Date: CT2-5875/11/16

Paloma wanted to see the Mind - of course she did - and - of course - I let her.

Her fingers flitted over its cold, flat surface with such care that she wouldn't have harmed the wings of a butterfly. She inhaled as her skin made contact with metal, as if the Mind were something of such mythical significance as to be a shock when she found out it was indeed corporeal. I stood back, observing her kneeling form and her wide eyed stare as she took in the sight of the unremarkable thing, as though even the image of it somehow contained the essence of Serrah; as though even the sensation of its surface against her fingertips contained part of the woman we had both loved.

When she did look away, it was with a sudden and fierce whip of her neck, the motion containing more urgency than I had ever witnessed in Paloma before. She stared right into my eyes and asked: “have you talked to her?"

“I have," I nodded.

“Good," she said, also nodding. A frown appeared on her face and her eyebrows furrowed. “I shouldn't have asked to see it." She shook her head. “She left it to you for a reason, it's not meant for me."

Her statements floated alone in the air for some time, the two of us standing awkwardly a couple of meters apart, barely moving. I wasn't sure if I should say what was on my mind, but at some point my tongue got ahead of my reasoning and made the decision for itself.

“She had no idea what she was doing." The words came out monotone and dry, a numb glazed film forming over my eyes as I spoke them.

Paloma tilted her head, her lips pursed, then asked: “What do you mean?"

“I mean that she orchestrated the end of her own life, and in fear that her Dusk might trigger my own, she left this… whatever this is, this replica, this amalgam as some sort of last ditch effort to keep me stable and sane." Starting speaking, I found that I didn't want to stop. “The virtual Serrah that's in there doesn't want to live any more than the real Serrah did. Her only motivation for existence is seeing me safe and alive."

Paloma nodded slowly, taking in what I'd said, then knelt next to the Mind once again and stared at it intently, as if searching for answers scrawled secretly on its perfectly smooth surface. “A very Serrah thing to do," she observed. “A little twisted, maybe, but a genuine display of love. I think this was sweet of her. She only wants you to be happy."

“Except she has no idea how to actually make me happy. She couldn't keep herself happy, Paloma, why would she think she'd have any better luck with me, after killing herself?" I was being short and bratty, Paloma didn't deserve such an attitude, but I wasn't at my best.

“You're upset, you're angry, I get that. Serrah was far from perfect. Maybe this idea of hers was little more than a gamble, but there was no impurity in her intentions. You knew her as well as I did, so you know that. Maybe it was a mistake, but it was one made of an abundance of love." She folded her arms and grimaced, shaking her head. “Sorry, Eliot. It's not my place to regulate your feelings. I'm just… I'm emotional. I miss her."

“Me too," for a moment I felt like bursting into tears. For a moment I felt like killing myself. For a moment I thought about activating the Mind and making up with Serrah, but Serrah is dead. Nothing I could do would change that fact. The phantom she left behind deserved peace. I should have deactivated it then and there, but I wasn't ready. I knew, though, that it would end that way eventually. I would put Serrah out of her misery all over again. But not yet. Not yet. "Paloma..." I began, awkwardly avoiding eye contact, unsure of myself and of what I was doing. "Let's talk to her, together."

She erupted into tears.

---

It took Paloma a couple of minutes to regain her composure. She didn't try to argue that Serrah hadn't intended this too hard. I insisted once, and she submitted to the idea. She wanted this, badly. I was glad that I could give it to her, even if I was dreading actually interacting with Serrah's unliving digital self again.

I turned the Mind on in projection mode. This time we didn't enter a virtual space, but rather Serrah appeared in the room, fully formed, a few meters away from us wearing a frilly, sky blue blouse and loose, casual pants, her face bearing less makeup and a more neutral expression than last time. She appeared to me not so self-assured as before, but determined. Paloma gasped, hands clasping over her mouth. When Serrah saw her, she stared at her - unmasked shock distorting her features - then approached the two of us in dreamlike, drifting steps, only briefly flicking her eyes over me. She wasn't expecting Paloma. It appeared that her little plan was so ill conceived as not to even anticipate as mild an upheaval as this.

I was all pessimism, all dismissiveness, all anger. But all it took was for Serrah to open her mouth to melt all of that away. It wasn't gone, per se, but it was background. Serrah was the main event. To me, she always had been, couldn't not be.

Serrah lifted a small, delicate, pale hand, and Paloma enveloped it in her much opposite ones, a silent tear trailing down the larger woman's cheek and one of those smiles that you only ever construct to act as an explicit barrier between stability and sobbing was straining her features.

“Paloma," said Serrah, soft spoken, almost scared. Her lips sealed, pursed tightly as to become almost invisible. A thousand thoughts seemed to pass behind her eyes before she settled on airing one. “Are you going to be okay?"

Paloma nodded, more silent tears wetting her face. She let go of Serrah's hand then wrapped the smaller woman in her arms. She stopped trying to maintain the structural integrity of her expression, but to her credit only let out a single sob before sniffing and coming to some sort of equilibrium.

“You know I will," she said.

Serrah rubbed Paloma's back, her eyes were vacant now, deadened somehow. “I love you," she said. The words were a plain statement with no affectation or pretensions attached.

“I love you too."

“Are you sure seeing me - my Mind - like this is a good idea?"

Paloma shook her head. “I don't know, but-"

“I offered," I cut in. “Insisted, really."

Serrah let out a near-silent sigh and freed herself from their shared embrace. “I'm sorry, Paloma. For everything."

Paloma patted herself down, stood straight, sniffed away the remnants of her distraught state and stared into Serrah's Mind's eyes. “No, you're not." Serrah flinched, as did I. “But that's okay. There's no need to apologize for doing what you felt was right. But, I miss you. A lot. And I'm sad. It's difficult. Still," she pointed at me. “Eliot is struggling tenfold, but you already knew that. Don't worry about me. I've been through this before, I'll get out of it again. I'll keep on living just as you knew I would. You sent your Mind to Eliot for good reason, and I only felt the tiniest pang of unreasonable jealousy at being left out. Seeing you now has rid me of even that. I'm glad for this opportunity, even if it only resets my grieving process. In this moment it's a blessing, and that's all that matters."

Serrah seemed, as was apparently becoming progressively less rare for her, overwhelmed. The two of them shared a tender kiss in silence but, when she pulled away, Serrah locked eyes on me as if Paloma had never even been there.

“How have you been since we last spoke, Eliot?"

I felt that pent up negativity and frustration and spite zap right through me and up to the back of my throat all at once. I didn't fight it. I let it out.

“Awful. Your Dusk has left me more unstable and mired in Malaise than I've ever been. It feels like your death was a murder too - like I'm going down with you - and no matter how hard I try to convince myself that the facsimile in front of me is Serrah, I know you're something other. I know Serrah is dead. You'll be gone too, soon enough, and I don't know what to do without you. I don't know how to live with this pain. I don't know why I should even bother trying. You were right after all, suicide is the answer."

I saw Paloma's jaw flex, but she didn't say anything, keeping her objections or words of support to herself, not wanting to interfere. Serrah's Mind stepped forward and took my hands in hers. I didn't pull away. Her touch put me on edge, then it soothed me. My shoulders dropped, all the tension in my body escaped me and all my mounted rage crumbled. I began to cry. I hated that she could do that to me, and had done it so easily both times I'd activated her Mind. I loved her so much it hurt, and that was true even when she was alive. Dead, my love was an ache deeper and more painful than a stab wound. Her Mind kissed my forehead, cooed softly, stroked a finger under my chin and lifted my head until my eyes met hers, she smiled.

“You'll make it," she said, soft spoken and calm. “You're smarter than I ever was, you'll figure things out where I couldn't. I'm sorry, Eliot, truly: sending this Mind to you hasn't achieved what I or Serrah had hoped it would. But here I am, and there you are, and when I look at you I can see the fire inside you, and I know that it's burning you up from the inside, but that it shines bright, and that when you harness it and point it in the right direction you'll be able to achieve anything you set your mind to. Whether you believe that or not, I know it. I've seen you do it before. You're an unstoppable force when you want to be, Eliot. You will figure this out. And I'll be here if you want my help. But if you don't ever want to activate me again," she spread her arms in surrender. “That's okay. Leave me dormant or turn me off for good, it's up to you. But whatever you do, don't forget what I've told you, Eliot. Please." She took hold of my hands once again and squeezed them hard.

I stared into her eyes, the tears I had shed earlier still matting the fur around my own. She seemed hopeful then, though a little shaken - perhaps unsure if she would ever get to see me again. I desperately wanted to cheer her up - to agree to her conclusions and live on merrily ever after - but that wasn't at all how I felt.

“That's very nice, Serrah, but it's nonsense," I said, words strained by sob-harshed vocal chords. “Pretty, kind nonsense, but nonsense all the same. There is no fire, no shining light. There's nothing special about me at all, how can there be when history ended before I was even born? And you don't know I can do whatever I set my mind to, Serrah. Quite the contrary, I know that I can't. I couldn't save you, and I wanted that more than anything. I failed, so you're dead, and what you said doesn't mean a thing."

Serrah's face fell, her jaw wobbled. Paloma looked at me, expression laden with consternation, primed to interject but forcing herself not to.

“Does it really matter how I phrase it, Eliot?" Serrah's Mind asked, voice trembling and unsteady. “If Serrah was alive she would have said the very same things - I know that better than anyone. You couldn't save her life. Okay, fine, you can't turn water into wine - spin miracles - but my point was and is that I know you, and I know that you're a powerful, resourceful, thoughtful, intelligent person. I believe entirely that not only are you capable of getting through this but that, if you don't intentionally sabotage yourself, you will."

I stared her down in silence. The image of my dead lover matched the intensity of my gaze as best she could, still shuddering and uncertain, no doubt scared for my future, feeling powerless and lost in the face of my self-destructive, righteous rage. Part of me liked that. Part of me was glad that I could give her a taste of what it had felt like to watch my lover go down. I only wished Serrah herself could have known this desperation. Maybe then she wouldn't have gone through with her Dusk. Maybe then she would still have been alive.

Twisting on the spot I said: “Paloma, take all the time you need," and left the room.

In truth I didn't know what to make of Serrah's Mind's words, whether there was actually any truth to them or if they were just another example of performative smoke and mirrors meant to keep me distracted, as the Mind itself was.

Down the hall I turned right, then went through the third door on the left, entering my relaxation room. I promptly collapsed on top of a large, cushiony couch, staring up at the pleasant, swirling pastels of the ceiling holo as I sank into the furniture, thinking about something I had said just minutes prior. There was nothing special about me and by the very nature of my existence here on the Cube, there really couldn't be. Why then, miserable as I was, should I live? Conversely one could argue the opposite; what made me so important as to deserve an early death?

No, no. I was nothing at all. Nothing I did could ever matter. Life, death? It was all the same. Serrah said I was smarter than her - I had never believed that, I still don't. Serrah figured out that if nothing mattered, she may as well stop living with all that pain.

---

Paloma found me something like half an hour later. Her expression was downcast, but not despairing, rather she had an air of finality and acceptance about her. For half a beat I wondered if she had shut off the Mind for good and I panicked, my heart beating at octuple speed until she made her way over and sat beside me. In her presence I rose, too, to sitting, and she said: “I put her back on standby."

That calmed me, though I hated that it did, so much of me wanting to wipe the Mind myself.

“I'm sorry for bringing my drama into it. I- I wanted you to have your chance with Se- with the Mind."

“And I got it, Eliot. Thank you."

“I'm sure you think I'm terrible."

“Why would I think that?"

“Because I want to die. Because I won't forgive Serrah for ending her own life. Because I took my petty little revenge on her Mind by reminding her of those facts."

Paloma stayed quiet for some time, eyes tracking clouds of soft teal as they drifted along the walls.

“Serrah wanted to die, and I didn't think she was terrible."

“What about the rest?"

“I think if you had Dusked when she did, and she was in your place now, she would have been angry and spiteful too. The two of you have a lot in common."

“Had," I corrected. I couldn't help it.

“Fine, had." She spoke the words as if they were a sigh of exasperation, though not directed specifically at me, rather toward existence at large. She was tired of watching Malaise stricken youths burn themselves out in front of her. She was tired of watching the lives of the ones she loved and cared for snuffed out by twisted psyche and circumstance, but still she fought on - in vain - in the cause of life and joy and happiness.

“I'm sorry," I said. She didn't respond, just patted my leg in tired acceptance.

I knew then that she was as close to special as any person really could be in CT2, or CT1 for that matter. I knew then that she was an incredible woman and that, though I wasn't in love with her, if I had met her in different circumstances I could have been. Perhaps, in that parallel universe, she could have saved me. In this one, though? I wasn't so sure.

Her voice rose out of the silence. “Think about what Serrah said, Eliot. I believe she was right."

My turn not to respond. I watched a caramel-orange holo spiral expand and contract among a nebula of other colors, then I collapsed back to stare at the even more vast sea of shapes and shades that sprawled across the ceiling.

Eventually Paloma stood up and made to leave the room. I called after her: “If you want to talk to the Mind again, just let me know, okay?"

“No," she said, voice firm. “Serrah left it to you, Eliot. I'm more grateful than I can say to have had the opportunity to spend time with her once again, but to dream of more, to simply reach out and have her at my fingertips, to act as if she's still in my life even now?" She shook her head. “It would only make things worse."

“Then why," I asked, “do either of you believe that keeping it around will make my life any better?"

“Everybody's different," she said, hesitated, continued. “But maybe it won't. Just, make sure to say goodbye properly if you do turn her off. Don't leave things how you left them tonight. I think you'd regret it if you did." I made a non-committal sound and lay there thinking about it. She went on. “And if I could request just one thing?"

“Anything," I said, and meant it. She had already been kinder to me than I possibly could have deserved.

“Don't tell me if you turn her off. I'd rather not know."

She left the room.

---

Zachary's tail woke me up. He was teasing it across my face as I became blearily aware of reality. I swiped at it, grabbing it in my paws and opening my maw around it, nibbling. He giggled from the near-dark and collapsed beside me onto the sofa, quickly spooning up to me as I lay on my back and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes. The relaxation room had dimmed automatically as I had drifted off and had stayed dim post-waking. The pastel holo projections remained ever-changing and lit above and around us, but their light was soft, bathing the room in a constant, but unobtrusive, glow.

“I didn't think I'd see you again today, if today is still today. How long have I been asleep?" I asked instead of pulling the information up on my display, enjoying the novelty of uncertainty.

“Well, I don't know how long you were asleep my dear sweet kitty, but yes today is still today. And, well, I was going to give you space but all I've been able to think about is you; I couldn't properly enjoy myself with Denn and-"

“Getting all soppy about me instead of enjoying a ramming from some massive dick?" I teased, finding a smile and tickling his chest, for a moment forgetting about everything other than him, living in that shining light Serrah was so convinced I could produce. He batted back my fingers with a laugh and his eyes reflected my light in a way that reminded me why I fell for him in the first place.

“Well, I was doing the ramming actually, but pretty much, yes. Oh, I finished in the guy before coming back, of course. Manners."

“Of course," I yelped in a high-pitched affirmation, as if such a statement were elementary.

“But, yeah," he propped his head up on his paw with his elbow pressed into the cushiony couch below. “All I could think about was my beautiful, stoic lover, keeping their emotions in and looking brave for me, when all I really wanted was to be there for them and absorb their tears with my fur. Zed knows if I'm not good for anything else, I make a good rag."

My smile widened and I felt a sting at the corners of my eyes. With a half-cough half-laugh I pushed the gathering emotions aside. “You're just normally more of a cumrag than a tear-absorber, right?" I asked of my ever-horny Mate.

“Well, if you insist on using me as such, I'll happily help you out of that dress."

I laughed, as did he, and we kissed. And my paws felt through his chest fur and lower down. He was naked - which wasn't a huge surprise - and then, sooner than later, so was I. We tangled and cuddled, but didn't make love. I felt a little better about things. Maybe there was a light to me and Serrah's Mind was right, and Paloma had shown such kindness in the face of my despair and rage, and here was Zachary - my Mate, loved one, lover - being wonderful and understanding and intimate; things weren't all bad. We ended up with our foreheads pressed together, legs entwined, arms wrapped around one another, just laying there, side by side.

“Thank you, Zachy," I whispered. We nuzzled, then my muzzle slipped past his and I buried my face in his shoulder.

“I love you." He told me, same as he did every day.

“I love you too." I told him and then, as if from nowhere, the tears came. I hated my weakness.

“Let it out," he whispered, rubbing my back, his tail curling around me.

Amid sobs I finally admitted to my one remaining Mate: “it hurts so fucking much."

“I know it does." He said. And I could hear his pain, it was a deep rooted, throbbing pain, and it was caused entirely in reaction to my own. This is why I hadn't wanted this, but it wasn't my choice. He had come to me and asked for it. I just hoped he wouldn't regret it. I hoped he wouldn't hate me for it, or for who I was or how I twisted everything to be about me and my own stupid, petty problems and fears.

Zach was one of the happy people. He lived with the carefree ecstasy of the truly hedonistic. He made the conscious decision to remain ignorant of much of history, science, art, philosophy and culture. He knew as much as he wanted to know about any given subject, and nothing more, other than that which he himself had experienced. On the Cube that is a privilege allotted to all of us, and with that privilege I had chosen knowledge and understanding and, ultimately, pain. Not to say that those who studied and absorbed more information from Zed were all as miserable as me, or that all those who limited their own knowledge were as joyous as Zach, but there was at least some correlation.

I had never wanted to drag Zachary down to my level, and I was paralyzed with the fear that I might. There - my tears soaking into his fur - I regretted ever accepting him as a Mate. He deserved to be with those who would actually make him happy, not the messed up nothing that was currently bawling in his arms.

But, as he reminded me every day, he loved me. I had to believe that that was enough reason for allowing myself to love him back. I had to. Otherwise I would lose even more of mind than perhaps I already had.

“I'm sorry," I said.

“Never apologize for this."

“No need for us both to be distraught," I argued.

“Let me carry some of your load, love."

“Is that an innuendo?" I asked, trying to change the subject, rutting my hips a little, my length stroking over his own.

“Oh, hush," he said, even as I felt a slight twitch in his loins.

I smirked, then frowned. “When I share these thoughts, my load doesn't lighten, Zachy. All I do is add to yours."

“I don't believe that. And please don't argue with me, Eliot, just let me be here for my grieving lover."

I grumbled. He held me tighter.

We were quiet for some time. Sleep drifted my way.

“If I ever have to attend your Dusk," he said, quiet and fragile. Zachary wasn't the kind of person you'd expect to ever see cry. Even as his Mate, I hadn't seen him do so until recently, when he shared in my pre-emptive tears at the announcement of Serrah's Dusk. I felt terrible about it then, as I did now. It was my fault he was crying, or at least getting close. I was a terrible nothingy non-person whose only effect on existence was to add a little more sadness to all of the lives I had touched. “I know it would be more difficult than I could imagine. And I know how much you loved Serrah… however long this takes for you, I'll be here, okay?"

“What if the pain never ends?"

I just had to dig deeper.

“Well, then I'll be here for you forever, guaranteed." He squeezed me and let out a shuddering breath, expelling tension and relaxing a little, avoiding tears after all.

“Thank you," I said, not sure what else to say, and nestled back up against him, yawning, too exhausted to find the energy to hate myself any more than I already did, at least for the night.

A final time, before drifting off, he brought me back to the edge of consciousness.

“Just promise me," he said.

“Promise you what?" I murmured, still half asleep.

“If you ever feel like… like ending things. I mean, like, seriously ending things. Talk to me first, okay?" I realized then that he was crying, or had been crying recently. Maybe I had missed it in my restful state. “I know. I know. It's your life, your body, your mind, but, please, as your Mate, talk to me before you make a decision like that, okay?"

My body felt empty, like there was nothing left of me but void. I had the intense sensation that I was wrong all over, outside and in.

“Okay," I told him. “I promise."

I wasn't sure that I meant it.