The Gender End by Bella Forrest (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📕

something for that.” I consulted the itemized list on the back of the lid, and then pulled out a purple packet with a black circle in it. Opening it up, I pulled the backing off with my teeth and applied the adhesive side to her right temple, the one pointed at the ceiling. She winced—I wasn’t gentle, but I wasn’t being intentionally rough, either—and then a second later sighed in some relief.

“Thank you. That’s better.” She kept her eyes closed for a moment more, and then opened them again. “You’re Violet Bates.”

“I am, although if I were you, I wouldn’t believe anything you’ve heard about me. But we don’t have time to go through the rumors. The controls to the ship are busted, and we have been flying straight for the last hour.”

The pilot frowned, and then her right hand began fiddling with the buckles keeping her in the sideways seat. I noticed immediately that several of the fingers on that hand were swollen, and I held up my hand, stopping her. “Your hand is hurt as well,” I pointed out to her, and she stared at it as though she hadn’t noticed earlier, her hazel eyes wide.

“I can’t even feel them,” she whispered, as if that thought frightened her, and I immediately empathized, while recognizing I didn’t have the time to really show it.

“I’m sorry for that,” I said. “But I need you to focus. Let me help you out of this.”

The pilot nodded, but her gaze was still fixated on her hand. I reached for the buckle, and her head snapped over at the movement, her eyes bulging. “You can’t! What if I can’t feel my hand because I have spinal trauma? You could make everything worse!”

I hesitated, and then nodded. “Wiggle your toes?”

She blinked, and then her booted feet began to twitch slightly. “Are they working?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Smiling in what I hoped would be interpreted as a reassuring way, I nodded. “They are. I doubt you have spinal damage. Can I undo this?”

“Can’t you move the chair first?” she pleaded. “Stand it up?”

I shook my head. “The chair is too heavy.” It really was. It was a monstrous frame of metal and padding that was meant to be welded into the ship. Amber had once told me it was supposed to keep the pilots safe in the event of a crash, but that meant the thing probably weighed several hundred pounds. “We have to do this now. The ship is flying on an unknown course into unknowable terrain.”

She nodded, and I reached out to undo the clasp still holding her. I tried to break her fall, but the space was tight and one hand was essentially useless thanks to the cast. She dropped roughly, and unexpectedly, the last few inches to the ground, and gave an agonized cry as she landed on her hand.

“At least you can feel it?” I asked gently, trying to bolster her spirits as I helped picked her up.

It didn’t work at all. The look she gave me was two parts anger, one part agony, and three parts revenge, but it couldn’t be helped. I needed her help, and I felt a stab of irritation. I was literally the only one of the three of us doing anything to help her. I ignored the feeling, knowing that the way she felt about me didn’t matter, as long as we could work together.

She leaned heavily on me, tears streaking down her cheeks. “It’s really hard not to believe what they’ve said about you right now,” she whispered accusingly, and I suppressed another surge of resentment, clenching my teeth together to prevent myself from saying anything too inflammatory. Keep the peace, I reminded myself. I was better than this. And I was beyond my long history of brawling for petty reasons, too… I hoped.

“I’m sorry that you’re in pain,” I said as I gently guided her around. “Just look at this place.”

Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the damaged remains of the cockpit. “Sweet mother. That monster gutted it!”

I bristled. Let her think whatever she wanted about me, but Solomon was a victim in all this. “He’s not a monster. His name is Solomon, and he’s my friend. If you want to blame anyone for what happened here, blame your precious Desmond. It’s her fault he is the way he is, and I’m glad he threw her out of the cargo bay.”

I wasn’t surprised to find that I was glad she was dead. Well, relieved, anyway. Glad in the way that it felt like a great weight I’d been carrying around, a cloud of worry, nightmares, and fear, had suddenly evaporated, leaving the way clear for me to go on to other things. My hatred of her would take longer to cool and leave my body, but it would heal in time.

The pilot’s face went pale at the mention of how Solomon had killed Desmond, and she looked at me with a healthy dose of panic in her eyes. “Is he still onboard?”

Nodding, I moved her forward a few steps, taking it slow for her. “He is, but he’s unconscious. Desmond shot him a few times.”

“He shouldn’t still be… Belinda?”

I looked up and saw the warden who’d tried to trip me earlier ducking down to avoid hitting the overhanging ceiling as she stepped through the door, her brown eyes taking in the damage. She glanced over at the pilot and took a step forward.

“Kathryn, you’re alive.”

The pilot—Kathryn—groaned, but nodded. “Painfully so, but yes. Let me see what I can make of this mess.”

Kathryn’s arm pressed insistently on my neck and shoulder, but I didn’t want to move any closer to Belinda—not with my gun in my pants. “Stand on your own. Belinda will help you, if need be.”

Belinda gave me an incredulous look, but I gave Kathryn a moment and then stepped away from her, pulling my gun. Kathryn wobbled for a second, before Belinda moved in to take my