Nothing.
I stood there, dripping and stubborn, for twenty minutes. The room offered no alternatives. No response to any of my increasingly frustrated demands. Finally, freezing and defeated, I put on the bunny dress.
"Good morning, Bunny. Would you like breakfast?"
"My name is LILAH!" The scream tore from my throat.
The speaker went dead again.
By the time Dr. Mire arrived for our morning session, I was ready to commit murder. Hungry, furious, and dressed like someone's fever dream of Easter, I'd spent two hours talking to walls that wouldn't answer to any name but one that wasn't mine.
He entered carrying his usual tablet and a coffee that smelled like heaven. Today's outfit: charcoal slacks and a black button-down that made his eyes look like storm clouds. The split lip I'd given him had faded to a thin pink line.
"Good morning," he said pleasantly, settling into the vanity chair. "How are we feeling today?"
"We are feeling like our fucking name is Lilah."
"Hmm." He took a sip of coffee, studying me over the rim. "The AI seems to be having recognition issues. Did you try the proper identifier?"
"That's not my name."
"No? Then what should I call you?"
"Lilah. My name is Lilah West. You know this. You've been saying it for three days."
"Have I?" He set down his coffee, tilting his head. "I don't recall using that name. I've called you little one, sweet girl, good baby. But Lilah? That seems so... formal. Distant."
"It's my fucking NAME!"
"Language." He made a note on his tablet. "Though understandable, given the frustration. Tell me, why does this particular protocol upset you so much?"
"Because—" I stopped, forced myself to breathe. "Because namesmatter. They're who we are."
"Are they? Or are they just labels assigned by others?" He leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. "You didn't choose 'Lilah.' Your parents did. It carries their expectations, their hopes. Perhaps even their disappointments."
"Don't psychoanalyze my name."
"I'm psychoanalyzing your attachment to it." He picked up his coffee again. "When did you last feel truly like 'Lilah'? This person you're so desperate to remain?"
"Every day!"
"Really? When you were pouring drinks for handsy drunks? When you were hiding on your friend's couch? When you were signing contracts you didn't read?" His voice stayed gentle, which made it worse. "Has being 'Lilah' brought you happiness?"
"That's not—you can't just take someone's name!"
"I haven't taken anything. I've offered an alternative. A chance to be someone new. Someone without all that baggage." He gestured at my dress. "Bunny could be anyone. Could need things Lilah would never admit to wanting."
"I don't want to be Bunny!"
"Then the AI won't respond. No breakfast requests. No temperature adjustments. No communication at all." He shrugged, infuriatingly calm. "Your choice, of course. Lilah can sit in silence. Or Bunny can have her needs met."
I stared at him, this man who turned identity into a bargaining chip. "You're insane."
"We've established that. The question is: how long will you punish yourself to prove a point?"
"I'm not punishing myself! You're punishing me!"
"Am I? I'm sitting here, ready to begin today's session. Ready to continue your progress. But you're stuck on a word. A label. A collection of letters that represents twenty-three years of poor decisions."
