Separian - Book 1

Chapter 14

The bed was too soft, nothing like the old spring mattress I'd grown used to sleeping on over the years. I was far too comfortable to sleep. I missed the light bounce whenever I repositioned myself. Now the house was so quiet I could hear dinner moving through my stomach like a half filled water balloon in the hands of a three-year-old. And this oversized room was suffocating me. There were far too many shadows dancing on the walls for my taste. Each one set my heart racing to a different beat, unsure if it was here to hurt me or fade back into the night. Amy's room was right next door to mine, but she'd gone to sleep over an hour ago, so now I was alone.

Samuel, the presence I understood to be my Armanai half, what made me a Separian, was still gone. And after the final comment his alternate persona made when Amy showed up on the street corner, he hadn't uttered a word. I think he was glad for the opportunity to rest, just as I was. I still didn't trust either one of the voices inside of me, but as things stood, I didn't feel any immediate feelings of resentment toward them now that I was calm. I knew though, I would never likely be pleased with who they were; fractured Armanai soul or not. Their character was far too erratic and unpredictable for comfort.

I stood from my laying position and moved across the room to the dresser. It was bare, minus the life sized mirror and a set of towels. The drawers were all empty, the closet too. The only thing I'd been given bar a set of bath towels and the bed was a pass to use the bathroom if I needed to throughout the night. Other than that, I presumed I was confined to my room. But now I felt like a prisoner in here. Not like the police station or Ana's cabin in the woods, but contained nonetheless, unable to leave. I ignored my restraints and walked across the room to the door.

The hallways were clear for now. Six individuals continued to breathe heavily each sticking to its own pattern. I moved from my doorway and bolted down the steps and into the kitchen looking for something to do to pass the time. Two minutes in and I was already sifting through the drawers for a pen and paper. It wasn't ideal, but writing was one of the easiest ways for me to express how I felt without the fear of offending anyone around me. That and boxing. The latter didn't seem rational at four o'clock in the morning.

October 20th

4:03 am I'm not sure of what to say. I feel like I should at least talk about how far I've come with my tests, with my progress, something standard, but what's the point? I'm sad, angry, confused, and alone. I've been moving like this for a several days now but it feels like just a blur. Samuel and this other being living inside of me, they are anything but willing to concede. Their "lessons" have almost gotten the us all killed multiple times.

Still, it isn't all bad. I've found a small ray of comfort in this abyss. It's not that I can't let it go and move on. I simply don't want to. A stranger, here in this house of theirs, yet, I feel cared for. I know it isn't fair though. It's been over a week since my birthday. Over a week since my family last saw me alive. I can't even begin to imagine what they've gone through in my absence, trying to find me and eventually giving up hope. Would they do that? Give up hope of finding me? I didn't want to be found. Not by them. I didn't want anything to do with them so long as this life I was a part of  loomed overhead. And yet, I've been taken in by these people, putting them in the same situation; the same danger. It isn't fair. I don't know why I'm still here.

My family, no doubt, would have made the choice to protect me, just as this family had, but I didn't want them to. Either of them. So why is it so much easier for me to ignore my instincts and remain here when I know the consequences of my actions? I know they aren't safe. I know that no real good can come from this and yet, ironically, I feel safe. I feel protected, somehow. Is that weird?

I know I'm far from sane at this point. I've witnessed my personality change so fiercely in such a short time and morph into this machine. I don't want to feel anymore. I don't want the pain to continue to rattle around inside of me and fester, shredding my core piece by piece. I want to be free of my bonds. This is why I'm so broken, so isolated from everything else. Nobody can begin to understand what I'm going through with the augmentation of my body, the loss of control, and the emotional and psychological changes that accompanied both. That is, unless they too were thrown into a similar arrangement.