To Perceive an Image

Thirty-Eight: Images of Needed Security

He's joking, I know he is. He has to be.

"Your joke was funny, that's all," I reason, more for me than for him. He said a joke, and I'm not laughing. Joke, my ass.

In classic Azalynn fashion, it was now his turn to stand frozen.

Our ship name sounds cute.

"I... wasn't... joking," he says each word with a pause.

My limbs move on their record. I get out of my frozen stance and walk closer to him. My hand knocks on his head a few times, "are you okay? Have you officially lost it? Are you Flynn?"

He either got sick of my hand knocking on his skull or got a headache brewing, because his hand wrapped around my wrist. With the gentlest hold known to mankind, he moves my hand away. My brain convinced me he would then lower it to my side to rest it there, but no, fuck no. Boy straight up dropped my hand to my side to fucking hold it.

I ransack my brain to remember the location of the nearest hospital. To my dismay, the closest one is ten minutes away. Useless, I'll fall well passed out by then.

It's just a hand holding another hand, nothing to act dramatically over.

The phalanges and muscles of a human holding that of another, yeah, that's it.

I'm not okay.

Ignore whatever my parents did; whatever Flynn's doing has more of an impact on me.

"No, I'm not joking. The idea of us living together makes sense, at least to me."

"Me too," I blurt out before thinking.

Logical thinking? Bye.

His previous smirk returns, "I'm glad we're on the same page." Like the dumbass I always become around him, I nod vigorously. Forget logic and elegance; they both left.

"Did you know our ship's name is Azalynn?" my attempt at shifting the topic contributed to making matters worse. Flynn has become smirking central right now, and I'm dizzy.

"Cute," was all he replied. I think his thoughts, whatever they may be, keep him too busy to answer with an eloquent response.

Any further questions I had to ask him to gather more detailed information got thrown at the sun when a voice interrupted me.

Have I mentioned that I fucking hate when people interrupt my words, which then disrupts my train of thought?

Ugh.

"Oh look, isn't it the little miss father killer? How did your parents take the news?"

Anna.

Who else resembles the devil minus the horns in a human form other than her?

Better than her.

Wherever she stood, I knew it was somewhere behind me. My back faces her, and my front doesn't want to bother presenting itself. Any fury I had from earlier came back in tons. I feel bad for Flynn's poor arm; I keep glaring at it. Speaking of Flynn, maybe my twisted face gave him indications about her identity. His hold tightens on my hand, reassuring me. I would never admit it, but it's helping a lot.

The shaitan behind me must've noticed our wordless exchange because she had to fucking comment on it.

"Awe, you got yourself a boy, how cute. I feel bad for him, though. Surrounding myself with a criminal wouldn't make me or my reputation feel safe."

That's fucking it.

I went to turn around to give her a piece of my mind, but Flynn held me back. With his free hand grasping my shoulder, he bent down to my level. After he makes sure I'm looking at him, he speaks. A quiet and firm tone that helps me realize what would have been embarrassing consequences of my emotionally anger-driven actions.