Unplugged: The Beautiful World (#3, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter Ten

Fake Enna

"Paris, Hong Kong, South Africa, Brazil..." Jeremy laughs almost gleefully, reading statistics from a tablet. I fold my arms across my chest. "People love you, Enna! Absolutely love you!"
"If only you could say the same for the Hidden Allies," I sigh, voice barely hanging on to audibility. If I have to go through another interview or fake smiling session again, I will--
"Don't be too hard on yourself. They'll come around eventually."
"If they don't kill me first!" I retort, sinking into a cold, metal chair. Every muscle throbs unbearably, and I can practically feel my hair thinning out. Negotiating with the Hidden Allies has more than taken its toll on me. Their tricky way of thinking almost manages to confuse me. Me! That, coupled with my almost daily bout of press coverage events, is pressing an almost unbearable weight into my shoulders. I'm surprised that Jeremy can't tell.
"You are doing beautifully, Enna. Look, the whole world loves you!" He hands me the tablet and I stare at the glowing surface. Thousands of messages from RScreened citizens around the world fill the page.
"Wow," I whisper, brushing my fingers over the words of adoration... idolization. "These are real?"
"As real as I am," Jeremy says, smiling widely. His dark skin wrinkles with the curve of his lips. "And this is just the beginning. You know how our scientists track the brain activity of those wearing RScreens or chips?" I nod. "According to them, some citizens have started to resist the thought-suggestion technology!"
"What?" I lean forward in my chair, completely flabbergasted. I can still remember all too well how mindless and... unpresent everyone seemed in the city when I was one of them. "How is that possible?"
"You inspire them," Jeremy says slowly, letting each word sink in. "Since they first heard of the young rebel Enna Price who escaped the only fate that people knew, their minds started working in different ways so they could understand what you did. You are waking them up."
"So what does this mean?" I ask in a small voice. "Is this a bad thing?" Jeremy sighs and scratches his balding head.
"For now it works to our benefit. The more people love you, the more they will do what you say. But this could prove difficult in the future, depending on how things work out. For now, keep doing exactly as you're doing. Gaining the people's trust is our number one priority."
Distraught, I stare at the names listed on the tablet, scrolling down until they become a blur. All of these people know my name. All of these people, in some way, have changed the way they live their lives because of me. Am I really deserving of this much power? Of course, a haughty inner voice replies. I'm the most able person on the planet: who else would be more deserving than me?
I set my jaw. "I will."

~ ~ ~

Enna

    Brandon ushers me into a small bedroom, several stories above the ballroom. An entire wall of the room is made of glass, looking out over the circular entry hall. I can see the people in the rooms all around me, and I'm sure they can see me as well. I'm not sure how I feel about that.
"That lever on the side lowers a screen," Brandon says, pointing a wrinkled hand at a small silver protrusion beside the glass wall. I turn around and smile at the man.
"Thank you." He doesn't leave, just stands there grinning at me. "Uh... Do you need something?"
"No, no! I just can't believe that you're here..." He shakes his head, trying to get a grip. "Anyways, if there's anything you need just say the word!" He starts to leave when a question rises in my mind.
"Hold on... I do want to know one thing."
"Yes, Ms. Price? Ask anything at all!"
"Do you know where Matthew is? My..." I'm about to say "friend", but then I remember that I'm playing my enemy in front of Burbank's people. "My old comrade."
"I saw him storm through the hall when you were conversing with the President. I'll send him to you the first chance I get."
"Take your time." The older man exits the room and I instantly pull the lever next to the window. A metal screen on rails screeches as it rolls down to cover the glass. Call me old-fashioned, but I've had more than my fair share of privacy breaches. Slightly more relaxed, I turn around to examine the comfortable-looking bed behind me. The sheets are made of cotton, like a quilt. Ever since entering this hideout, I've noticed how antiquated everything looks. The clothes, furniture, and even the food has "old America" written all over it. It feels almost comfortable: familiar in a strange way.
I try out the bed's mattress and, to my pleasure, it gently supports my weight. My tired legs groan with delight. I'm certainly not invincible, that's for sure. So why is everyone groveling for my attention? For my leadership? How can I possibly be any more competent than an experienced politician? The door opens swiftly and Brandon lets Matthew in. I expect him to still be angry, but everything about him looks calm. I exhale slowly. When the door closes, Matthew observes the small room.
"It's cozy. I'll give it that." He leans against the wall and tilts his head, watching me. I watch him back.
"Are you alright?" We ask at the same time. For a moment there is silence, then I start to laugh. Matthew joins me, sitting beside me on the mattress. I find myself relaxing; it becomes easier to breathe.
"You first." I smile sympathetically. He sighs, staring at the carpeted floor.
"I'm fine. I am." A snort escapes my nose and he looks at me quizzically. "What?"
"That's fine? Nearly breaking a table?" His face turns crimson, almost the exact color of Fake Enna's uniform. "That doesn't sound like fine to me."
"I just..." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. I can tell that he's struggling with something. "I was forced to make the worst decision of my life because someone told me the exact same things the President told you. I can't shake the feeling that he wants more from you than he's letting on. Not to mention the fact that we just met the guy!"
"Maybe he just wants help," I mutter quietly. "Not everyone is as evil as your father! We can't judge the situation when we don't understand all of the factors." Matthew stares at me for a couple moments, eyes bright, and I start to wonder if I crossed the line with my comment about John. But then, to my surprise, he cracks a small smile and brushes his fingertips over the healing wound on my lower neck. A tingle spreads through me, starting from the place where his skin meets mine, and I breathlessly observe the tender awareness behind his eyes. How could someone so alive have ever been plugged in?
"You always manage to amaze me, Enna," he whispers, chuckling softly. "Even after all this time."
"How?" The word comes out like a breath, as silent as a whisper.
"Despite everything you've been through, you still see the good in people. It's incredible."
"Not really. Everyone deserves a chance, don't they?" Matthew shakes his head a little. He moves closer to me, and I can feel his breaths mixing with my own.
"That's why I fell in love with you," he says quietly. My heart swells, and I feel tears start to press against the backs of my eyes. Something inclines me to say the words back to him--"I love you"--but for some reason, I can't find the strength in me to say them. Shame and confusion temporarily strip me of breath. Matthew takes my hands and holds them against his chest.
"You didn't judge me. Ever. Not when you first met me. Not when you found out that I used to be plugged in. Not when I told you who my father was."
"Well, I... I hardly knew you then," I say breathlessly. Matthew shakes his head.
"Yet you gave me more of a second chance than I gave myself. More than what I deserve. Sometimes, I..." He laughs shortly, his eyes narrowing darkly. "Sometimes I feel like you're too good to be with someone like me." I feel a single tear start its descent over my cheek; I don't move to wipe it away.
It's unfair. It's so unfair that people like us have to face these kinds of demons daily. It's unfair that the world is rigged against us. It's unfair that it's so easy to become cold and angry and hardened.
"What are you talking about?" I whisper, caressing Matthew's face, trying to transmit some sense to him. "How could you say something like that?"
"I know you don't understand, but--"
"There is nothing to understand," I say, my voice rising. "Alright? Stop saying things like that." I think about the time at the Base when I was about to kill Matthew. I think about the incident on the beach. I think about when I murdered John Elliot. How on Earth could Matthew think that he's the damaged one? It sounds completely backwards to me. But, then again, maybe we both share the blame for our hardships. Maybe it's dangerous for us to be together at all. The thought depresses me. I hold my palm to my forehead, suddenly tired.
"I need to sleep." Matthew nods, watching me carefully. A hidden sorrow lies just beneath his features, and I get the impression--painfully tugging at my stomach--that he wanted me to say I loved him back. But I can't say words that I don't understand.
"Of course." I stand and pull down the covers on top of the bed, drowsily sliding under them and resting my head on the flat pillow. The mattress bounces and squeaks as Matthew does the same. Bothered, I stay awake for several minutes, listening to the sounds of the night.