Page 81 of Folds
“Not bloody likely,” I say with a heavy exhale. I take a few more deep breaths. “Only one of us is having a full-blown crash out right now.”
“Your brain is simply adjusting to its new reality, Georgia. This is a normal reaction for a mate when a Sorscelgra takes a new host.”
A tear slips down my cheek. This is anything but normal. This is completely, utterly, undoubtedly fucked up. Nothing makes any sense. I just want things to go back to regular life;even if it was a bit sad and a bit lonely, I still knew what to expect.
My SaaS developer job is shit, my cello is dusty, and my house is quiet. The four small rooms that contain my entire life are rapidly closing in around me, threatening to squash any sense of stability they used to give my meagre existence.
“Why don’t we have a cuppa tea and talk this through?” the operator asks. The rattling of my security door has stopped; all I can feel is the sweat on my cheek from holding my phone pressed so tightly to my face. “We won’t hurt ya, love, promise.”
chapter two
I put the kettle on and dust off the teapot my granny left me after she died. I’ve never needed to use this thing. I don’t entertain, and my ex wasn’t a tea drinker. But there are now two flower-headed monsters sitting on my couch politely waiting to explain what the fuck is going on.
Out of the window by the sink, all I can see is the overgrown ivy clinging to the yellow brick wall that separates my patio from the neighbours’. I’ve not made any sort of effort to get to know the people that live on our road. I wouldn’t be able to tell you if the two things in my house live next door or if they came from the other side of the world.
Well, I guess technically, they are from another planet… right?
The kettle pops, and I pour the water over four tea bags I shoved into the pot. My little milk carton is nearly empty, so for ease, I set it on the Christmas tray I dug out with the teapot and my three best mugs.
Nothing in this house matches. Not even in that quirky, East London way. It’s just a series of random shite I’ve collected through the years since I began living on my own. I don’t even like half of this stuff.
“Thank you,” they both murmur in unison as I set down the tray on my battered coffee table.
I drag the second-hand reading chair by the window over and patiently wait for them to start. This is fine. It’s safe. If anything bad happens, I’ll bash the one that looks like a giant rose over the head with the pot. I can defend myself.
Right?
“Shall we start with introductions?” the rose-headed one asks.
The other one looks like a flower too, but I don’t know what kind. They don’t nod at the question or show any bodily reaction to it. There isn’t much of a face on these people, so it’s hard to really tell who they’re talking to.
“You seem to know my name already.” I pour tea and top mine up with the milk first. They don’t add any milk to theirs.
That’s suspicious.
“Well, we know of you,” Not Rose explains. “Just what the living organisms around you know and feel.”
I lean back in my chair, tucking one leg awkwardly under my bum. Not exactly a fight-or-flight-ready stance, but how can I enjoy a nice cup of tea if I’m sat so weirdly? The flower heads slightly mimic my pose, relaxing deeper into my small couch.
The skin on their arms makes an odd sound as it brushes against the velvet of the sofa. I’ve been avoiding trying to figure out why the colour of them seems slightly off, but up against the deep green cushions, they are practically glowing with pink and orange hues.
Not in the natural human way, where we are all different warm or cool tones, but in an "I've fallen into an industrial vat of punk hair dye” sort of way. And they look sort of fuzzy like velvet now too, which would explain the noise. It’s kind of like their bodies are flower stems and their heads the bulbs.
Have I been so isolated I didn’t even realise aliens invaded?
Rose clears her throat after the silence between us stretches a bit long. I’m so lost in my thoughts I flinch at the strange,raspy noise. Piping hot tea splashes across my hand, and suddenly everything becomes a kaleidoscope of petals.
Both the aliens rush to my side, moving in such perfect synchronicity that I don’t even notice when a third arrives until a cool, damp tea towel is pressed to my hand. They mutter under their breath in a language I know isn’t human. It’s too slithery, sliding across my skin until goosebumps erupt all over my arm.
“Are you okay?” the third alien asks. This one looks like a daisy with fluorescent yellow petals and glowing green skin. His hand is pressed carefully over the towel, a finger softly stroking my pulse point like he’s trying to soothe me.
“It’s nothing,” I say, carefully extracting my hand.
“According to memory, even if the burn doesn’t hurt now, if left untreated it can cause severe damage to the human epidermis if a cool compress is not applied.” The black centre of Daisy’s face flickers and vibrates as he explains. My eyes get a little lost in the motion of it, completely ignoring Not Rose setting a fresh cup of tea on the tray. “Does your skin feel tingly?”
“No,” I mumble.
There is a moment of silence before Daisy leaves out the front door. I’m almost tempted to follow him just to know what’s going on out there. The curtains over my front window haven’t been open in months to keep the draught out, but now I wish I’d done any amount of spring cleaning and opened them. Not Rose pours a splash of milk into my new cuppa and passes it to me.
