JULIET: A Dollhouse Inspired Short Novel

ROMEO

"You know I love you, right?" Romeo said as he stood behind me, watching me assembling the parts of a black handgun.

I was in the basement and felt in desperate need of entertainment. This was the closest I could get to entertainment. And I guess he couldn't help but follow.

The basement was void of any windows or sunlight. The walls were solid metal. An underground shelter for whoever had owned this home before us.

"Like Victor loved Sierra." I stated as if it was a fairytale. "I know. You've told me that already."

"I can feel it, okay?" He said, "Even on assignments, I'd always felt it. I just didn't remember who you were."

"Then it probably wasn't me." I told him blatantly as I placed the trigger into the gun.

"Jule, I feel it in my bones." He said, "I love you." He enunciated every word as if it wouldn't register in my brain unless he did it forcefully.

"The only way that would happen is if I gave it to you. Right here, right now." I said, placing the barrel into the gun.

"Well, that's okay too, but the point is," He said, "You and I both saw the security footage. We ate together, we painted together, we held hands, we-" His tone began to rise, and so did the blood in my ears.

I slammed the gun onto the thick wooden table and turned around, facing him. "Then make me love you. Right now." I challenged him. "If it's so real it should be easy right? Since we walked around like a pair of love sick children." I was beginning to yell. "Come on! Do it now!" I shouted, my arms up in the air before they landed on the sides of my legs, the clap resonated in the silent bunker.

"Jule, I-" He said but had nothing to follow it up with. His expression darkened. He looked down and shoved his hands down his pants. "I don't know how to explain it, I just-"

This was not the first time we'd argued about this. "I'm tired of being everybody's fucking toy." I said, my tone frank but calmer. "No pun intended." I said before turning my back to him.

"Jule," He started,

"John!" I blurted his real name and not his active name, ending the discussion.

There was an attraction. I'm not going to pretend it's not there. But if it was love, I want it on my own terms. Not because someone tells me it is or because they imprint me to.

John leaves the room, his footsteps heavy against the thin wooden stairs. No matter how many times we seem to reach the end of the argument, we always end up doing the same thing the next day.

I turned around and went back to work. But this time was different. I don't think I've ever yelled at him like I did today. I stared at the gun in my hand, not yet put together, looking like a mess. Like me. Like John. We were just still messes.

It gnawed at me, it gnawed at everyone else in my head. I felt guilty. John only wanted something to hold on to because he didn't have anything left. And neither did I.

I could've at least handled it better.

I took a deep breath to settle my mind. Luckily unlike Echo it didn't hurt me. I don't know how Angel did it, but she was able to give me everyone I needed while still making sure I was just one person. John was the same as I was, his head containing weapons experts and dead martial artists. He also had some of the more annoying Casanovas that I was thankful he never used on me.

I drop the gun on the wooden table. What was I doing? I'd disassembled that thing just this morning and assembled it back again. Was this me pretending to fix myself? Was this me pretending I was the gun?

I back away from the table and turn on my heels, heading up the stairs. I locked the door to the bunker and turn around only to stop in my place.

All the lights in the house were turned off and only two red candles lit the dinner table. Sitting across from those candles was John.

"What is this?" I asked him as I walked to the table.

"You said to make you love me. So, here we are." He says, gesturing to the set-up he arranged. "Let's have dinner."

I sat down across from him as he poured me a glass of wine. I look down at my plate and see that he'd also made grilled steak and bacon wrapped asparagus. I picked up my fork which was set next to my place and folded napkins. "When did you make this?" I asked sheepishly, embarrassed that I yelled at him and he still let me sit down and eat with him.

"The whole time you were downstairs." He said. "I kind of knew how it was going to turn out so I decided to come armed before I attempted anything."

I take a bite of the steak and chewed quietly, resisting the urge to fully express how delicious it was in case John saw it a different way.

A minute into the meal and we were both silent again. The ice had not been broken down in the bunker.

"Look, when . . ." He began, prompting me to look up from my food. "All those times I said that I- you know. I never had the intention of using you."

I nodded. "Of course." I muttered. He didn't understand that it was not at all about him. It was my inability to come to terms with the fact that I was used for things I had absolutely no idea about.

John's eyes descend on his plate as he sliced a part of the steak with his fork.

"But we were like lovesick sheep with the brains of newborns." I said, breaking the silence. "How did you even feel it after Angel imprinted us? I mean, what was it that-"

"We stood inside that room and I saw you." John said, cutting me off, shaking his head. "And I just knew."

"So it's just looks?"

He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "Of course not- Look, when we ran, everything else followed." He said, "When we got here, everything else followed."

"What's everything else?" I asked, piercing my steak with my fork as I stared intently at John.

"It's not that easy to explain." He said, his tone rising. "All I know is that . . . I miss you." He said, "As if I instinctively I was aware of everything we had in the Dollhouse." He paused, "You're not as aware because you won't give me a chance. And the only way to really feel it and remember it is to-" John stopped and let his words drift off.

"I'm giving you a chance, right now." I said, "We're not arguing are we?"

"We are and you know it." John said sternly, his face turning rigid, looking back at me with intense eyes.

I reach across the table for my wine glass but couldn't bring myself to take it and bring it to my lips. Something was stopping me. John's fingers touch the back of my hand, leaving light trails on the back of my wrist.

I look up and our eyes lock, his were threatening to throw hooks into me and pull me in. His dark eyes glowing brown against the candlelight. Something in me was changing. Like a small weight was being lifted.

I look down at our hands. With a soft shift I placed my hand in his, filling his palm. We sat staring at our first real intimate physical contact as ex-actives, completely ignoring our food.

It was odd. It seemed as if every single one of the imprints were screaming for him. And only one was reluctant.

Me.