The Rapture

FIFTEEN

PEARL

You know what? Fuck this.

"Give me a moment," I said to François. I hurried to the door and yanked it open. Humid air greeted my skin, immediately leaving a thin sheet of moisture behind.

The sky was clear, littered with thousands of stars. Two moons hung like medallions in the night sky, golden and full. I didn't have time to marvel at them in awe, because Dumuzi was walking away from me, a shadow in the sky's backdrop.

The shadow was gaining distance.

"Hey—hey!" I yelled, running to catch up. I was never good at sports, even as a kid, and I hated running. I fumbled a few times before I got to him.

He turned around. "What is it you need?"

His voice was rather... formal. Like we were two coworkers having a discussion on what projects were due, not potential soul mates. I put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My lungs burned. The added oxygen in the air helped little.

"Uh." I wracked my brain about where to start. There were just too many things I needed to ask. "Why did you take my fucking cup? I wasn't finished. Still had water in it."

Why not start there?

"Perhaps because it was a gold cup, and I found the design tasteless."

What?

That made zero sense to me. "That... literally makes no sense. What to happened to you, Dumuzi? You look like shit."

Well, not really, but he looked exhausted–the dark circles under his eyes, and how his face looked drawn and weary. He couldn't be that upset over gold kitchenware; it was something else.

He sighed, straightening out his black shirt. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark, which I found peculiar instead of scary.

The way his hair fell into his face made him seem wild somehow. The lengths billowed behind him in the wind. I took a step forward when anyone would have taken a step back.

"Pearl," he whispered, reaching out a hand to me. When I didn't take it, he touched the side of my face.

I shook my head, clearing my throat as his fingers moved to explore my cheek. Warm tingles spread out like the strings of a spider web across my skin. How strange for my body to react like this to him—would all humans react this way?

I licked my dry lips. I would not let him distract me, even though I really liked what he was doing.

I moved his hand away from my face. "Did you find something? A way to stop Osa?"

He dropped his arm. "No."

I felt guilty that his revelation relieved me, but I kept prodding. "Then what is going on with you? Why do you look so angry?"

"I am not angry. There are things I cannot discuss at the present time."

I groaned. Irritation flared, causing my teeth to clench. How many times had I interviewed people that kept things they wouldn't discuss? It drove me absolutely bonkers.

I'm about to have a moment.

I stared at him, holding my breath, trying to keep in a frenzied rant. Because if I ranted, that would be the moment he knew he wouldn't want to be with me.

It was the reason why I was mocked online. It was the reason why cocky, better journalists made headlines about me, titled: Pearl Blankenship, the Conspiracist Who Needs to Take a Chill Pill.