This story contains themes of suicidal ideation and references to childhood trauma. If you or someone you know is struggling or simply needs someone to talk to, please seek support from a suicide prevention or crisis hotline in your country. If you are in the United States, you can call or text 988, the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, please contact your local emergency services (for example 911 or 112).
You are seen here.
The Utah snow drifting through the nighttime air outside the windows of Apex Tower in West Valley gave the world a stillness that dampened the noise of hovercars flying along Redwood Road. Forty-two floors above the street, the warmth of housing slot B wrapped the room in a quiet, sheltered comfort against the middle of the cold winter.
Talonor slept in the queen-sized bed—too small for his size but the only one that barely fit in the room—and his snoring rang like a brass bell. A drawer squeaking open in another room made the massively muscular minotaur-like alien stir. He rolled over, bleary-eyed, and found an empty space beside him in the bed. His breath caught and a chill ran down his spine.
“Ah fuck, it’s that time of year,” Talonor growled. He threw the covers off and sat up, alone, trying to get his heartbeat pumping to match his body. “I hope he’s alright,” he said quietly to himself as he rubbed his right broken horn.
He stood up and his hoofsteps trudged toward the door. The warm light above the kitchen table softly lit the living room outside the bedroom. Talonor poked his head out and saw Jack’s head over the kitchen counter.
Jack’s eye implant glinted in the light above him. His face was solemn, staring down at something as he sat at the kitchen table. Talonor didn’t have to see it to know what Jack was looking at.
Talonor walked through the living room area, devoid of Christmas decorations, a tree, or presents. He stopped near the kitchen counter and saw Jack staring at a plasma bolt pistol in his hand.
Talonor stood motionless, seeing Jack with his shirt off, knowing the weight of Jack’s human pain. “Jack…”
“Go back to bed, Cowboy,” Jack replied.
“You first.”
Jack rubbed his fingers along the barrel of the weapon as he inspected it. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Jack, you gotta quit doing this. Every year—”
“I know, it’s just…I hate it. I hate this time of year…the memories. Every night I close my eye, I see him. Lying there.”
“But this night is always different,” Talonor said.
Jack bowed his head. “It hits different.”
“Jack, that was twenty-seven years ago.”
Jack sighed as he leaned back. “It doesn’t make it any better.”
“Trauma doesn’t get to decide who you are, Jack. It hurts, yeah, but what you do after the pain…that’s the part that defines you.”
Jack tightened his hand around the grip of the gun, staring at it blankly. “It would be so easy.”
“Jack, don’t think like that—”
“No, it would. Just one second and I can escape the pain…the memories.”
Talonor stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack, please don’t go. I’d miss you. You’d be leaving me forever. You might have lost him, but I’d be losing you too.”
A tear escaped Jack’s eye. He slowly placed the gun on the table. “I’m sorry. I just…I just wanted it to end.”
Talonor studied Jack. “Come to bed, Jack. I can’t lose you. Not tonight. Not ever.”
Jack sniffed and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
Talonor reached out his hand. Jack looked at it like an enigma. Slowly, he lifted his own hand and took Talonor’s. Talonor helped Jack up, and the moment Jack stood, Talonor wrapped his huge arms around Jack’s frame and hugged him tightly. “I love you, Jack. You’re my everything. ”
Jack gently wrapped his arms around Talonor. “I know, Cowboy.”
This story is set on December 24th, 2593 CE, a few days before the events of Starship Dominatrix, Book 1. It’s an unapologetically queer space opera series by Dustin J. Craig. Jack and Talonor’s full story—with all its heartbreak, laughter, spacetime fractures, and fierce love—is waiting for you.
Continue the journey with Starship Dominatrix.
