Running Away From the World

Those first volunteers to be brain slug hosts were explorers into the unknown. Astronauts on a one-way trip. They were told, in no uncertain terms, that there would be no way back. That the bond was permanent. Their lives as they knew them would cease. The brain slug had no emotional connection to their family, friends, jobs, pets, or hobbies. It was, quite possibly, tantamount to suicide. No one knew if the hosts retained any awareness after integration. If the damage caused by the brain slug's tentacles invading the brain destroyed their personality and memories.

What became apparent was that whatever the conjoined being was, it was not the personality that had occupied the body previously. It was something new. Something alien. A being that was learning what it was, and what it could be. And what the hive mind learned immediately was that the overwhelming human host condition was lonely and horny.
—Slug Sutra, Chapter 2

Mel did not look back over his shoulder. Nothing in his upbringing had prepared him for this. It was the kind of set-up reserved for bad teen sex comedies. He stared into those oh-too-familiar blue eyes and figured that carefully moderated honesty was the best policy.

"I'm Mel," he said. "Jordan's roommate. She and our other roommate, Soong, aren't decent right now. If you will give me just a second, I'll ask them to put on some clothes, and you can come in, and we can talk."

Rachel blinked, slowly. Her mouth drew into a thin line, her body tense. It was an expression he'd never really seen, but she gave a little nod. Mel left the door cracked as he practically ran to the couch. Jordan was staring at him.

"Your sister, Rachel, is here," he said. There was no expression on the naked brain slug host's face. "Maybe you and Soong should put on some clothes? It might be awkward, otherwise."

Mel felt his heart hammer against his breastbone as the two rose from the couch, Soong leaning on Jordan's arm, and shuffled over to the chest of drawers to gather basic athleisure wear. As soon as the door to their bedroom clicked shut, Mel turned back to the apartment door—to find it fully open. Rachel stood there, eyes wide. Looking at the door to Jordan and Soong's room.

"Um, please come in," Mel said. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, which suddenly felt overgrown and shaggy. "As I said, I'm Mel Arkwright. Jordan's roommate. I moved in here a couple of weeks ago; she was already living here at the time. Um. Soong was our neighbor across the hall, and she's a brain slug host too, but she got attacked, and she moved in with us so Jordan could take care of her—"

"How long have you been fucking my sister?" Rachel said. Her hands balled into fists. Eyes scrunched as if fighting tears. Her accent was so thick it was almost a brogue.

"I haven't—we haven't—we—" Mel stopped, took a breath. "Can we start over? Let me explain things from the beginning. It might help to know how hard you want to hit me."

Rachel didn't laugh. But she nodded, stiffly. Mel gestured at the couch and took his normal seat. Turned off the television.

"I'm an orphan," he said, by way of explanation. Rachel sat and listened. Her eyes sometimes went to the shut door to Jordan's room, but mostly she focused on Mel's face as he gave a version of events. The weirdest part was that Mel didn't leave anything out. The cum-filled tissues. The condoms. Jordan's sudden penchant for nudity. Tony's attack on Soong. What the brain bat detective had told him about Tony's ****. Tomie's deal. He didn't give her every detail of every dream and blowjob, but he tried not to leave out anything that seemed important, and he found himself unloading all the strangeness that had been in life over the last two weeks, things he hadn't felt able to tell anyone.

". . . and then you showed up," he finished, suddenly tired and a bit thirsty, but oddly relieved at having been able to put all that into words.

Rachel was quiet for a long moment. Processing.

"I still want to hit you," she said.

"That's fair," Mel replied.

"Really?" She tilted her head to the side.

"Never had a sister, but I knew girls with sisters at the orphanage. Fiercely protective," Mel said. "And you don't know me, so there's not really any trust there. You just met a strange dude who told you that your sister was naked and then told you a weird story with a surprising amount of oral sex."

Rachel considered this.

"I want to talk to Jordan. Alone," she said.

"Sure. I was going to head out to the library in a bit anyway," he said. Then, on impulse: "Can I ask you something?"

She hesitated, then nodded.

"What was Jordan like? Before, I mean," Mel asked.

A longer pause. She glanced at Jordan's door, which remained closed. Then her head dipped, her shoulders sagged.

"She spent her whole life running away from the world. Jordan's two years older; our parents divorced when I was three and she was five. Mom got custody. After that, mom had a succession of bad relationships. Abusive husbands, boyfriends, boyflings. We spent a lot of time at the library reading manga, as far away from the house as possible, or when we were inside, being as quiet and unseen as possible. Jordan grew up trying to please people. Every boyfriend hurt her a little more. Every breakup made her retreat a little more into herself. Abandoned friends. Had trouble keeping jobs. She never finished her degree, because she thought she was going to marry her boyfriend and have babies ever after. When they broke up, she was desolate. Absolutely spent. Not even tears. Just empty inside. The last time I saw her, almost three months ago, she'd been talking about having nothing left. That she'd made all the preparations, and soon no one would be able to hurt her that way again. I was worried, but it wasn't the first time she'd had a bad break. Then she disappeared, and I thought—I was really worried she—"

Rachel bit her lower lip. This time, she couldn't stop the tears.

"—you know, they send you a notice when they go through the brain slug thing? The old person is legally dead. Probate, all of that stuff. Like who they were is gone, and whatever's left is just this biological mecha piloted by a soulless alien parasite. They sent me a box with her things. I didn't cry. I told myself she wasn't really dead. And I—I need to know—if there's anything of Jordie still in there."

She sniffled. Mel felt that instant animal empathy that comes from seeing another living being in pain and not able to do anything about it.

"Do you want a hug?" he asked.

Through the tears, Rachel glared at him. Her fists came up.

"I'm not sucking your dick!" she insisted.

"I know. I'm not asking you to," he said. "Completely platonic. You're just—you look really upset, and I don't know how else to help."

Rachel's lip quivered. Face screwed up in a fit of emotion that was leaking out around the edges. She was ready to explode. Then she nodded, once, and Mel shifted to the middle seat of the couch, opened his arms, and Rachel pressed herself against his shoulder and just let go as his arms wrapped around her. Hot tears soaked through his t-shirt, and her hands wrapped around his ribs and just crushed him to her like she either wanted to break him in half or never let him go.

The door to Jordan's room opened quietly as Mel held her. His roommate silently padded out on bare feet, dressed in a pair of Mel's boxers and a wifebeater. She stood at the end of the couch, her face placid and unreadable, nipples visibly hard and tenting the fabric of her shirt. Mel swallowed hard as he held the warm, living, hurting being in his arms and stared at the unnaturally unaffected sibling whose skimpy garments were, in their own weird way, sexier than just wandering around naked.

It was the exact wrong time for the erection that pressed through his jeans into Rachel's thigh.