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“You must think I am so stupid,” I say, picking up a white spheroid thing from a package containing twelve spheroids of various hues from white to brown.
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” he reassures me in a tone that makes me not completely believe him. He feels sorry for me, and I hate that. I’d rather he was scared of me than thought that I was some pathetic person who…
“What the fuck!”
I only put a little pressure on it and the whole thing cracked to pieces in my hand, clear sticky fluid and a yellowish orb running through my fingers onto the floor.
“Raw eggs are delicate,” he explains, running warm water over a cloth, then wiping my hands for me. “Don’t worry about it.”
A hot tear slips out of my eye and runs down the side of my nose. I’m so embarrassed right now. The doctor is having to do everything for me, because in this world outside my cell, I’m basically fucking useless.
“Hey, it’s okay, really,” he reassures me. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I hate this,” I sniff. “I FUCKING HATE THIS!” I sweep the carton of traitorous white things off the counter and watch them splatter all over the floor. There is so much yellow stuff and clear goo inside them, and the shells float about in the mess, all lost just like me.
“Okay that’s enough,” he says firmly. “No need to lose your temper.”
Yes, there is. I know how to be angry. I don’t know how to be anything else. I go to grab something else to throw, but he catches my wrists in his big hands and he stops the motion.
“Listen to me,” he says, his voice very deep and very calm. “I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to get a grip on that temper. I want you to go sit down on that stool on the other side of the counter and wait for your meal. Can you do that?”
I nod. I am still filled with anger, but I don’t want to take it out on him. He is trying to feed me. He lets me go, and I walk around to sit at the counter, watching him as he cleans the mess on the floor up, washes his hands, and starts cooking.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I’m super fucked up, and I’m really stupid.”
“Actually, I think you’re quite intelligent,” he says, giving me a smile. “You’re just new to a few things. You’ll pick them up in good time.”
I don’t think I will, but I try to watch what he’s doing. ‘Cooking’ seems to be a simple matter of heating food. Pink and white slivers of meat become crispy bacon strips. A fresh carton of round spheres are cracked open, and when they hit the pan, they go bright white and yellow.
“Wow,” I breathe. It’s like watching magic performed in front of me, things that were sort of food-like transforming into delicious meals.
“Here you go. Eat up.”
He gives the food to me on a plate, not a tray with all the little pockets compartmentalized, but an actual plate.
“Will you be alright eating that? I need to go see someone about something.”
“Sure,” I say, shoving the food into my face. It tastes incredible, so much better than the food I got in my cell. There’s crispy, salty, rich texture, followed by a liquid gold flow of pure deliciousness. I could eat this all day long.
Try
Tom
“I’m surprised to see you so soon, Doctor Ares.”
“Are you?”
I’ve come to the Head because I am no longer willing to put up with only knowing part of the truth. Every word out of Electra’s mouth surprises, shocks, and appalls me. Every piece of missing knowledge in her personal inventory makes me concerned at the past she’s been forced to endure.
“I want to know what happened to Electra, and I want to know now.”
The Head gives me a sharp look. “Her attitude appears to be rubbing off on you already, Doctor Ares. I would be careful of that tendency.”
“I would expect for you to expect to see me again, given what I’ve discovered. Redacted reports don’t count as information, by the way. She doesn’t know anything. About anything. She seems to have been raised entirely within the walls of one facility or another, never exposed to any basic education besides soldiering. She doesn’t know how to be a human, because she’s never been shown any humanity.”
“I’m not sure you need me to tell you anything,” the Head says. “You seem to know everything already.”
“I don’t know. I’m guessing.”
“Those guesses are going to have to be enough to go on, Doctor Ares. I’m not able to share the details of Electra’s origins.”
“Make yourself able,” I suggest, risking my life to do so, or at least my balls. The Head does not like being talked down to by men. She makes examples of the ones who try to pull rank on her. But I suppose she understands my pushing is in aid of our mutual goal, because she finally elaborates.
