Page 54 of First Kiss with a Mothman
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
His support warms my heart. After scratching at my sheets for a moment, I reply, “What I really need right now is some sleep.”
This class sucks.
This class really, really sucks. I’m sitting here with my arms crossed as six-year-old kids run around me, playing tag or whatever. I thought the OME was a highly advanced government organization, but apparently, today, it’s a playground for little monsters.
It’s been a week since my forced debut as king-of-the-birds, or whatever. The articles emailed to me―read using my screen reader―have been helpful in understanding what an avian whisperer is. I can psychically link and compel birds, and when I do, I don a guise that’s similar to that of a harpy. It sucks that I can’t fly, but I would probably bump into things in the woods anyway.
And I thought my monster orientation class would be helpful. But it’s tailored toward literal children. Having someone in their twenties gain monster powers overnight is apparently very rare. I spent my entire Saturday learning little kid songs, and discussing my feelings and what not to shove into my mouth.
I had half a mind to summon a hundred birds to float me away all day.
“Hey, Arie? It’s me, Mort.”
The laughter of the kids obscured the sound of my friend, the one person I want to be with, walking into the carpeted room. “Oh, thank monster god,” I murmur. He takes my hand and helps me out of the ridiculously small chair. “Get me out of here.”
“Your wish is my command.” His voice is so sexy, and I take a moment to squeeze his shoulder just because I can. I bid goodbye to the teacher and dash out of there with Mort.
Once I’m buckled in his car, I listen to the thrum of the road underneath the wheels. It’s a breath of fresh air to get out of that room and go back to campus where I can be an adult. Maybe I can have some adult fun times…?
I sigh and remember how my love life refuses to take flight, pun intended. Mort might be helping me out now, but I doubt he’ll want to go on a date with me in my weird state. So much of my life is in flux. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s given up on attempting to be romantic with me.
“Was it that bad?”
“Huh?”
“The class,” Mort says. “You sighed like three times just now. And you’re usually pretty sunshine-y. I thought I was the one who’s all doom and gloom.”
We share a soft chuckle, and I lean my head against the cool window. “That class wasn’t…built for me.”
“Because you couldn’t see the board?”
“Because I’m not a toddler!” I bark. We both share a sad laugh. “I can’t believe this monster stuff is happening to me now.”
“For what it’s worth, we all went through it.”
“But you were little. That class kept treating me like I hadn’t gone through puberty yet.”
“I take it you don’t want me to drive you there tomorrow?”
I glower at him. “If you do, I’ll shove a hundred birds up your ass.”
“Hey, if you do, I’ll shove a hundred moths up your ass.”
“Birds beat moths.”
“Oh really?”
“It’s like a scientific fact. Like rock-paper-scissors.”
“Moth-bird…scissors?”
“Ha! I don’t know!” We both laugh so hard, and I start tearing up. I’ve missed this so much. After placing my hand on his arm, I say, “Mothman and a birdman. Aren’t we a pair?”
“It’s fitting.”
“Why is that?”
