She checked the tattoo. It wasn’t finished yet.
Incomplete it’d have to be, then.
“I’m sorry,” said Kasey, before hacking into Actinium’s biomonitor with the retina info she’d scanned, just like she’d once hacked Celia’s. Given the number of times they’d discussed their plan, in a variety of settings, it would have taken her too long to set the parameters. So Kasey did the more foolproof thing.
As the rabbit on the desk woke, she cognicized Actinium’s every memory of her.
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I TELL HIM EVERYTHING. ABOUT Kay. About me. About the facility in the sea. Time does not stop for my confession, and the orange of the sky rots to russet. The clouds become bruises. The sea bleeds around the horizon, the sun puncturing its navy skin. Our shadows grow long over the pier planks, and Hero’s touches my toes by the time I finish.
Finally, he speaks. “How many times have I tried to kill you?”
One time on the beach. Possibly one time on the ridge. One time on Genevie, and one time just now.
“Two?” Hero asks as I say, “Three.”
Silence.
“Maybe four,” I add, my voice quiet.
The last of the sun sinks. The air cools. The tide rises, blue-black, washing over the planks and sloshing at our feet as Hero begins to pace back and forth.
He comes to a sudden stop. He covers his face with both hands before pushing them through his hair, then turns to face me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I wanted to protect you, and because it doesn’t matter. We’re real. But every reason sounds like an excuse. By lying to him, I chose for him, just like Kay chose for me. I took away his autonomy.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words paltry.
His breathing accelerates. I had a whole dive to the bottom of the sea to show me that I wasn’t human. He’s getting this all at once.
“Hero…” I start, but he’s already shouldering past me. He strides down the pier. “Hero!” I turn after him, but don’t chase him. I don’t deserve to; he needs space and time.
He doesn’t come back to the house that night.
Around midnight, I search for him along the shore and at the cove. No luck. The wind picks up. U-me greets me on the porch as I return, but I don’t have the energy to entertain her. I sit on the couch, legs to my chest, arms crossed atop my kneecaps, and bury my face in the nest of limbs. Eventually, my mind goes dark like my vision. This time, I dream my old dreams. The touchstone images—of cherry ice pops that melt too quickly, a sequined dress that fits my body like a second skin, and Kay’s hand, reaching for mine as I climb down a white ladder to join her in the sea—are almost comforting, even if I still wake up with tears on my face. I wipe them off before heading to the kitchen, brew tea like it’s a part of some normal routine. My hands shake.
Final day.
The kitchen door opens as I’m filling a mug—or trying to. I can’t seem to aim and most of the tea has spilled onto the countertop. I glance up from my mess to find Hero in the doorway, in the same clothes as yesterday, hair windswept.
“Where did you—”
His mouth’s on mine before I can finish. I start to kiss him back; he breaks away to lift me.
We end up at the counter—on it, against it, clothes half on, half off. Our rhythm is serrated, like the shards of sound we don’t manage to swallow. The countertop drives into my tailbone, and my nails dig into his shoulders as we come apart.
“Are you okay?” It’s the first thing Hero asks after he finds the air for words. His breath is ragged, and he rests his forehead against my shoulder to catch the rest of it.
“Better than okay,” I gasp back.
We clutch each other like we’re breakable. But we’re not. We may be breathless right now, but we’ll never be permanently without breath.
“How can it be?” Hero whispers into my shoulder. He lifts his head to look at me, and the confusion in his gaze blisters me like a flame. “You and I … we both feel so real.”
“We are real, Hero.”
“But so are the people—”
I press a finger to his lips. “Don’t think about them.”
“But I have to.” He pulls my hand away. “Because if you decide to wake them, I might stop you. I might kill you. The worst is that I don’t know what I might do, Cee.” He begins to tremble. “I just don’t know.”
“Shhh.” I take his head into my hands and draw him to my chest. His tears run warm over my breast and down my ribs. “It’s okay,” I say, even as my own heart clenches around my false memories of Kay. We are the same, Hero and me. All we can do is live and feel as much as we can, to rebel against the life and feelings we can’t control. “It’s okay, love.”