Linked

Thirty-Nine : Untethered

The room is square. A gleaming, pristine white that makes me think of perfect teeth. I'm trying to focus, as Corin suggested, and breathe through the agony, but the room is spinning and the pain ripping through my limbs is unbearable.

"Are you really this upset at parting from Corin? He's only downstairs." Dr. Frenchwood sits facing me on the opposite side of a clear plexiglass desk. Her back straight, it's as though she's hoisted up by puppet strings. Which is ironic, given how much of a puppet I feel. She looks over her shoulder at my father. He's in the corner perched on a spindly chair, deeply involved in a task on his notepad, forehead folded into deep creases. "Isn't the infatuation of teenagers ridiculous?" Frenchwood remarks, waiting for a reply. But he doesn't appear to hear.

"It isn't that," I manage to gasp between sobs.

"Oh?"

I press my hands flat against the desk, the transparent surface fogging under my sweaty skin. Is it possible she doesn't know about this issue? I try and lock my features into an expressionless mask. I used to be able to do so with barely a blink. But the pain is too great, too overwhelming. My skin pulls and burns as though there's blades shearing at it, ceaseless and tortuous. I can't stop my face from crumpling. Can't stop the tears streaming. Can't stop scrunching my eyes shut against it all, blocking out this dizzyingly white room. Everything aches in a pounding relentless fashion.

"Corin and I -" I manage to wheeze, "our Link is physical, too. We can't separate." I open my eyes, piercing her with a pleading gaze. "Can you fix it? The pain is too much to take. We can't go on like this."

"Fascinating." Dr. Frenchwood leans back in her chair, folding her white-sleeved arms across her chest. She appraises me for a moment. Watching me suffer. Her hair blurs to a pumpkin-coloured smear in my tear-stained vision. "What an interesting side effect of your engineered Mindlink. Certainly unintentional, on my part. I must note it down."

She lifts her notepad off the desk and strokes it awake with an index finger. Movement from the corner of the room catches my eye. My father has finally looked up from whatever was holding his attention. He's chewing on his bottom lip. The way I do when I am nervous or upset. Slipping his notepad into the pocket of his perfectly creased pants, he gets to his feet and crosses the small room. I bury my head in my arms, hiding within swathes of black hair. It's all I can do not to slip off the chair and curl into a sobbing ball on the floor. My mind is spiralling away from my body, trying to escape the pain. Pressure and warmth clamp onto my shoulder. My father's hand. A few strands of hair yank taut and snap, caught beneath his fingers. Distantly, I hear his voice rumbling at Frenchwood.

"This ends now, Garnet. Benna is my daughter. Administer the cure and put her out of this misery."

"Of course, Alexander."

"Cure?" I manage to mumble, my teeth chattering.

"It's alright, Benna. This will all be over soon." My father's words come close to my ear. I am almost soothed, until he adds, "We will be able to return home, hold a media conference announcing your safe return, and proceed as if this never happened."

I pause, slowing my ragged breathing, gathering the energy to ask, "What about the other Linkers?" I lift my head slightly.

"There will be no other Linkers," Frenchwood says, sliding her notepad onto the desk.

"What?"

"I've tested my cure on natural Linkers already, with success. You will be the first forced Link to receive it. This is my gift to you - I am freeing you of the affliction. Well. Maybe. It would take time we do not have to calculate predictions on what effect your physical connection may have on the cure."