Rogue *EDITING*

Not Home

Its almost 11 when we arrive. The entire ride there was intensely silent. Father walks in paces ahead of us. I turn to Mother, and ask her, "Now that I'm back can you turn my tracker off? It's all okay now."

She nods, and whispers, "turn around." She lifts up my hair and pulls slightly on the back of my neck. It only lasts a few seconds, and then she presses down again. She throws a chip on the ground and steps on it. "Done." She says, and walks into the building. The metal doors lock behind us, and she walks away.

I can remember where my room is, and apparently, they don't plan on doing anything with me tonight. I still remain acutely aware of the potential outcomes of being here. The steel walls of the hallway don't feel like home anymore, and the lights seem so much harsher now. On my way to my room, I pass by the room Mother and Father sleep in when they're not in the lab. They're not there, yet, and I take a look into the empty room. The pillows on the bed are farther apart than I ever remember them being. Mothers vanity has a layer of dust on it, and the items aren't as organised as they usually were. Everything feels untouched. I sigh and keep going.

The air is clean and sterile, so empty as my footsteps echo off the soft blue tile. I'm walking slowly, like I'm hesitating. I don't think many of my memories of the hallways are good ones. Sneaking around to the library, even before the cameras was a dangerous act. Simon was always there to distract Mother or Father if they happened to call me around. Now that's wrong in my mind too. He always helped me, but now, looking back I see nothing but malicious intent, like taking your favourite childhood snack and lacing it with cyanide. I shake the thought away and stand at my bedroom door. I take a deep breath and turn the knob.

I hadn't noticed I had my eyes closed, but I open them after I step in and I can't help but smile a little. All my old bookshelves are back, but not quite the way they were, like someone inexperienced put them back. My dresser is in a similar situation, and the things I kept on top, like my hairbrush, perfumes, a little mirror and knick knacks are also placed there, but not quite how I always had them, as if someone tried to replicate the look by memory, but wasn't quite sure. All my old clothes are in there. If I hadn't seen everything but the bed removed from his room, I'd say nothing was touched. I turn around to the bed now, and I notice something. The sheets are all placed nicely and folded like the bed has just been made, the pillows fluffed and everything, but near the foot of the bed, there's a clear divot, where the sheets are rumpled. Someone was sitting there, a lot and often. It's not big and since there's so few people here, I deduce the answer quickly. "Mother," I whisper to the empty air. I sit down where she sat and look around. She must have sat here alone, and a lot. She really missed me. She cared. She cares. She's the only one who's shown truthful kindness towards me. Not even Father cares. It sounds awful to think it but Simon was half right. Father doesn't see me as a daughter, as I thought all that time ago.

I lie down on the bed but I don't get under the covers. I'm not tired. I close my eyes anyway and think about my situation. I remember Fathers words. The options he seems to be considering are grim. At best, he looks at my memory and reprograms me, and at worst, a total shutdown. I'm not gonna wait around for those choices to be made without my knowledge. And if it comes to it, I will stop him.