There’s no joke there. The idea that we’re just objects used and forgotten is a painful one. An ache deepens in my chest, and my eyes start to water.
“What are we, Sydney?” I whisper. “How can we be just like them and yet still so different?”
She turns to me and reaches to take my hand. She doesn’t have the answer.
“Where do we fit?” I ask. “We’re alone.”
“No,” she says adamantly. “We have each other.”
“But what are we?” I repeat.
She leans in to put her forehead against mine, our eyes close. “We get to be whatever we want,” she whispers, her breath sweet over my lips. “We’re going to decide, and we’re not going to let society or men or a corporation determine our value anymore.”
It’s a beautiful thought. I hug Sydney, and we cling together, wishing it could be that simple. Before we can convince society of our worth, we’re going to have to determine it for ourselves. We’ve been so set on shutting down the corporation, we lost sight of our bigger issue. One Leandra barely discussed.
We’re not girls. We’re not even human. But we can love and hate and cry and laugh. Why does having a metal brain make us that much different, when the outcome is the same?
Sydney pulls out of the hug, reaching over to wipe a tear off my cheek. I smile, thanking her, and run my fingers under my eyes to clear the rest.
“Now,” Sydney says. “I’m not saying we work with Winston. The idea of a President Weeks doesn’t interest me. But … if he has resources, shouldn’t we use him?”
Again, maybe in theory I don’t disagree. But there’s another side of me that doesn’t need Winston Weeks’s influence. Why can’t we be the ones to change things?
And just as I think that, a small flicker of pain registers in my temple. I close my eyes, rubbing the spot with my finger.
“You okay?” Sydney asks.
“Head still hurts.”
“Well … they’re waiting for you upstairs,” Sydney says. She leaves any judgment out of her voice. It’s up to me whether I still want to meet with Raven. “Marcella ran to the store,” Sydney adds. “But she should be back soon.”
“And Raven’s here?” I ask, not opening my eyes.
“Yep. She’s working with Annalise now.”
There’s a sudden sinking in my gut. “Working with?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“She’s been in a lot of pain, Mena,” Sydney says. “She wanted Raven to look into it.”
I understand. Annalise is reluctant to tell us when she’s hurting, but I see her flinch sometimes, rub her eye. I hear her cry in the shower, where she thinks we can’t hear her.
“And … ,” Sydney says, sounding worried, “she said she’s been having flashes. Memories.”
I quickly get up from the stair, and Sydney does the same.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Why didn’t she tell me about her flashes?” I ask. Sydney bites her lip, looking guilty.
“She didn’t want to worry you.”
“Worry me?” I say. “We—”
“And you’ve been preoccupied,” Sydney admits. “She thought it would be better not to add to your stress.”
Sydney and I stare at each other, but she knows I can’t argue the point. Between my crying spells and getting my brain hacked by a mystery woman, I’m not exactly in a good place.
“Come on,” Sydney says, and pulls open the door for me to walk up to the apartment.
