Redux

by A. L. Davroe

  His brow creases, and I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “It was me playing someone else. The guy in that game, he wasn’t Gus or me. He’s not real, not 100 percent Gus and not 100 percent me. Even I made mistakes playing Gus, things Simon had to go back in and alter.”

  I blink. “So, he doesn’t even remember it the way it actually played out?”

  Quentin doesn’t answer.

  I gasp for breath, fighting a suddenly pounding heart. “It was all a lie, then…all some…some game?” Tears sting at my eyes. I struggle not to let them fall, but they burn at the back of my throat. “Everything we did?”

  Quentin closes his eyes. “That’s not true.”

  “How-how could you?” I demand. More tears come then and words start to string together as I rail at him. “How could you do that? Lie to me like that?” I want to get up and run. I want to smack him. I want to scream. But for some reason I just keep sitting there and staring at him through a renewed flood of tears, as if I expect there to be something he says to make it all right. Is that too much to expect? He knew what to say in the game, didn’t he? Or was that just him pretending to be someone else, too? Who is this guy? And in whose heart does the majority of the guy I fell in love with exist? Or does he not exist at all?

  He won’t look at me. If there is any shred of humanity within him, then I’m sure it’s because he’s so ashamed of what he’s done. Maybe ashamed of the tears he’s causing. Eventually, Quentin reaches out and touches the chips in my pocket, his fingers brushing my clavicle. “This is your domestic android, isn’t it?”

  I lean back, pulling the chips from him and cradling them against my chest. “Her name was Meems.”

  His eyes stay on the pocket, despite my shielding hands. “Meems,” he muses, a slight, sad smirk pulling at his lips as if he’s won a bet. His gaze lifts then, flashing amber. “Do you think Meems ever wanted something?”

  Sniffling, I press my trembling lips together. I don’t have to wonder, I know exactly what Meems wanted. “She wanted to be a human.”

  Quentin holds my gaze. “If it were possible, if you had the power, would you have given her that wish?”

  I hold my breath and stare at him. He’s trapped me. Built reason around my emotion, made me see his motives. He used those words of his, said the thing that needed to be said to save himself.

  He holds my gaze, intense and powerful as fire, and when I don’t respond he says, “Well?”

  “Yes,” I reply.

  He nods his head once, another personal bet won. “Then you understand why I did what I did.”

  I finally manage to look away, hiding the darkness and pain that I feel. I try to wipe away the tears, to look strong. “It doesn’t change the fact that you both used me.”

  Quentin is quiet for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. It hadn’t been my intent when I started the game. I never even dreamed I’d come across you. The probability of that happening is so—”

  “I know what the probability is,” I snap.

  He closes his mouth as I glare at him, daring him to utter another word. What neither of us says is what we fear—that the game put us together on purpose, that Game Guster was just as much of a tool as Game Ella was. Instead I say, “You could have just left me alone, walked right by me, never approached me in Garibal.”

  “I’m glad I didn’t,” he says, his expression some strange mix of amusement and seriousness. It looks too much like an expression Game Guster would make. I look away, denying all of it. Part of me agrees with him. That part would never exchange my experience in Nexis for anything. But another part feels betrayed, tricked, and uncertain.

  Quentin must sense my confusion because he says, “I’m sure you wonder why. What was my motive?” He takes a deep breath, his attention sliding off to the side, avoiding me. “The right thing to say to you, the thing that would satisfy my own selfish desire for you, would be to say that I approached you because it is what I wanted. But”—he lifts his chin and his brow creases with dismay—”that would be a lie, and I don’t want to lie to you. Not anymore.”

  I clench my fist around the chips, making the silicone edges bite into my skin through the fabric of my uniform. I don’t know why his words hurt. I don’t know what I expected him to say. I don’t know why I even expected those mystery words. It’s not as though I like Quentin. It’s not as if his opinion of me matters.

  Quentin’s hand lifts and his fingers slide over mine, cupping my hand in his. And I feel it beyond skin-to-skin contact. I feel that touch down to the very center of my being. The truth is that Quentin touches me in some special way that lets me know he’s the boy who touched me in Nexis. There’s just something about it—the pressure in the pads of his fingers, the heat of his skin, the gentle deliberateness of his movement, the forward possessiveness of his actions. Something about it is what drew me to Game Guster in the first place. That, and the way he kisses me. They give me a feeling like nothing else.

  And it’s that feeling that tells me how much of a liar I am. All this hatred, all this denial. I’ve been lying to myself. The truth is that I do like Quentin Cyr, and I do care about his opinion. I want him to like me. I always have. Except now, the reason for my want has changed.

  The want of Pre-Nexis Ella was a flippant, girly obsession with the beauty of the unattainable. The want of Post-Nexis Ella is something born of camaraderie, from knowing someone front to back, inside and out. It’s the want of love. Only, that love is for a boy who is a myth, one who is an amalgam of two boys. And I don’t know which boy I love more.

  As if to hammer home my thoughts, Quentin says, “The truth is that I approached you that day because I knew Gus had feelings for you.”

  I shake my head, denying it. “He never let on.”

  “He couldn’t,” Quentin whispers. “He never thought you’d respond favorably.”

  Inexplicable pain prickles my chest. I want to say, “of course I would have,” but that wouldn’t be true. Gus once frightened and disgusted me, which now makes me feel superficial and horrible. I push my self-hatred away. “Then, why in the game if not in real life?”

  Quentin shrugs. “Perhaps not in the game, either. If I hadn’t been playing him, maybe never. It’s another way I deviated from the true path that would have been Gus in the game. But the fact is, I played him for better or for worse. I thought I could give this to him. And now?” A bitter scoff escapes him as his arm tenses, pulling me close to him so that our noses nearly touch. “I’m not doing a very good job of it, am I?”

  I stare into his eyes, breathe in his air, unable to move even though I have an insatiable desire to lean forward and kiss him. I’m so conflicted. Who is it? Which boy is the one I fell in love with? Perhaps neither? Perhaps the boy in the game is nothing like either of them. “I’m…I’m confused.”

  Quentin seems to realize himself and draws away a bit, loosening his hand so that it slides teasingly away from me. “You shouldn’t be.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  He stares back into his lap. “There’s only one right answer here.”

  My voice rasps as I say, “Is there? Because it seems like there are two and I don’t know which one to pick.”

  “There’s only one person you love, and that’s the Guster that you met and fell in love with in Nexis.”

  “When you kissed me in the aerovator,” I say haltingly, “were you being you or Game Gus?”

  He narrows his eyes at the ground. “I was being stupid.”

  I blink, incredulous. “Stupid?”

  “I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong.”

  Really? Because, confused as I was, it felt right. I cross my arms and look away. I want to demand what’s so wrong with kissing me. Doesn’t he care? Could he really have done all of that with me in the game and really feel nothing? I cast him a sidelong glance. He looks so hard and unforgiving in the darkness. Maybe he doesn’t care. He’s an actor, after all. The son of t
he President. The ultimate manipulator. Maybe his touch is a lie. Maybe his kiss, too. And perhaps my feelings are a lie.

  I think of Game Guster and his ability to get exactly what he wanted out of the people around him. I wonder if Quentin only seduced me in the game to satisfy his desire to please Gus. I gulp, hating how much that possibility hurts. I feel sick.

  He speaks then, his words low. “I should have told you the moment you pranced up to me at my party wearing Nadine’s face. I should have called you out and confessed who I was. But”—he takes a deep breath—“I felt guilty. I was trying to be a good friend. Trying to let Gus have you. That’s what I thought you’d want, because I made you believe it’s what you wanted, like I’d planned. So, I lied to you. To Gus.” He looks up then, meets my eyes. “I created a problem for all of us and I’m sorry.”

  For what feels like an eternity, I just stare at him, agape. My mind is whirling, swirling. I grasp onto the first concrete thought that comes to me. “What am I going to do about Gus?”

  His fingers tighten. “Nothing.”

  “What?” I huff. “I can’t do nothing. What are you saying?”

  His grip shifts, pulling me up as if to put me back on my feet, but drawing me away from the wall as well and settling into something softer. I look up at him, confused, only to find myself trapped in his intense gaze.

  He stares down at me, and somehow I feel like we must be getting closer even though I don’t think I’m moving. Finally, he says, “I’m saying that I’m done.” His fingers loosen a little more, slide up my arm in a way that makes my skin tingle. “I’m saying that I’m tired of being a good friend. I’m done pretending it doesn’t make me insane seeing you in love with another man. I’m finished with him making you cry because he’s in love with the right girl for him. I’m sick of how I feel when you’re so close and I can’t touch you or kiss you. I can’t deal with waking up without you in my arms. It doesn’t feel right. I don’t like it and I’m fixing it.” His fingers slide some more, traveling over my shoulders, up my neck, cupping my face. “I’m saying that I love you, Ellani Drexel.”

  He pauses a moment, as if he knows I need that to sink in, but then he plows on. “I may have approached you in Nexis for Gus, but I fell in love with you. I’m the one who kissed you, who made you smile, who encouraged you. I’m the one you spent all those hours and all those days with. I’m the one you gave yourself to, who you laid down with at night. I’m the one who died in your arms with your tears on my face, loving you more than anything. And it was me who went to Simon and tried to see you, even after you told me you didn’t want to see me in Real World. I’m the one who found you those Shakespeare sonnets. When Gus remembers a love for you, it’s my love he feels, not his. He loves Delia and I love you.” His words die. He swallows, his expression anxious.

  I stare at him. Everything is such a jumble and it’s happening so fast, I don’t know what I feel.

  But…that doesn’t change what Quentin feels, does it?

  I was always myself in Nexis, so if he says he loves me, then he’s talking about true me. But is it the truth? He’s a manipulator, someone who can get whatever he wants from anyone. He’s the guy who always knows what to say and delivers it at just the right moment. But what would he gain from lying to me? He has no reason to hurt Gus or me. He has everything. There’s nothing beneficial in winning my love.

  Unless…

  Unless… All he wants is my love in return.

  “Say something,” he says.

  I don’t know what to say. All the words in the world don’t seem adequate enough. I lick my lips and taste salty tears and murky water. “Say it again.”

  A quirk graces his lips and his fingers shift on my jaw. “I love you.” And then he bends down and kisses me.

  And because I can never say no to his kisses, I kiss him back.

  There’s no confusion after that. With his lips on mine, his body so close, there is no mistaking the familiarity of this dance, of this magnetic pull between us. He may look different, he may smell different, and taste different, but he doesn’t feel different. Neither does the way he makes me feel. I am whole with Quentin’s arms around me, with his body close to mine, with his lips on mine. It’s an addicting sensation—that certainty of rightness after everything has gone wrong for so long. It gives me hope, makes me strong. So I let it carry me away, and for a few blessed moments it’s just Quentin and me and the beautiful thing between us.

  And then I think about reality and the bodies lying around us and I pull away.

  Quentin attempts to chase my retreating lips, but I turn my head. He goes still against me, his whole body alert. We’re interlocked together, his body pinning mine against the rock wall. I blink, I hadn’t even noticed him lifting me, hadn’t mentally acknowledged drawing my arms and legs around him. I try not to think about how intimate a position we’re in as I timidly glance at him.

  There’s smolder in his eyes, the cool melting stuff that’s trying to urge me back to the edge. His heavy breathing falls soft on my face, his body is hot and ready. He’s so alive.

  Shifting my weight, I let down one arm and press my fingers to his neck, count his thudding heartbeats excited at the prospect of me.

  He glances at my hand. “What?” he whispers, his voice thick.

  I close my eyes and swallow. Heartbeat. This boy has a heartbeat. I have a heartbeat. I feel mine echoed beside his, thudding with just as much urgency. “There are dead people all around us,” I whisper. “Why?”

  He leans in, places his forehead against mine. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I found a body, too—when I went looking for you. But it’s not one of ours.” He hesitates, then says. “His teeth were filed. Pointed.”

  Stomach sinking, I close my eyes. “Cannibals.”

  “If that’s the case, then I’m sure mostly everyone is alive. Most likely the only deaths were to those who struggled or spotted something they shouldn’t have.”

  “Gus would have struggled,” I reason. “He’s a fighter and he’d want to protect Delia at all costs.”

  “Yes, but like I said, he wouldn’t have died easily. Not with a body that’s more machine than man.”

  I think about that. “If he fought, they would have tried to injure or silence him. He would have been wounded, but he most likely would have gotten away.”

  Quent’s head bobs to agree then pauses, realizing what I’ve just realized.

  If Gus was injured, his chasis—be it biological or synthetic or some combination of the two—would have been damaged and he’d most likely come to the fast realization that he’s not a real human. But then, so would the cannibals. And if they couldn’t eat him, they probably wouldn’t have made the effort to chase him. But because he was a machine, they’d also not try to pursue him if he chose to save a person or two. “You think he’s got Delia with him?” Quentin asks.

  “It’s a fair bet.” I smile, because there is some ray of hope for at least some of our group. “Hopefully, there are some others with them and we’ll locate them. But…if he realizes what he is…What are we going to tell him?”

  Quentin steps into me, letting me slide back to the floor. He hooks a finger under my chin and angles my gaze up to meet his. “Let me talk to him. This is my fight, not yours.”

  I frown at him. “But your fights are my fights.”

  Quentin scowls. “Not this one. You getting involved would only confuse him.”

  “As if you have any right to corner the market on clarity,” I mutter sarcastically.

  “He’s my best friend, Elle. I can talk to him, get him to see. He knows I’d never hurt him because he knows I love him.”

  “Well, I love him, too,” I reason. And realize too late that it’s not the right thing to have said.

  Quentin’s face shuts down and he takes a step away from me. “I see.”

  I put a hand to my head, as if that could keep all the thoughts that are swirling around from spilling out. “No, that�
�s not what I meant. It’s just…”

  He closes his eyes, as if shielding himself from the truth. “You think you might love us both.”

  Sighing, I lower my hand. “No, that’s not it.” I struggle to find the right words, to explain that it’s hard to disconnect from Gus—I have an ingrained love for him and his wellbeing I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to shake. But I don’t want to admit that to this boy who just dumped his heart out to me. Not when I love him, too—more and differently. With that kind of love. I cross my arms, shielding the weird place where the cold of the situation and the warmth he brings me collide. “Sparks, you make me want to run away screaming sometimes.”

  He turns back to me and gives me a long look. “I’ll chase you until I catch you or I’ll die trying. There is no other option for me, Elle. One day you’ll figure that out.”

  I remember what Violet told me. About the right one following me. And it makes my heart flutter. Trying to hide the smile his words bring, I turn away and shrug it off. “You already died once in Nexis and I didn’t like it. Try to stay alive this time. Okay?”

  Amusement enters his voice. “Yes, ma’am.” His fingers slide over mine, closing around my fist. “If we find him, I’ll tell him about the game, explain his misplaced feelings for you. I can’t hide the truth anymore.”

  I swallow. “Doesn’t that mean that the love he has for me doesn’t actually exist at all? He just remembers loving me?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. He had a strong admiration for you once. And”—he cups my cheek—“there’s so much about you to love. Thanks to those memories of my game with you, he sees and interprets everything about you the same way I do. Even without that, I can’t imagine any man not loving you.”

  I smirk at that.

  His fingers tense. “I’m serious. You may have your flaws, but those only make you more beautiful to me. No one is perfect, but you can be perfect for someone. And for me, you are. He does love you. Because I love you. He has to, those feelings have been implanted in him. But the reality is he also loves her.”

  I lift my chin, meet his eyes. “This is an absolute mess, Quentin Cyr. Perhaps the best option for both of us would be to walk away and start fresh elsewhere.”