"Who are you?"
He didn't answer as he soaked the bowl in some sort of container with water. With a whisk of the bowl in the clear water, it was clean as he lifted it out and hung it on a device that held it to dry.
Once he finished his cleaning duties and washed his hands, he turned around and gave me the information I'd requested.
"Zackeria."
"Isn't that a girl's name?"
"It is."
"You're not a girl."
"I'm well aware of that."
"Then?" My childish inquiry was getting to me, but it didn't make sense to name a male a female with no reasoning behind it.
Not like it's my business.
"My parents thought I was a girl. They’d already signed and finalized the birth certificate when they realized I was a he, not a she. Too late to change it, so I gotta wait until I'm eighteen to fix that error of utter stupidity."
"That makes me wonder if you're on good terms with your parents," I admitted.
"I'm not," he assured me like this was a casual conversation.
"Hmmm." I paused, trying to not go on a roll with more questions, but another slipped out. "Then did they know you were a boy because you have a weenie?"
"It's called a cock," he muttered before slapping his face. "Fuck. I keep forgetting you're ten."
"I know what a cock is," I replied. "Weenie sounds better."
"Seriously?"
"What better thing to call the stick between your legs?"
He stared at me in shock before he groaned. "Move onto another topic."
"Your uncomfortableness is showing," I commented.
"You talk too much," he argued.
"When you're not allowed to unless told to, it makes being able to ask questions a privilege instead of a right," I muttered and glanced down to my lap.
My silence made him sigh again and he sat down on the side of the bed to lift my chin up.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I'm not used to being around people."
His apology was appreciated as I whispered, "It's okay."
It took me a moment to continue as he removed his hand from my chin.
"You're the one who saved me...aren't you?" I had to question it to make sure, but I knew from his voice that he was the one who had saved me from the claws of death.
"I don't like meddling in supernatural business," he muttered while his eyes glanced anywhere but in mine. "I was going to ignore you...but I felt compelled to assist you. So I did."
"You didn't have to."
"You understand what compel means?"
"I'm well aware of what it means."
"Then it wasn't necessarily my choice," he complained. "Zack likes you."
"Meaning you like me," I stated the words like it was a fact.
"No."
"But you just said-"
"Zack likes you. I, Zackeria, or Zackery for short, don't."
"One letter difference isn't considered the short form of Zackeria," I commented on the minor detail before I frowned. "You shouldn't hate people you barely know."
"I despise the two adults who thought it was supernaturally civil to abandon their child for the sake of themselves after witnessing her wings get torn off of her," he snapped like we were in an argument as his eyes darkened. "Tell me that I shouldn't hate them then."
I was silent and he quickly groaned again before pinching his nose.
"I have a problem with tolerating anyone who speaks."
"Can definitely see that," I said with a calm tone. "So you still hate me?"
"I don't hate you."
"Do you like to contradict yourself?"
"How do you even know that word?" he questioned.
"Mother would force me to study from six in the morning to six in the evening. I studied anything that would provide me with knowledge about any race and allow me to defend myself in any situation, including the human and supernatural courts."
My answer made him pause in his defense, and I took the liberty to continue.
"Then from six to two in the morning would be physical training. We’d sleep from two to five-thirty and have to get up to start over again."
"What happened to eating, bathing, resting?"
“Either I eat when I can, I bathe when we find a stream with clean water, and I rest when I sleep," I answered.
"Then what about when your injured or being hunted?"
"If I'm injured, Mom tells me to suck it up or heal myself. I'm not good at the healing part yet since I'm not awakened. As for being hunted, we run and hide when necessary. During those times, there's no sleep or training. Survival of the fittest, as my mother likes to call it. You have to defend yourself and I shouldn't expect them to protect me."
He looked at me in horror, but I merely shrugged.
"That's how life has always been," I admitted. "Even when we were allowed to be in our village and lands. I started studying the moment I could read and training when I was old enough, which was around six. My mom told me I wasn't allowed to tell anyone, even the elders. The only time I got to have fun was when the village had festivals or feasts. Mother couldn't coop me up during those times since there were far too many visitors in the castle grounds."
"You're royalty?"
"Mhm." I fiddled with my fingers, attempting to fight the random tingling. "Father's a king, my mother a queen, and I'm the princess...well, was the princess. They're going to make another kid."
My smile only reached halfway, my mind recalling her words to Father as they watched me in distress.
"They're going to replace me," I emphasized, and actually laughed, but tears welled up in my eyes as I continued to fiddle my fingers. "I did everything Mother asked of me. I was a good girl and worked in silence to please her and not stress Father. I was supposed to be their prodigy...supposed to...be important. Now I'm not. I'm broken...and...and..."
The way my tears suddenly rolled down my cheeks made me tremble as I tried to fight against the waves of despair that attempted to consume my being. Hearing Mother's words repeat in the back of my mind, again and again, was unbearable, and I suddenly wished to feel the pain I had previously.
That would replace the despair that fought to claim every inch of me, and burn me from the inside out.
My hands shook so hard I couldn't fiddle with them, which only triggered my sobs as I hung my head low.
"I couldn't...I worked so..so hard. Mother abandoned me. Father left with her. They didn't even come...come back and search for me. Am...am I that disposable?"
My head was forced to lift up, and I looked into Zackery's eyes that were now flushed with vibrant golden energy. The very line along his irises was silver and glaring back at me, while those very orbs struggled not to shed their own set of tears as they grew glassy.
"You are not disposable." His voice was far different now.
Colder, a tone far deeper and full of threatening danger. It triggered every goosebump along my arms, and yet the simple response brought far more comfort than I ever expected from a stranger.