Linked

Two: Jesse

My father shoves scrambled eggs into his mouth as if using a spade. I stare down at my muesli, trying to ignore the bits of pale yellow goo flying from his mouth as he barks orders at Cee. We sit at opposite ends of a table for eight, two bodies separated by a vast expanse of wood. Without my mother to bind us together, slowly I slip further away.

Corin doesn't know how he found me, or how he knew I was the one he was meant to Link to.

It was like a window opened inside my head, he said. Letting in a breeze. It took a few days to work up the courage to reach through. I didn't know what I would find.

I try to find that window now. I want to reach through and tangle my thoughts with his, but without my bare metal branches to guide me and my lips to whisper aloud, I find it impossibly difficult.

"Orange juice or coffee, Benna?" Our housekeeper, Mrs. Plum, asks, hovering beside me. Her gentle voice matches her grandmotherly appearance, her tone as soft as her curves and her grey-streaked curls. Sometimes I forget she isn't family.

"Juice, please," I mumble, still gazing into my bowl, watching the oats swell and turn to mush. In the few weeks since Corin first contacted me, I've felt like I am turning inside out. Not physically, of course, more that my life is happening internally instead of externally. My waking thoughts are occupied with Corin. Linking. Waiting for him to Link. Practising establishing the Mindlink myself. I lay on my bed with the window open, staring vacantly at the wind chime's spinning, glistening trees for hours. At times it feels as though I'm beneath the ocean, caught in a whirlwind, and everything happening outside of that is difficult to notice. Although, I do notice that the room has fallen silent. Mrs. Plum and my father's personal assistant, Cee, have gone oddly still. I look up. My father is staring at me intently, his knife and fork set down on his plate like a silver cross.

"Off in your own little world again, are we?"

I can tell it's a question he doesn't want an answer to. His dark eyes narrow, as if trying to see through me, right inside, to examine what's hiding. I sit still, my features a carefully composed mask. Everything I learned about constructing a shell, an emotional blank canvas, I learned from watching him.

"You know," he finally says, drawing out his words, "lately you have been reminding me  - more each day - of your mother."

The mask slips. My lips perk upwards, involuntarily, at the mention of her.

"I didn't say that was a good thing." Quick as a slap.

I swallow, hard, trying to fight back the sudden onslaught of tears blurring the edges of my vision. I can't even come up with a retort, he has me so suddenly hollow inside. If you tapped my ribs I'd probably echo.

"Whoops!" Mrs. Plum squeaks, tray of beverages slipping from her grasp. It slams onto the table top, the juice pitcher exploding in a shower of glass and liquid. Hot, black coffee runs off the surface onto the floor, where it gathers like small pools of blood in the carpet. My father and I jump from our seats.

"Plum!" My father roars. "My suit!" Grabbing an unaffected napkin, he begins dabbing at his black tie. It's always black, the same shade as the espresso soaking into the floor. It matches his eyes. And mine, too.

Mrs. Plum glances at me. I'm sure I catch a smirk, a slight twinkle in her amber eyes. Thanks to her, breakfast is clearly over. Time to hide in my room and disappear into my mind. I take a few eager steps towards the door, but Cee throws an arm out to stop me. If he weren't so large, I would push past. I am not in the mood.

"Before you leave," he says, consulting his notepad as if the floor hasn't just been tie-dyed a massacre of orange and black, "I have notice of an appointment for you. The Medical Institute, after school on Wednesday."

"What for?" I shoot a look at my father, but he is still busy checking his suit for stains.

"A few blood tests, scans." He waves a nonchalant hand.

"Why?"

"Just routine. Nothing to worry about." He offers a quick smile. For some reason, his perfect teeth make me want to punch them out. "I have linked it to your notepad calendar, for your convenience."

"Oh," I say, as sweetly as I can manage. Which is not very. "Okay." It's not unusual for Cee to schedule appointments for me, at my father's request. I haven't been to the Medical Institute for ages though, almost as far back as I can remember. People don't really get sick these days, not with the annual immunisations. A nurse comes to visit each birthday, with a card from the president and several syringes. When I was small, I sometimes used to loiter in the Outgoing Mail room and help stamp cards with the pre-printed signature. Not anymore, though. They have machines do it now. It's faster that way.

"Benna," My father strides over, a fresh tie looped around his neck. "Make sure you attend."

"I will."

"There will be consequences if you blow it off to spend time with Jesse."

I sigh. "Can I go now? You're going to make me late for school."

"How are things with Jesse?" His tone softens. "It's been, what, six months now?"

I roll my eyes. "Ugh, don't pretend you care."

"I'm trying..." he pauses, taking a breath as he completes the final knot, "to be a good dad."

"I prefer it when you're an ambivalent one."

I don't give him a chance to reply, as I stalk out the door, where I stop to slump my back against the patterned wallpaper. Surprisingly, he is right. Almost six months together. Benna plus Jesse. And still, neither of us have said the 'L' word. Surely, it should have happened by now? I find myself making excuses like: it's because we're only dating casually, or, it's hard to find time to talk privately. He has so many friends. Or, and this is kind of hard to admit, but Jesse will be talking to me and... I am listening to Corin. Swept up in my own private whirlwind. My mother always said that when you fall in love, there is no hesitation. There is a need for each other, a magnetic pull. I care about Jesse, but I don't feel insatiably drawn to him. Maybe that comes with time.

I push myself off the wall, intending to head down the corridor. The driver will be waiting impatiently for me. I've run out of time to crawl away beneath blankets, uniform and all. Then, I notice the dining room door is still open a crack. I didn't close it properly behind me. Cee's baritone voice carries through.

"Do you want me to reschedule your meeting on Wednesday, Sir?"

"If you could, move it to the a.m. I want to be there for her results." Her? Does he mean me? My father lowers his voice. I backtrack, leaning closer to their murmuring. "She could turn out to be instrumental in the development of the cure. And if that's the case, I need to be the first to know."

Quickly, I scurry down the hallway, a sick feeling blooming in my stomach, reaching out like the tendrils of thought Corin and I so often illegally share.