I Am Annika

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

He took a step towards me; I took a larger step back. He regarded me like I was a caged animal, but really, I was his cage. I had all the power. I could kill him. It would be too easy; I was just a cat playing god to a mouse, whom I could throw away at any time to devour later. I could just reach out, and...

No. 

I was losing myself. My grip on humanity was slipping. I turned away, gritting my teeth, spinning on the muddy gravel underneath my feet. 

"You need to stay away from me. I'm not like you," I spat, still not looking behind me. A dangerous move; always have eyes on your target. 

"Stop. I just want to talk." His voice was low and quiet; even I had had to strain to hear his words. I hadn't noticed I had stopped walking, as if his command had made the wild beast inside me sit and play tame. 

"Talk...about what?" I asked. Unlike his smooth voice, mine crackled and scratched, my throat dry despite the humid wafts of steam and condensation within the city. 

"You. The government. Rebels. The world we live in." I took three short steps to a doorway, splashing through a puddle, the sounds of the droplets echoing through the night. I took refuge in the darkness, hiding my face. 

"Fine, then. Talk and maybe I'll listen." I replied, folding my arms and looking down. I took deep breaths; I needed to gain control. In, out. In, out. Killing is bad. Killing is bad. Listen. Focus. I gave myself short, easy commands. I leaned against the door frame, eyes tilted to the sky. 

"I can tell you think you're a monster," he said. I am. I am. I am. I didn't reply out loud. 

"But you aren't--you can't be. You saved me." He clenched his hands, his knuckles turning white, visible even in the murky night. Nearby, a light bulb burnt out with a pop. 

"I know you're not a bad--" 

"I'm going to stop you right there." My voice snarled from the shadows, catching him by surprise. 

"You were going to say that I'm not a bad person, weren't you? Well, here's the thing; I'm not even a person. I am less than a person. I've done things, inhuman things. I have blood on my hands. I am dangerous." 

"No," he said, shaking his head. "There's more to you. You're a person, I can see you, you look real--" Quicker than lightening, I was in his face, staring him down. His words died. He was nervous. 

"Look at me." I said. I grabbed his hand, put it on my face, my arms, my chest. "I don't even have a real heartbeat," I whispered. My heart, altered to survive harsh conditions, would only ever pump 10 beats per minute, a ridiculously low number for anything to function on. He stumbled back, as if shocked by my touch. 

"How are you even alive?" He asked me. His eyes had gone wide, vulnerable. Human. 

"I'm not even sure I am, sometimes," I said. I sighed, then furrowed my brow. "Do you see now? Stay away from me." I glared at him through narrowed eyes. Did he believe me, finally?

He regained his posture, squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw. He looked away for a second, his eyes tracing the outlines of a broken city. Running shaking fingers through his hair, he addressed me. 

"This isn't your fault," he said, folding his arms, "it's theirs. They made you like this. They took the human right out of you." It was harsh to hear it coming from a mouth other than my own. 

"But..." he paused. "We need you. We need you to help us, to save our city, our people." The rebels. I blinked. He wanted me to join them. Was he insane? Clearly, something was wrong with his brain for leading him to think that. 

"I'm supposed to kill rebels, not help them," I said, turning away. How could I even help them? I was bound to be an agent for the government; they made me. 

"There is good in you. I've seen it," he said. He was getting desperate; it radiated off of him. I said nothing. 

"Please." I heard a small splash, and I turned around to find him on his knees before me, begging. 

"You don't understand. We need you. Things are so--" he lowered his head and took a breath. "Things are so, so terrible." I regarded him, kneeling in the mud and water before me, his clothes soaked, his muscles tense. He was willing to beg before me for my help. To me, the ever so dangerous one, the monster, the tyrant, the killer. 

"What will you have me do?" I asked slowly, my face indifferent and stony. 

"Thank you," he whispered, still on the ground. 

"No," I said, turning my face to the dark sky. "Don't thank me yet."