Counterfactual

24 | turing test

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TURING TEST

( — a proposed test of a computer's ability to think, requiring that the covert substitution of the computer for one of the participants in a keyboard and screen dialogue should be undetectable by the remaining human participant. )

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          ISLA STOPS CRYING WHENEVER SHE FALLS ASLEEP, BUT IT TAKES AN ENORMOUS EFFORT TO DO SO. She usually sleeps peacefully during the whole night, but, tonight, that doesn't happen. She wakes up at random times, as if she had remembered why she's so upset, and the crying restarts until she's so exhausted she eventually drifts back to sleep.

          Rowan is awake through it all, only sleeping during the periods she does the same. She's surprisingly quiet and manages to muffle her sobs by doing it against the pillow and, while he'd appreciate that amount of consideration if she was doing literally anything else, he'd much rather not be asleep when she isn't given the current circumstances.

          He just stays there, lying beside her, not really knowing what he should say—if there's even anything that could be said in a situation like this. He can't exactly tell her hey, I'm really sorry your best friend and other people you care about nearly died a few hours ago, I'm sorry you don't know if certain people who were in that house survived or not and I'm really sorry this will, most likely, turn people against your father by thinking he had anything to do with it.

          Frankly, he could tell her the truth and reveal what Gabriel told him earlier at his office, but there's never an appropriate time to talk about it. Now's especially not the time to do so, and, when the clock on his phone marks 4:31 am, he bites his tongue and keeps his damn mouth shut.

          It's also when she rolls around on the bed, turning to face him, and he doesn't drop his arm. Goosebumps rise on his skin when her fingertips gently brush against the side of his neck, sliding down until they find his collarbones, and he still doesn't speak.

          She inches closer to him, almost imperceptibly, and he knows exactly why. She's trying to find a distraction, but, at four in the morning and after what happened hours before, Rowan highly doubts it would be beneficial for either of them.

          "Isla," he whispers, curling his fingers around her wrist to stop her hand from going too far down his torso. "No. Not tonight. Not like this."

          "Why not?"

          She stirs on the bed and the mattress creaks softly with the sudden movement, while Rowan holds his breath as he feels one of her legs tangle with his. His fingers ease the grip on her wrist, and she takes that opportunity to tilt her head up and press a gentle kiss to his jaw, the first place her lips manage to find in the dark. 

          It truly pains him to push her away, knowing he'll only be hurting her more, but it's for her own good. So, when he cranes his neck, moving his face out of her reach, she breaks free from his hold to sit up on the bed, kneels folded against her chest. Rowan, fearing anything he says or does will worsen it, merely sighs and props himself up on an elbow, staring up at her.

          "Isla," he begins, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible before she snaps. After the day she's had, it's the very least he can do, even though it would be totally understandable if she reached her breaking point, as if crying until her lungs nearly give out wasn't enough. "Isla, look at me."