Page 47 of The Bully Alien

We're quiet for a moment. She reaches over to touch my back, and I stiffen. She withdraws her hand as if she had been burned.

"My parents... I'm sure they were very brave, but... just like all of the other Grollas, they ended up being sacrificed in a war that had nothing to do with them.Not really. No one wants to go up against the Grots."

"I hate that there's evil out in the universes like that," she murmurs.

I grunt. "My father was a brilliant scientist who devoted his life trying to harness the power of nanotechnology for benevolent purposes. My mother was an artist whose works celebrated the beauty of nature through forests. She would use the forest as her canvas. It was amazing what she would do the trees, to plants, to the ground, the grass, all of it. People from all over Grixulara would come to admire her artwork."

"That's terrifying."

I eye her.

She flushes. "Not your parents and their accomplishments. They sound amazing."

"They should still be alive. If I hadn't been shot down by those fucking Xarillians!I don't even know if the Xarillians are still alive. The Grots might've gone after them next, or maybe they bypassed them. Who the fuck knows which species they decide to go after next. I can't... I just can't."

"Maybe if we bring this equipment and technology to the government—"

"So we can have more bull's-eyes on our backs? More reason for other human species to think of the Earthlings as a threat? If you have advanced technology that you don't develop yourself, others will come for you, not just the Grots."

"Fine. So we stay here. You stay safe."

"I'm one of two Grollas."

"The other is..."

I frown at her, not sure what she is asking.

She flushes all over again and looks away, embarrassed.

"Female?" she finally asks, the word very, very quiet.

"No. Male. We're dead and gone anyhow. If I could, I would fix this fighter and go after the Grots myself."

"The would be a suicide mission," she protests.

I turn to look at her. That would be the entire point.

Her face turns even redder. "You can't just throw your life away!" she protests.

"The fuck I can't."

"Brain—"

"Brain can go fuck himself," I snap. "If you dare to tell him about me or bring him here, I will kill you."

"Sure you will."

"Don't tempt me," I growl.

"I won't bring him here unless you want me to," she says, "but I am here. Let me help. Tell me what to do—"

"Shut the fuck up."

She nods a few times. "You're hurting. You're upset. The more you talk about your feelings and don't hold back—"

"What the fuck? Why does it sound like you're trying to be my therapist?" I demand.

She clears her throat.