You're My Rock

The bride and groom danced their first dance together, the room dark, the spotlight on them.

Imogen Carlson tried and failed to grit her teeth. God, nothing was simple these days, not even the simple acts of jealousy and resentment. How cruel this dance was to parade their beautiful normalcy for everyone to see. She glared.

Her mother leaned over – but not too close, gosh no – and whispered into her ear. ‘Do try to smile, dear. You’re positively green with envy. It is your cousin’s wedding after all, couldn’t you try to look happy for her? And do something about those straps, will you, dear? They’re, um… slipping.’

She winced. Pun intended? But Imogen did as her mother requested. She was already on the fringes of society since her accident. She ought not to exacerbate things. Imogen sat upright straighter and forced a smile onto the thing the mirror insisted was her face. She then dug out the dress straps, which had started to dig into both shoulders.

The married couple, hands clasped, faces inches apart, spun across the floor in sync. Now and then, they snuck a kiss, much to the delight of the onlookers, who cheered and whistled.

The muscles beneath Imogen’s eyes twitched. All she wanted was to stay at home and hide away in her room behind the safety of closed curtains. Yes, lock herself away and await any news from the doctors and scientists. Of course, there was the possibility that they might never understand her issue or find a cure. Mum and Dad had said she couldn’t isolate herself like a leper if that were the case. When she retorted that she was a leper, they’d only looked at her with wounded puppy dog eyes. And here they were, watching a couple do everyday things, like touching and kissing. She’d never experience these things again unless she were okay with screams in response.

The song wound to an end and the crowd roared and applauded. The couple opened up the dancefloor to friends and family, waving them over. The music changed from elegant to upbeat. Imogen’s parents got up, hand in hand. Her father reached out for her, then stopped before he could hurt himself. ‘Would you like to—?’ he said, nodding towards the dancing mob. When he saw the slight shake of his wife’s head, he answered himself. ‘No… I suppose you better not.’

Acidic bile stung the back of her throat. God, she wanted some cake. But she was afraid that people would watch her as she ate, horrified but unable to look away. ‘Kill me now,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘If I did that, I wouldn’t get to introduce you to Alan.’

Imogen jumped and yelped.

It was Martin, the groom. He wore a tux and held a glass of white wine by the stem. He was smiling at her, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Heart squelching in her chest, Imogen frowned. What was he here to do, make fun of her? Pull a prank on her? She’d had enough of that from the local kids, who posted jelly packets through their letterbox. She supposed Mum had told her sister, who told her daughter and her groom-to-be. Not that they wouldn’t have been able to see that something was wrong with her as soon as she showed up. During their first dance, the only light sources were the DJ’s spotlight and Imogen’s skin. ‘Who’s Alan?’

Martin’s smile widened. He was tipsy. ‘An old schoolchum of mine. I thought you two would hit it off.’

Imogen’s furrowed brow deepened. Martin had to be joking. ‘And why on earth would anybody “hit it off” with someone like me? You can see me, right?’

‘Because you’re looking positively radiant tonight,’ said Martin with a wink.

Imogen stared at him.

He faltered. ‘Sorry, not funny.’

The corners of her lips twitched. She could see why her cousin liked this man. He was kind and genuine. ‘It was a little funny,’ she conceded.

He relaxed. ‘Alan’s a great guy, and he just arrived. He couldn’t make it to the ceremony, otherwise you’d have definitely noticed him.’

There had to be a catch. ‘Okay, well, what’s wrong with him, then?’

Martin nodded as though he’d expected this. ‘Alan had a little accident a few months back. He’s been struggling with it. I thought the two of you might have a lot to talk about.’

Imogen winced. Man, she had a tongue of acid sometimes. Like the rest of her. ‘Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’ She shook her head. ‘Yeah, sure, why not, let’s meet the guy.’

Martin downed the last of his wine, set it on the table and took a fresh glass from a passing waiter’s tray. ‘Great! Come, I’ll introduce you to him. He’s right over there. Now, listen, he’s a little sensitive about his looks, but—’ Martin stopped and looked at her, swaying. ‘I don’t think you’ll judge him too harshly on that account.’

Imogen gasped when she saw him.

Alan was sat alone in the far corner of the room, where the shadows swam, nursing a drink. He appeared to be a stone golem. ‘Imogen,’ slurred Martin, gesturing back and forth, ‘this is Alan I was telling you about. Alan, this is—’

Imogen stepped forward with a genuine smile for the first time in months. She cut Martin off. ‘Imogen,’ she said. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alan.’

Alan groaned, eyes fixated on his drink, which the servers had served him in a metal bierstein. ‘Yeah, sure it is. You’ve had your look at me, now—’

‘I haven’t finished having my look at you, Alan.’

Alan flinched, looked up, then gasped. ‘Oh,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ she answered.

Martin laughed, his glass of wine half empty. ‘All right, I’ll pat myself on the back and leave you two to get to know each other. Have fun!’

She sat beside Alan, who could not take his eyes off her. She removed her polyester gloves to reveal her transparent, gooey green skin. ‘Car crash. Two lorries, each carrying mutagenic agents, collided. Nobody was hurt, except for a certain Imogen Carlson. She was trapped in her Pinto when the chemicals combined to make something new. Now I can’t touch organic materials without absorbing and dissolving them.’

Alan nodded. He’d ripped his suit where he’d tried to pull it on over his gravel surface. ‘I was backpacking alone when I got the phonecall that my mum had fallen down the stairs. I rushed home, taking a shortcut through the haunted mountains. I ignored all the warning signs telling you not to. I guess the mountains took it as an insult, and cursed me to a life of cold stoniness. Mum’s fine, by the way.’

Her heart ached for him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah, me too. Must suck not being able to touch anyone. Doctor’s much help?’

She shook her head. ‘Nope. They’ve no idea.’

‘Mine neither. They said they’ve never seen any rock like it, that it doesn’t seem to be organic.'

She gaped at him. She looked from her green gloopy hand to his rocky one. She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

Alan took a minute to register the importance of what he’d said, eyes widening. And then he smiled and answered the question by taking her hand with his. He did not scream; there was no bubbling or sizzling.

Imogen did not feel the strange sensation of eating via something other than her mouth. She’d experienced it before, and it wasn’t pleasant. ‘Wow,’ she said, unable to say more.

Alan leaned closer. ‘Would you like to dance, Imogen?’

She thought about it, then threw her anxieties to the wind. ‘Yeah. Yes, I would, Alan.’

On their way to the dancefloor, Alan stepped on a man’s foot, breaking it. Alan didn’t notice the screams for an ambulance. She had his complete attention.

On their way to the dancefloor, Imogen brushed a woman’s hair with her ungloved arm, eating the strands. She didn’t notice the little shriek or the woman’s death glare. He had her complete attention.

‘Doctors have called it thingification, after—’

‘The Thing from Fantastic Four. My guys are calling mine blobitis, like in—’

‘The Blob. I see you’ve also spent a lot of time hiding away indoors, glued to the screen. I have, too. Guess we’re not so alone now, huh?

She nodded. ‘Question: The Blob. Original from 1958, or the 1988 remake?’

Alan pondered as they started to dance, a wide circle of empty dancefloor opening up around them. ‘The original’s got its charms, but for me, the remake takes the cake. Blasphemy, I know.’

Imogen couldn’t help but smile. Those were her thoughts exactly. She leaned forward and kissed him on his stony lips. ‘When I first saw you, my legs turned to jelly.’

Alan, grinning after the initial shock of the kiss, pulled her close so they were dancing “skin” to “skin”. ‘And when I saw you, it warmed my cold stone heart.’

Imogen sighed and rested her head against his chest.

‘Mmm, what a wonderful wedding.’