Irresponsibly Immortal

Chapter Seven

© 2020 just_cait_here

"Breakfast above Beds"
•••

Kenya POV

"No, no, no! That's just not possible!"

I give Makoa a bored look. "I was born in a time of wizards, witches, and wombats. I'm pretty sure it's possible."

"Wombats?"

I shrug. "I needed another word beginning with W,"

"Wait— witches? Wizards? No. Nope. Nada! You're insane, I'm insane, this whole thing-" he gestures wildly with his hands "-is insane!"

"What's insane about it?"

"You're, you're, like fifteen thousand years old!!"

I roll my eyes. "Not quite. I was born in the fifth century, making me approximately sixteen thousand years old, give or take a few years."

Makoa's mouth is opening and closing like a fish's. "You're telling me that you were born in the sixth century, are sixteen thousand years old, and haven't aged a day?"

"It's called a curse. I also can't be killed. Kind of sucks, if I'm being honest with you."

"You're SIXTEEN THOUSAND years old and you still act like a immature sixteen year old?!"

"Wow. Thanks. And technically, even though I became immortal at sixteen the curse allowed me to age until my eighteenth birthday. I don't know why." I shrug.

Okay, that was a lie. After the witch crumbled away into nothingness all that was left was a note. Not on paper or animal hide or anything, scratched into the wall.
The note had stated that if I could turn my ways around before I turned eighteen that the curse could be broken.
Right out of a damn fairy tale.

But, me being young and stupid, had decided I wanted to stay immortal and so I continued down my path of recklessness.

I regretted that every day.

"So you were alive during the Black Death? And the world wars? Did you fight in them?"

I shake my head, shrugging.
"Yes Makoa, I disguised myself as a man and fought in the war." I say sarcastically.

"Oh yeah. I forgot about the whole woman's rights thing. I guess I've just always viewed woman as equals so it never really registers."

"Or you don't appreciate them enough. You should have been there at the rallies." A smile spreads across my face. "I was a very active participant, I even funded some major events."

"You? Donating money?"

"That was a long time ago." Is all I say. "But, I did my part. I was a nurse on the front lines, and was never caught whenever I stole a rifle or grenade from a corpse and causally bopped it over to enemy lines."

His eyes widen, impressed.

"Don't look at me like that. I wasn't being brave, I am literally unkillable. It didn't take any courage on my part. It was sort of like a video game."

"So all those photos, articles, and paintings Brianna found on you.... those were actually of you?"

"Yep, and most of them paid for by my various lovers as well." I wrinkle my nose. "Tears of a Maiden was painted without my consent. The painter, a detestable man by the name of Robert Cunningway, caught me crying from laughter on the street after a wonderous little trick I had played. The brute asked to paint my picture and I declined, quite politely if I might add."