Bearly a Lady by Cassandra Khaw

Author:Cassandra Khaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Book Smugglers Publishing
Published: 2017-03-31T13:41:17+00:00

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.”

“Really sure?”

“I’m—” An exasperated noise. “Okay, I might have been slightly insulted by what you said, but only slightly. You were clearly attempting to negotiate an agreement with that woman. It’s fine.”

“Janine—”

“I suppose you didn’t have to look so sincere about it.”

“I—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just buy me a pint the next time we’re out.”

“Are you two going to fuck already?”

We both turn in unison, glare down the aisle at the bum that’s propped up against the window. Taking the bus was a mistake. A terrible one. The man leers. To be fair, I’m not one hundred percent sure if he’s actually a bum. (Homeless people in London are actually quite nice, and often astonishingly well-kept.) Could be an uncouth backpacker, fresh from a holiday in the Pacific, and still drunk on the idea of white supremacy. Or, maybe, someone with a questionable idea of hygiene.

“Would you mind?” I snap.

“No. Not at all.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Zelda, don’t engage—”

The arse roars a laugh, startling a baby in the next row. The infant hiccups once, twice, a look of surprise etched in the lines of its doughy face, before finally detonating into tears. The mother shoots us a venomous stare, as does the rest of the bus. I glare at the man in the corner, mouthing: look at what you’ve done. He only brays again.

I breathe in. Calm. I am above all of this. I am a werebear. I am a goddess. I am a woman, large and in charge, a captain who is in control of her ship. This is nothing. I am above this. I am above slinging petty insults, and arguing with men who would fetishize a perfectly healthy relationship between two women.

“You’re a dick.” I growl.

He just laughs harder.

I grit my teeth and try not to think about the fact I can fit his head into my mouth.

“Honestly, it’s fine.” In the commotion, Janine somehow found her composure, and she wears it like a shield now. She touches a hand to my arm, features strained. The message is clear: I don’t want to deal with this.

Feeling helpless, I only smile, hands spasming into fists at my lap, my nerves too frayed for conversation. There is nothing to be done. As the infant’s screaming escalates, I hunker down, mind whirring with solutions for a problem I shouldn’t have caused.

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