The Impulsive Rescue - Could You Explain?
Some stuff from the sci-fi version of The Impulsive Rescue. I hope you enjoy!
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“That cappuccino is as big as your face,” Russell muttered, shaking his head. “And it’s your second one. What’s with all the caffeine?”
Desmond narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I need a mental recharge,” he said.
“A mental recharge? That sounds like something out of a bad self-help seminar. And it’s not like you even go to school right now. Or have a job.” Russell took a sip of his own much-smaller coffee.
Sighing, Desmond stared down into his cappuccino. “I’m going to go back to school next semester.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. But you’re acting all weird and stressed, and what do you even have to be stressed about?” Russell said.
“Modern life?” Desmond shrugged.
That actually got Russell to laugh. After his giggles subsided, his face lit up and Desmond could easily imagine a lightbulb going off above his friend’s head. “I know what’s wrong with you,” he said.
“Oh, are you a shrink now?” He raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his giant cappuccino.
“You slept with someone you really shouldn’t have,” Russell said.
Desmond spit out his coffee, spraying it over the table and choking on what he did manage to swallow. “Excuse me?” he said as he put down his cup.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Russell said, smirking. “So, were they married? Way too clingy? Married and way too clingy?”
“Everett isn’t married, okay?” Desmond said. His eyes widened when he realized he had admitted there was somebody, but he wouldn’t give Russell the details. Desmond would rather pretend those details didn’t exist.
“Oh, so he has a name? And, tell me, just why do you regret sleeping with him?” he asked. “Does he have the kind of ex who’s likely to come after you with a knife?”
“He doesn’t have a psycho ex boyfriend or anything.” Desmond felt his face burn.
“I saw him first.”
Desmond looked up to see a man well over six feet tall staring down at him, eyes flashing. He squeaked, recognizing that craggy face from the market.
“E-excuse me?” Desmond said. “Do I know you?”
“You should, you little rat. You took what should have been mine,” he said.
Desmond tried not to quail under the man’s angry gray eyes. He put on his best confused expression and kept his gaze steady. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmured.
The man leaned over their table. He blocked the sun, dimming the space around Desmond, though it might have been a psychological effect. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he hissed.
“I really don’t,” Desmond shrugged and ignored how his heart pounded in his chest. He picked up his cappuccino and took a sip. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He turned away, hoping the man would get the hint and stop bothering him.
Russell looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” he muttered.
“Your friend is a thief,” the man said.
“I’m not a thief, and I don’t even know you,” Desmond said, taking another sip of his cappuccino. He kept avoiding the man’s gaze.
The man put a hand on their table. “You’ve got some nerve, kid, pretending you don’t know me after you took someone who should have belonged to me.”
“I’m not a kid. I’m 21 years old,” Desmond said. The man’s crossing of the boundary between them but him even more on edge, making him tense his back and edge his chair away from him.
“I’m 42 years old, twice your age. You’re a kid to me,” he said, leaning even more into their personal space.
“...if you don’t mind, where exactly you know him from?” Russell asked the man. He took a sip of his coffee.
“Gradient Market,” he muttered, taking his hand off the table.
Desmond’s stomach sank -- of course the man would mention that place. The words immobilized Desmond, though he made sure to pay attention to his friend Russell’s reaction.
To his surprise, Russell started laughing, his eyes sparkling with mirth. His hands shook as he put his mug of coffee down. “Gradient? The little slave market? You’ve got the wrong guy. My friend Desmond wouldn’t go there, much less, uh...buy anyone,” he snorted, shaking his head.
Desmond smiled at the man, though he knew it had to look strained. “He’s right -- I wouldn’t,” he said.
The man crossed his arms over his chest. “Really?”
“Really.” Desmond nodded.
“I think you’re lying,” the man said, glaring at him.
He shrugged. “Think whatever you want, but...I’m -- I’m done talking to you. If you don’t leave, I’ll get the manager,” he said.
Russell took another sip of his coffee and looked at the man over his cup. “Yeah, we will,” he said. Unlike Desmond, his gaze had actual force behind it.
The man flinched. “Well, don’t think this is over, you little rat,” he muttered at Desmond. He turned on his heel and walked away.
Once he disappeared from view, Russell’s body sagged. “Okay, that was weird,” he said.
Desmond stared at the ground through the open diamond pattern of their metal table. He concentrated on that little detail because he needed to slow his heart down -- it didn’t work. “Y-yeah, it -- was,” he said.
A high-pitched, strangled squeak split the air. Desmond blinked, having no idea what that noise could be. Looking, up he realized the noise had come from Russell who looked at him with wide eyes. “You...” Russell said, his voice almost inaudible.
“I what?” he muttered.
“That’s...” His friend kept staring at him, a mix of horror and disbelief on his face.
Russell shook his head. “T-tell me you -- you didn’t...”
“Didn’t what?” Desmond asked, though he thought he knew the answer.
“You...you said I was right -- that you did -- did sleep with -- with s-someone you shouldn’t have. And -- and that guy...” He grabbed the edges of the table and leaned forward, his eyes boring into Desmond’s own. “Tell me you didn’t buy this Everett from Gradient Market.”
Desmond ran his hands through his hair. He leaned back in his chair and pulled his gaze away from Russell’s. His stomach sank -- he couldn’t lie to his friend now. “I...kind of did,” he sighed.
His jaw dropped. “You -- what?” he breathed.
Sighing, Desmond picked up his cappuccino and took another sip in order to give himself time to think. By now, the drink had gotten way too cold. “I...it was a rescue thing, okay?” he said.
Russell opened and closed his mouth -- he looked like he wanted to find words and couldn’t. “Rescue thing?” he managed after a long pause.
Desmond nodded. “That creepy guy you glared into leaving? He -- he wanted to buy Everett --”
“-- so?” Russell said.
“So, he was clearly going to be abusive. Even said he wanted a ‘slave who could put up with a good beating.’ He offered a low price, and the seller...said he could have Everett if nobody else bought him by the end of the day. What was I supposed to do -- let him go to someone who would probably kill him?” Desmond muttered, narrowing his eyes. The idea of letting Everett end up with someone like that man felt like a stab to his heart.
“Well, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “A guy like that? He’s just gonna buy another slave and do the same thing.”
“I know that,” Desmond sighed. He did know that -- in theory, anyway. Russell hadn’t been there, though -- he hadn’t seen the desperation in Everett’s striking amber eyes. Of course, the impulsive rescue didn’t have anything to do with sheer physical attraction -- right?
“Your parents are going to kill you in seventy different ways,” Russell muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Only seventy? That’s a very conservative estimate,” he said, looking up at the clear blue sky.
“How could you do something so stupid? And -- and if you had to be the world’s most impulsive wannabe Good Samaritan, why did you sleep with Everett? You did sleep with him, didn’t you?” he said, exasperation and disbelief radiating off him.
“I did,” Desmond said.
He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t think Russell would care to hear that explanation. If he told his friend Everett had wanted it, he assumed the other man would slap him. Desmond would deserve it, too -- decent people did not sleep with slaves who had no real choice in the matter. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair again -- he knew he had gotten himself into a bad situation.
Worse, he didn’t want to stop sleeping with Everett, no matter how wrong he knew it was.
“I can’t believe you,” Russell muttered, resting his face in his hands. “Why did you sleep with him? And what are you going to do now?”
“It just...” Desmond didn’t have any way to explain it without looking like a hopeless jerk, so he just let himself trail off.
He couldn’t answer Russell’s other question, either -- he had no idea what he was going to do now.
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“That cappuccino is as big as your face,” Russell muttered, shaking his head. “And it’s your second one. What’s with all the caffeine?”
Desmond narrowed his eyes at his friend. “I need a mental recharge,” he said.
“A mental recharge? That sounds like something out of a bad self-help seminar. And it’s not like you even go to school right now. Or have a job.” Russell took a sip of his own much-smaller coffee.
Sighing, Desmond stared down into his cappuccino. “I’m going to go back to school next semester.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. But you’re acting all weird and stressed, and what do you even have to be stressed about?” Russell said.
“Modern life?” Desmond shrugged.
That actually got Russell to laugh. After his giggles subsided, his face lit up and Desmond could easily imagine a lightbulb going off above his friend’s head. “I know what’s wrong with you,” he said.
“Oh, are you a shrink now?” He raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his giant cappuccino.
“You slept with someone you really shouldn’t have,” Russell said.
Desmond spit out his coffee, spraying it over the table and choking on what he did manage to swallow. “Excuse me?” he said as he put down his cup.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Russell said, smirking. “So, were they married? Way too clingy? Married and way too clingy?”
“Everett isn’t married, okay?” Desmond said. His eyes widened when he realized he had admitted there was somebody, but he wouldn’t give Russell the details. Desmond would rather pretend those details didn’t exist.
“Oh, so he has a name? And, tell me, just why do you regret sleeping with him?” he asked. “Does he have the kind of ex who’s likely to come after you with a knife?”
“He doesn’t have a psycho ex boyfriend or anything.” Desmond felt his face burn.
“I saw him first.”
Desmond looked up to see a man well over six feet tall staring down at him, eyes flashing. He squeaked, recognizing that craggy face from the market.
“E-excuse me?” Desmond said. “Do I know you?”
“You should, you little rat. You took what should have been mine,” he said.
Desmond tried not to quail under the man’s angry gray eyes. He put on his best confused expression and kept his gaze steady. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmured.
The man leaned over their table. He blocked the sun, dimming the space around Desmond, though it might have been a psychological effect. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he hissed.
“I really don’t,” Desmond shrugged and ignored how his heart pounded in his chest. He picked up his cappuccino and took a sip. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He turned away, hoping the man would get the hint and stop bothering him.
Russell looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” he muttered.
“Your friend is a thief,” the man said.
“I’m not a thief, and I don’t even know you,” Desmond said, taking another sip of his cappuccino. He kept avoiding the man’s gaze.
The man put a hand on their table. “You’ve got some nerve, kid, pretending you don’t know me after you took someone who should have belonged to me.”
“I’m not a kid. I’m 21 years old,” Desmond said. The man’s crossing of the boundary between them but him even more on edge, making him tense his back and edge his chair away from him.
“I’m 42 years old, twice your age. You’re a kid to me,” he said, leaning even more into their personal space.
“...if you don’t mind, where exactly you know him from?” Russell asked the man. He took a sip of his coffee.
“Gradient Market,” he muttered, taking his hand off the table.
Desmond’s stomach sank -- of course the man would mention that place. The words immobilized Desmond, though he made sure to pay attention to his friend Russell’s reaction.
To his surprise, Russell started laughing, his eyes sparkling with mirth. His hands shook as he put his mug of coffee down. “Gradient? The little slave market? You’ve got the wrong guy. My friend Desmond wouldn’t go there, much less, uh...buy anyone,” he snorted, shaking his head.
Desmond smiled at the man, though he knew it had to look strained. “He’s right -- I wouldn’t,” he said.
The man crossed his arms over his chest. “Really?”
“Really.” Desmond nodded.
“I think you’re lying,” the man said, glaring at him.
He shrugged. “Think whatever you want, but...I’m -- I’m done talking to you. If you don’t leave, I’ll get the manager,” he said.
Russell took another sip of his coffee and looked at the man over his cup. “Yeah, we will,” he said. Unlike Desmond, his gaze had actual force behind it.
The man flinched. “Well, don’t think this is over, you little rat,” he muttered at Desmond. He turned on his heel and walked away.
Once he disappeared from view, Russell’s body sagged. “Okay, that was weird,” he said.
Desmond stared at the ground through the open diamond pattern of their metal table. He concentrated on that little detail because he needed to slow his heart down -- it didn’t work. “Y-yeah, it -- was,” he said.
A high-pitched, strangled squeak split the air. Desmond blinked, having no idea what that noise could be. Looking, up he realized the noise had come from Russell who looked at him with wide eyes. “You...” Russell said, his voice almost inaudible.
“I what?” he muttered.
“That’s...” His friend kept staring at him, a mix of horror and disbelief on his face.
Russell shook his head. “T-tell me you -- you didn’t...”
“Didn’t what?” Desmond asked, though he thought he knew the answer.
“You...you said I was right -- that you did -- did sleep with -- with s-someone you shouldn’t have. And -- and that guy...” He grabbed the edges of the table and leaned forward, his eyes boring into Desmond’s own. “Tell me you didn’t buy this Everett from Gradient Market.”
Desmond ran his hands through his hair. He leaned back in his chair and pulled his gaze away from Russell’s. His stomach sank -- he couldn’t lie to his friend now. “I...kind of did,” he sighed.
His jaw dropped. “You -- what?” he breathed.
Sighing, Desmond picked up his cappuccino and took another sip in order to give himself time to think. By now, the drink had gotten way too cold. “I...it was a rescue thing, okay?” he said.
Russell opened and closed his mouth -- he looked like he wanted to find words and couldn’t. “Rescue thing?” he managed after a long pause.
Desmond nodded. “That creepy guy you glared into leaving? He -- he wanted to buy Everett --”
“-- so?” Russell said.
“So, he was clearly going to be abusive. Even said he wanted a ‘slave who could put up with a good beating.’ He offered a low price, and the seller...said he could have Everett if nobody else bought him by the end of the day. What was I supposed to do -- let him go to someone who would probably kill him?” Desmond muttered, narrowing his eyes. The idea of letting Everett end up with someone like that man felt like a stab to his heart.
“Well, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “A guy like that? He’s just gonna buy another slave and do the same thing.”
“I know that,” Desmond sighed. He did know that -- in theory, anyway. Russell hadn’t been there, though -- he hadn’t seen the desperation in Everett’s striking amber eyes. Of course, the impulsive rescue didn’t have anything to do with sheer physical attraction -- right?
“Your parents are going to kill you in seventy different ways,” Russell muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Only seventy? That’s a very conservative estimate,” he said, looking up at the clear blue sky.
“How could you do something so stupid? And -- and if you had to be the world’s most impulsive wannabe Good Samaritan, why did you sleep with Everett? You did sleep with him, didn’t you?” he said, exasperation and disbelief radiating off him.
“I did,” Desmond said.
He hadn’t meant to, but he didn’t think Russell would care to hear that explanation. If he told his friend Everett had wanted it, he assumed the other man would slap him. Desmond would deserve it, too -- decent people did not sleep with slaves who had no real choice in the matter. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair again -- he knew he had gotten himself into a bad situation.
Worse, he didn’t want to stop sleeping with Everett, no matter how wrong he knew it was.
“I can’t believe you,” Russell muttered, resting his face in his hands. “Why did you sleep with him? And what are you going to do now?”
“It just...” Desmond didn’t have any way to explain it without looking like a hopeless jerk, so he just let himself trail off.
He couldn’t answer Russell’s other question, either -- he had no idea what he was going to do now.