Living With Syn

Chapter 1-2

The night before the tribunal, Elder TeZaron brought both Anya and Tigger to her room. Her room was a double, but she was lucky, her former roommate had bonded and she slept alone.

She studied TeZaron. She knew he was an Elder. He looked about forty though he was reputed to be younger; rumors said he had six or seven years on her own twenty-nine.

His hair was long and straight, a true golden blond. His cheekbones loomed high on his face and his skin tone hinted at the olive of the Mediterranean. His blue eyes reminded her of the color of the sky off the Irish Coast. They also had an imperceptible slant. She wondered at the time if he were Fire or Light clan. If he came from FireClan, Syn remembered, dry ice can burn. He showed them the automatic courtesy a Sarran Warrior shows a fem but without their characteristic warmth. Syn hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

Well, he was the reason I met Anya along with Tigger and both Duchess and I found ourselves true friends. She remembered their conversation very well. Syn blushed; her defensive greeting to Anya hadn’t been exactly polite. “Syn Sinclair, clinical psychologist and former prostitute from the Philly gutter…”

Anya didn’t so much as twitch an eyelash. She smiled and said, “I might be mistaken but White Persians don’t generally populate the gutters of Philadelphia.”

I began to laugh and that was that. She asked me my story and I tried to tell her, making it short and sweet.

“Caught me, huh? You don’t seem to be one of those snots, but I couldn’t be sure,” She said a bit too causally. “I needed to let you know the facts up front.” The violet eyes with lashes that swept her cheeks, looked down, as if she waited for Anya’s recriminations.

“How did it happen?” Anya asked compassionately.

“Like most things—accidentally. I came from one of the Main Line families, over bred and trained to shut up, look good, and marry well. I didn’t fit the mold of country club princess.” She looked down disparagingly at her lush curves.

“This is not Ralph Lauren or Talbots. It’s Fredericks of Hollywood, and no matter how prim and proper I dressed, I still looked like a hooker. Platinum hair with dark lashes and brows, combined with D+ cups, don’t equal Main Line chic. From the time I turned ten, they told me to tone it down. Marilyn Monroe is not the right look for Main Line Philadelphia.”

Syn shrugged, her breasts pushed against the plain white blouse, the buttons ready to pop. She spoke to Anya as she moved around the room, efficiently unpacking the few things Anya took from quarters.

“Nothing ever fit me, top too big, waist too small, ass too round. My hair is fine, wispy, and refused to be properly constrained. When I dressed up, I looked like a high-class w***e. When I dressed down, I looked like a streetwalker. In my freshman year one of my father’s friends cornered me in the study and started feeling me up. My father walked in and that was that. They named me an official slut.” Syn sighed while putting Anya’s things in the wardrobe.

“Surely one of his country club cronies couldn’t be a child molester. Father started to smack me around. He called me an embarrassment to the family and to the community. That gave him justification and permission to come home after a Sunday golf outing with the boys, eighteen holes and seven vodka martinis, to take me into his study, try to fondle my breasts, and finger my cunt, then beat the living s**t out of me when I resisted because he said I provoked him.”

Anya sat down on one of the bunks.

“I got sick of using thick pancake makeup to hide the bruises I got while he blamed me for his own perversions; accusing me of whoring around. Of course, I received most of my bruises defending myself from his efforts at making me into the w***e he swore I’d become. Technically, I still had a hymen when I left the house.”

“What a horrible and unjust experience!” Anya cried, jumping up to hug Syn.

Syn hugged her back then continued her story, mouth set in a hard line.

“In my sophomore year I decided, why bother, might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. I booked with this guy, Osco, my dealer. I became a user to get through it, you know? I went to Philly and disappeared. Started out with a chicken s**t habit and ended up with King Kong.” Syn pulled away from Anya and sat on the bunk.

“I’m familiar with the term,” Anya said.

“I forgot you’re a doc.” Syn’s voice chilled.

Yeah, a doctor, but also, an orphan…I didn’t use, but had friends who did. I even helped a few detox outside of the approved system,” Anya replied, as if just stating the facts but placing them back on a semi-level playing field. Anya put her arm around Syn.

“After a while, Osco said I needed to earn my keep. So, I hooked for a bit, but didn’t like it. I told him if he loved me he wouldn’t make me do it.” Syn looked down, ill at ease.

“I’ve observed that Earthen men have a funny way of showing love. In my ER rotation I noticed that some shared their love with their fists.” Anya took her hand.

“Yes, exactly, he told me to shut the f**k up. Cunts like me personified w*********h, only good for pushing p***y and floating until they died on the street from overdose or the fist of a pissed off john.”

Anya watched her as she continued the story and giggled a bit because Syn’s vocabulary was a weird mixture of Philly Street Kid and the cultured accent of the Main Line.

She finished her story lamely, “…wound up dumped in the street. I found a shelter and did the deal cold. They helped me get on my feet. They called my parents, who’d already declared me dead. They signed the certificate all made out, nice and neat, and bribed the coroner to let them bury an empty casket.” Anya let go and pulled Syn close for another hug.

“Damn,” Anya said, as she shook her head. “Goddamn, what did you do?” Syn shook her head.

“Jonesy, a social worker at the shelter saw to it that I had a DNA test and got a court order. I signed an agreement that, in return for living expenses, college, and a small settlement, I wouldn’t darken their door or file charges of abuse or fraud. I also insisted that they give me the things my grandma left me in her will.”

Syn’s mouth straightened in a hard line. “I stayed on at the shelter, went to Temple, and wound up with a degree in social work and clinical psychology. I ran the shelter, until all of this.”

“Sounds like you got it pretty much together. Why the fuss now?” Anya’s brow and the bridge of her nose crinkled in distaste.

“One of the bitches on board is the daughter of my father’s friend, the one who started it all. He told his family in confidence that I was a w***e who attempted to seduce him. He warned them so that his own daughter wouldn’t be tainted in my company. The word spread here as well as home,” Syn finished, shrugging her shoulders. She gave Anya a long look, expecting to see rejection in her eyes.

Anya rose and held out her arms and Syn flew into them.

Anya stroked Syn’s hair. “That b***h is not going to get away with this. Don’t worry about her. I have a little pull around here. Jonal and Tonas are not happy if I’m not happy.”

And with that enigmatic statement, Anya’s face took on a whole new personality. She was scheming.

“Why? Why would you help me? Why would they?” Violet eyes filled with tears, staring at ice blue ones. She begged whatever gods there were that she understood what Anya said.

“Because I’m theirs; I’m also an empath. Don’t panic. I don’t read minds, I just sense feelings. It’s stronger now, since I mated. If you lied, I’d know.” Anya smiled.

“You are a cat person. Sarrans consider cats special. The cats protect us, ergo, we’re special. Besides, cats are picky. They don’t stay with bitches; they smell too much like dogs.”

Syn giggled in response; and the two Beasts jumped into their owners’ laps and purred. A tentative friendship and alliance forged…

The yeoman interrupted her reverie.

“I’m to take you through to the disembarkation area. As soon as you are processed, the princess and the admirals will meet up with you. May I carry the little beauty?”

Syn gave over Duchess’ basket and followed the yeoman down the corridor.