Robin Wasserman - Frozen

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means my life is shit,” I spat out. “And where are you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Walker drove a fist into the grass. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be like you used to be.”

“And I want you to be like you used to be,” he shouted, “so I guess it’s tough shit for both of us!”

Silence.

“You hate this,” I said quietly. “Me. Like this.”

“Lia, I didn’t—”

“No.” I sat very straight and very still. “Just admit it. The truth will set you free and all that.”

He sighed. “Fine. I hate it. Not you . This. This whole thing. It’s weird, it’s gross, it freaks me out, but I’m doing my fucking best. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Because you feel sorry for me,” I said.

“No.”

Yes.

“Because you think you owe me something,” I said.

“Don’t I?”

Yes.

“Whatever it is, this isn’t it.” I stood up.

“Don’t do this,” he said.

“I don’t need this,” I said. “I don’t need your trying . I don’t need you forcing yourself to be with me, like I’m your personal charity case.”

“I’m not telling you to go.”

Which wasn’t quite the same as telling me to stay.

“This is you , Lia. Giving up. If you walk away, just remember, that’s on you.”

“And if I don’t walk away, I get stuck with someone who has to dope up before he can even look at me. I think I can do better than that.”

“Yeah? Who?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

Cass’s mouth breather didn’t count. He wanted to screw a mech-head, some kind of fetish fantasy, nothing real. It wouldn’t count even if he weren’t scum, which he was.

No one normal —and especially no one beyond normal, no one like Walker—would choose me, not the way I was now. But Walker was stuck with me, and I knew he would stay, mostly out of obligation, with a little nostalgia thrown in for flavor, because I knew Walker. I could keep him. I could sit down beside him and let him kiss me, ignoring the fact that it made him cringe. Ignoring the fact that when he touched me, it felt like nothing. Not because I couldn’t feel his body on mine, but because the feeling was meaningless. It was like trying to tickle your own feet. Graze your fingers across your skin in the same places, with the same pressure, at the same speed, the mechanics all the same, but somehow the effect is entirely different, the sensation lifeless. Not that I was ticklish at all, not anymore.

The old Lia Kahn wouldn’t have hesitated. The old Lia Kahn knew she deserved better. But of course, the old Lia Kahn was hot. Her boyfriend couldn’t keep his hands off her.

There was also the fact that I was probably in love with him.

“What am I supposed to do?” he said, still on the ground.

Not The turtle is hungry. Not I’m sorry. Not I love you.

Maybe I wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

Maybe I would.

“I’m still Lia,” I said finally.

“So? What’s that mean? Staying or going?”

“It means you should already know.”

That was pretty much all it took to RIP my social life. Not that I did much resting in peace. More like resting in isolation and humiliation and doubt and regret. Just because you can’t take something back, doesn’t mean you don’t want to.

Just because you want to, doesn’t mean you try.

By the time I got home and linked in that night, I’d lost priv-access to Cass’s and Terra’s zones; I’d been blocked from Walker’s altogether. Everyone else followed their lead. I was untouchable, on and off the network. People still stared; they still whispered as I passed in the hall, with one big difference: They no longer bothered to shut up when I got close. Instead they got louder, so I could hear the words interspersed with the giggles. Freak. Robo-nympho. Skinner slut. Cass spread the word that I was a mechanical sex junkie, and her mouth breather threw in some spicy details about my tendency to go psycho when my lust was denied.

Walker didn’t say anything, I was sure of it. But it was obvious we were over. And rumors spread: I’d attacked him, torn his clothes off, tried to force him. I’d cheated on him with a toaster. I’d malfunctioned in medias res , blowing sparks in a deus ex machina coitus interruptus that saved him from a nasty mistake. I didn’t deny any of it.

Neither did he.

Here’s the part where I say that my friends were shallow bitches and I’m better off without them. That Walker wasn’t good enough for me—that if he’d really loved me, he wouldn’t have let me leave, not without giving at least a modicum of chase. That I learned a valuable lesson about true-blue friendship, or maybe that surviving on my own was more fulfilling than depending on people who, deep down, didn’t really care.

Wouldn’t it be nice to think so.

They were, in fact, shallow bitches. News flash: So was I. It didn’t make me miss them any less. As for Walker… Life with a boyfriend? Far superior to life without. I probably shouldn’t admit that, but what am I supposed to do? Lie? So my friends hated me. So my boyfriend hated touching me. So my life was one big game of let’s pretend. Was that any worse than being alone?

Maybe it was, and maybe that’s why I walked away. But I’m allowed to regret it.

“I don’t get why I have to go in person,” I complained. “Can’t I just link in? What’s the difference?”

My mother shook her head. “This is about growing comfortable with your new physicality, dealing with issues of disembodiment and bodily alienation. You can’t do that virtually.”

“Physicality? Bodily alienation?” That did not sound like my mother.

“That’s what the counselor said.” My mother twisted the edge of her shirt, which she did when she was nervous, at least until my father noticed and forced her to stop. “She thinks this is crucial to a successful readjustment.”

“Readjustment?” That was Sascha’s term too, and I hated it. As if I’d emerged from a factory needing just a few minor alterations before I could rejoin my life. As if anything about this was minor . “I take it you’re still quoting?”

My mother reddened.

My father, who’d been monitoring some board meeting as if we weren’t even there, looked up from his screen. “You’re going.”

I went.

The group met in one of those buildings where they used to store paper books until no one wanted them anymore. You could tell because the shelves were still there, sitting empty, waiting for the world to change its mind and start printing with ink again—like that was going to happen. There were a lot of places like this, empty buildings that survived long after their purpose had died. Why go out for art, for drama, for literature, for fashion, when you could stay on the couch, safe from germs, weather, overexertion, crowds, annoying small talk, and get it all up close, personal, and on demand? I knew the corps had snatched up most of the useless land, keeping it around just in case. But I didn’t know that I would be the just in case, me and all the mech-heads in a hundred-mile radius, forced to drag our not-quite-dead bodies to a not-quite-dead library and spill our souls. If we had any. Which, depending on who you asked, was seriously in question.

I was late. The other six were already there, their chairs aligned in a circle with an empty one waiting for me, right next to Quinn. Not my favorite person, but at least she didn’t completely suck, which was more than I could say for the familiar face on the other side of the circle. Sascha offered up her best patronizing smile as I slipped into the seat. “Now that everyone’s here, why don’t we go around and introduce ourselves, so that our new members will feel more at home?”