying her head across his lap.
She wanted some amount of skinship from who, at this point, seemed like the only person there for her. Yes, Nelya would not abandon her, but Lysa would never want to bargain with the idea that it was her or her father.
“Of course,” Martinez replied, running his hand through her hair.
Lysa fell nearly silent save for a few sniffles every few seconds, enjoying Martinez’s tender touch, warmth, and support. At this point, he and her Mother were undoubtedly the brightest stars in her life.
Yeah, she had Teacher, Lira, Feinel, Ivorn, and a few other acquaintances she enjoyed having around. But with them, she found them and tried to go out once living in Draun.
“Can we go home?” Lysa whined, “I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Martinez sighed and looked out the window, enjoying the babbling brook past the portal. He personally did not want to go back yet. They were barely halfway through the time off both took, and Martinez genuinely wanted to know Lysa’s family, even if her dad was an ass.
