But I think Maxis surprised me the most. He seemed really angry, something I haven�t seen before, not even when I pulled the gun on him. And I�m left thinking�it�s natural? I don�t even know what to ask him. What can I say? Why didn�t they tell me? Did my parents even know? I hope not. I don�t think I could forgive them if they knew.
I�m not sure I can forgive them now.
He says he�ll meet me at my door tommorow. He even sees me to my apartment. I don�t know if I thank him or not before closing the door. I pad through the darkness and flop on my bed. The gun is still in my hand, the trigger held loosly by my index finger. It�s not the only thing out of place.
I�m cold, wet and dirty but I don�t have the energy to move. Until today, I�d never held a gun. Now I can�t let it go. I�m wondering how I�ll keep it dry while I take it with me into the shower when I realize I�m crying. The tears roll down my face, warm and silent. I never cry loud. I�d prefer not cry to at all, but my cat eyes are a little too human in that regard.
I remember the first time I shifted. It started with a dream. I was running. My senses were changed, different. I woke tangled in the sheets, the world leached of color. I panicked, trying to throw the sheets off of me and they ripped. When I saw the claws and thought I was dreaming again. Until the housekeeper came in, screamed and my mother was called.
I never forgot the shine in my mother�s eyes. Shame. She took something out of her pocket, threw it in her mouth and told me to come down for breakfast when I was presentable.
It was then I knew I�d failed her. Failed them. Realized they�d already traded me in for a better model. A perfect daughter, one without the defects. Because I couldn�t control it so well in the beginning. For a span of months, the shift would happen almost at random: half-form when I needed to reach something on a higher shelf, or when I got too angry, sometimes full-form when I thought I was late.
Nothing I ever did was enough because I was wrong. It wasn�t my fault, she�d say with pity in her eyes as she stroked my hair. But it was my problem. Is my problem. Except, if what Maxis said is true, the �problem� isn�t one. And they had to have known. With all the tests that were ran on me, the hospitals and �cures�, somebody had to have known.
I swallow, blink the tears from my eyes and force myself to sit. The gun is warm in my hand. I don�t let it go. These are the last tears I will cry for my family. I will make it in spite of them. Because of them. My pictures will be plastered through the Dreamscapes and vids, across billboards and all over the net. Pity me. Ignore me. But they will not forget me. They will choke on me.
But I have to live through who or whatever is hunting me before I can do that. I stand, my legs shaking a little, the gun still in my hand. I�ll leave it next to the shower, on the sink. Guns aren�t that hard. Kinda like knives, you point the dangerous end at the other person.
Knives. Silver. I shiver. There have been too many coincidences of late. I turn the water on, letting it flow until it�s steaming hot. The water washes through my hair, my body, until my skin turns red. But it doesn�t warm me, not really. I had brushed the incident off, forgotten about it, but if what I have--what I am--is so common, and the allergy is a part of it...I�ve been lucky. If they start coming after me with silver, my luck will run out fast.
The gun goes under my pillow tonight, I decide. I doubt I�ll be sleeping so well anyway. Fine way to start my first day of classes. I wish this wasn�t happening to me. Then again, I�ve made a lot of wishes in my life. The only ones that came true are the ones I fixed myself.