Inexplicable

4. Aiden

Never in my life have I had a home. But this girl's eyes? That's what I imagine what home feels like. A place with no judgement. A place that welcomes you and all your flaws.
Her dark brown eyes hold a comfort I have never seen, and I've seen a lot of girls in my time, but never one that holds the same amount of beautiful curiosity. She breaks away first, a little flustered. I observe her. Her brown hair is somewhat below her shoulders, creating a curtain between us. She wears an olive green jacket with black pants, an old, delicate ring on her right hand. I can tell no one would actually wear a beaten-up ring like that, so it must hold some sentimental meaning. That would make a doable conversation starter.
"I like your ring."
She turns towards me with caution, wondering if this conversation is worth anything.
"Thanks, it was a gift from my parents." She says it in such a forlorn, longing way, that all I want to do is make her smile. What is happening to me? For all I know she could be a serial killer, and letting your guard down means getting killed in this world.
I decide not say anything else. I'm not here for a relationship; I'm here for revenge. I focus on my goal. Human experimentation. From as far back as I can remember, I have been poked and prodded and I've had tissues, cells, organs for God's sake, removed. Scientists think it's okay to "pick up" (kidnap) some good-for-nothing orphans and run hundreds of tests on them to find a cure. Their arrogance is clouding the real conclusion. There is no cure. How could there be? We did this to ourselves.
I think back to my time in labs. I was one of the lucky ones who esc-
"By any chance do you know when we'll be landing?" I am momentarily confused, but regain my conscious.
"Um, 5pm I think." And before I can even realize what I'm saying, I ask "What happened to your parents?" She looks taken off guard. My eyes go wide with regret. "Sorry I shouldn't have asked. Never mind." My confidence is faltering and I don't know why.
"No it's fine," she swallows. "They died in a car crash two years ago." Odd. Exactly the year we ran out of oil. Not many people even had cars then. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sure you are."
I'm usually the one that replies with sarcasm. I look at her. "What?"
"It's just I've heard that response so many times. How could you be sorry? You never knew them."
"True, but I do know what it's like to be an orphan, so I think I have a pretty good guess." What an assuming brat. Her cheeks turn red with guilt. She's about to say something, probably an apology, when the man in the tan suit stops on our row.