***

            "NOPE." I turn and walk out of the room without giving it a second glance. "Oh, fuck nope. Not today, motherfuckers."

I trust Dr. El-Hashem with my life, but my trust for people tends to waver when they lead me to a literal torture chamber and instruct me to Strap on in. So, thus, understandably, as she directs me towards the sole chair in the room, I find myself beginning to wonder if blindly trusting a fucking government employee is the right thing to do.

            Because the chair isn't just any old chair: it's hellish, it's horrifying, it's something you'd see in a dentist's office. Blood stains the tile a deep shade of cherry-popsicle red, and a table full of obvious torture devices (or, possibly, medical equipment) is pushed against the wall. Looking at it, I only wonder if it's some kind of creepy-ass sex torture chamber. Need me a freak like this.

            Dr. El-Hashem grabs me by my shoulders, using her arm as a barricade to keep me from leaving. "Cain, remember that you'll be free to go as soon as you get this over with. It's going to happen no matter what. If you're compliant, it'll go a lot smoother, and you'll be able to leave a lot sooner. The longer you drag it out, the longer you have to stay here."

            I sigh. "Is there anything else in it for me?"

            "You're under eighteen, so they'll give you a lollipop once you wake up."

            I step back into the room and pat Dr. El-Hashem on the shoulder. "You really get me."

            She smiles softly. "I'm glad I could help."

            I find my way over to the chair and somehow force myself to sit on it. I can feel the cold, harsh metal through the ugly fabric of my pajamas, but I know that that's not the only reason why I'm shivering. Dr. El-Hashem straps my ankles, wrists, and torso to the chair, and all of my hopes of escaping and living a long and prosperous life are crushed. The lights seem far too harsh, the air far too heavy. It feels like I'm going to be crushed under the weight of the world.

            "We're going to put you under anesthesia, all right?" Dr. El-Hashem turns her statement into a question, as if I have a choice. "Just count backwards from ten, and everything'll be all right. I'll be right here with you the whole time."

            I want to say No, I want to be awake while you perform surgery on my brain, but I don't get a chance, as she's already strapping a small blue mask to my head that fits around my mouth like a muzzle. I panic, frantically thrashing against my restraints, as if I could actually free myself. Getting my ability to speak taken away is like chopping off a chef's hands.

            Ten, I think, but only out of spite.

            "Shh, shh, shh, just breathe," Dr. El-Hashem instructs, rubbing her thumb over my hand as if to comfort me. "You're okay, I promise."

            The air inside of the mask smells like plastic and leaves the metallic taste of blood dancing across my tongue. I can feel my heart thumping against my ribcage like a rabbit, my blood running in my veins like an icy river. I don't want to get that chip or implant or whatever the hell it is put inside my fucking head. I don't want it.

            Nine.

            Dr. El-Hashem looks almost as scared as I feel. "Cain, just take a deep breath, baby. You're all right. This isn't going to hurt, it's an easy surgery. You're gonna be okay, I promise. You don't need to worry."

            All I can do to respond is shake my head. And then I look down at my encased wrists, and I realize why Dr. El-Hashem seems so scared: My hands are glowing, just like they did when I set the tank of water on fire.

            Mixed emotions fill me. Half of me is relieved — I'll be able to burn myself out of this situation. The other half is worried — What will happen to me if I burn myself out of this? And what will happen to Dr. El-Hashem? Will she get in trouble? And, worse, what if I hurt her? I'm not in control of my power. I'm not in control, and that's what scares me the most.

        I could hurt her. I could hurt her bad, and I don't want to.

Eight.

The glow deepens, traveling up my wrists. My fingertips are beginning to smoke.

In a panic, I look to Dr. El-Hashem for guidance. She doesn't seem to know what to do other than to try to calm me down. "Deep breaths. In and out. You're okay."

Seven.

Black spots dance across my vision. I feel a cold, tingly sensation sweep through me. The anesthesia is starting to work.

A small spark illuminates on my thumb.

"I'll be with you the whole time, don't worry," Dr. El-Hashem assures me.

Six.

The world fades to a buzzing gray.

***

            "HE'S AWAKE."

            My first thought: Who is he?

            My second thought: Oh! I'm he!

            My third thought: Jesus fucking Christ, what happened last night? My head hurts.

            I wince at the sudden light, blinking to get my eyes used to it. Cautiously, I push myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the table I rest on. My hands press against the cold material of it, trying to find something solid to ground myself with.

            "Helloooooooo, ladies," is the only thing I can bring myself to say. My words are slurred like I'm drunk, but I don't feel drunk. I just feel cold, like the abominable snowman decided it'd be a good idea to dick me down.

            Two people stare at me. And, yes, they are both ladies. One of them I recognize, all dark skin and dark eyes and red lips and a light pink hijab — but I can't put my finger on how I know her.

            The one that I recognize furrows her eyebrows in concern. "What's your name?"

            My hand shoots into the air. "Ooh, ooh, I know this! I know this! I'm Cain!"

            "How old are you?"

            "I'm sixteen," I reply, deja vu suddenly hitting me like a truck. I've had this conversation with her before. I know who she is; I know how I know her; I know why I'm here. "And you're Dr. El-Hashem! I remember you."

            "Good, good. Do you know what year it is?"

            "2017."

            "And how many fingers am I holding up?"

            "Seven."

            She then shines a very bright light in my eyes and presses two fingers against my throat to check my pulse. "He seems to be okay."

            "Excellent," the other girl says.

            My hands suddenly fly to my forehead; they close around a cloth that I realize is wrapped around my head like a bandaid. "And I have a chip in my brain?"

            "Correct." Dr. El-Hashem nods. "Cain, this is Bianca Mendoza. I told her about what you were able to do with your power, and she wanted to meet you for herself."

            Bianca Mendoza looks nothing like I thought she would have. I imagined her as being an old woman with glasses and a whole Jurassic Park vibe about her. I also pictured her being painted in shades of gray, like old black-and-white photos of old scientists. In reality, she's a petite, sweet-looking Latina that doesn't seem to be much older than my dad, which is to say that she looks to be in her early-to-mid-thirties. She has lightly tanned skin, straight, mahogany colored hair cut in a sharp symmetrical line at her jaw, and eyes the color of coffee beans. She wears a lab coat over a very fashionable pink and blue Lilly Pulitzer dress.

            "You will be a wonderful asset to my program," she says, her voice betraying her appearance with its lack of any trace of human emotion. "Thank you for cooperating with us. Dr. El-Hashem is one of our best; you're in great hands with her."

            Hell yeah she's one of your best, I think. That's my girl.

            I'm not exactly sure how to respond to her. So I just stare at her for a couple of seconds, my mind frantically trying to compute a response that makes me sound more educated than I actually am. "Thank you," is all that I can come up with. "I like your dress."

            "Thank you," Dr. Mendoza nods "It was a pleasure to meet you."

            "It was a pleasure to meet me, too — I mean, it was a pleasure to meet you, too," I stammer.

            She smiles, a sign that she isn't a robot, and then walks out of the room. "Have a good day, Dr. El-Hashem," she calls as she closes the door. "You too, Cain."

            Once she's gone, Dr. El-Hashem turns to me. "Can you stand?"

            I press against the table and hop off of it, hesitantly letting go of the edges. "Yeah."

            "Good. Come with me, we need to get you to your room," Dr. El-Hashem instructs, following Dr. Mendoza's path out of the room. I, in turn, follow her, a little shakily.

            To get back to my room, she leads me down a set of stairs and through several hallways before finally coming upon a familiar doorway. Before we go in, I notice that the door across from mine is wide open. The room looks the same as mine, save for the fact that a slight Latina girl sits cross-legged on the bed, looking a combination of curious and terrified. She's got long dark brown hair and the prettiest doe-brown eyes.

            I wave at her, not bringing my hand above my waist so that Dr. El-Hashem doesn't notice. The girl looks alarmed at this development and dives underneath her bed, curling into a trembling ball. I pretend as if that didn't happen.

            Dr. El-Hashem opens the door, gesturing me inside. "I'll be back in about an hour to check on you and bring you something to eat. Be sure to rest; don't try to strain yourself, okay?"

            I nod. "Okay, sounds fun. Bye, bye, now."

            As I walk inside, Dr. El-Hashem shuts the door behind me. I remain in front of the door, having no intentions of resting.

            I count to sixty before slowly pushing the door open; the hallway is empty, and the door opposite mine is still open, the girl still cowering under her bed. I pull my door shut behind me and tiptoe across the hall, once again pulling the door closed.

            There are a lot of doors in my life right now. Love is an open door? Please. That's bull. Love is a door slammed in your face. I'm into pain.

            "Hello?" I kneel down, getting eye-level with the girl. I notice that there's a rug on the center of the floor, full of swirls of blues and greens, and she's wearing a pale pink cotton dress that looks like a nightgown. "Are you playing hide and seek?"

            She stares at me for a solid minute before finally whispering, "Are you talking to me?"

            "Considering that you're the only other person in this room, I probably am. Except if I'm talking to my imaginary friend, Robert." I turn away from her, staring off into empty space, and stick my hand out as if I'm shaking somebody's hand. "Greetings, Robert. How are you on this fine evening?"

            I see the girl smile out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn back to her, she's frowning again. "Is Robert nice?"

            "When he chooses to be," I reply, then pat beside me on the rug. "Come on out. You can meet him."

            Hesitantly, she crawls out from underneath the bed and sits across from me. "Why are you here?"

            I shrug. "Eh, I dunno."

            "No, not in the Mendoza Institute," she says, shaking her head. "I mean here here. Like in this room here. Like talking to me here. Why?"

            "'Cause I want to be. I don't want to just sit over there by myself this whole time." I frown deeply, giving her a thumbs down to illustrate my point. "I wanted to come talk to you instead."

            "So you mean to say..." she pauses, tilting her head forwards, looking as if she's scared to finish the sentence. "You want to be my — my friend?"

            "Sure, why not?" I shrug. "You seem nice."

            She bursts out in a grin so big and bright it would make Times Square look like a cheap Walmart knockoff of her Chanel. "Really?"

            I nod. "Really really."

            "That means you're my first ever friend! Isn't that exciting?" she asks. "So, since we're friends, can we do... Friend things together?"

            My heart sinks. "Wait, I'm the — I'm the first friend you've ever had?"

            She nods, her face falling as if she didn't realize that it was weird until I mentioned it. "Yes. I've spent my whole life in here," she casually explains. "I'm not allowed to talk to anyone besides my doctors, and none of them are very nice to me."

            I want to cry for this girl. She's never left this place, and she's never talked to anyone besides boring-ass doctors with a superiority concept and a stick up their ass and a heart cold enough to allow them to be rude to someone as sweet as her. Jesus Christ, my fun services are needed. Stat. "Well, I'm your friend now. And, yes, we can do friend things."

            "Great!" she grins again, just as brilliant as before. "To tell you the truth, I don't really know what friend things are."

            "Don't worry, I'll teach you," I assure her. "Also — what's your name?"

            "My name?" she asks, as if she doesn't understand the question. "Oh, it's — it's — um. It's Pasithea Caroline Mendoza. But you can call me Thea if you want, everybody does. My full name's a mouthful, isn't it?"

            I can't help it. My Italian instincts kick in, and I don't even realize that her last name is fucking Mendoza, because all that I can think about is pasta. "Wait... Wait, so let me get this straight. Your name's Pasta? Like, your parents sat down and decided that Pasta was a good name for a kid? God, I love it. I need to meet your parents."

            Thea laughs, and her laugh is just as dazzling as her smile, maybe even more. "No, silly! My name's Pasithea. Because of Greek mythology. She was the Charis of hallucinations and altered states of consciousness. But you can call me Pasta if you want; that seems like a friend thing to do. Like an inside joke. I like it."

            "All right, Pasta." I nod, like it's a very serious matter. "My name's Cain Motherfucking Terranova, but you can just call me Cain. I don't have a middle name, so I like to tell people that it's Motherfucking, because, like, my dad's super weird. He definitely would have named me that, if he'd been given the oppurtunity."

            Thea giggles. "Like a candy cane. Candy Cain and Pasta, taking on the world."

            "Totally. But, hey, wait — You said your last name was Mendoza, right?" I ask.

            Thea nods. "Yep."

            "Are you by any chance related to Bianca Mendoza?"

            Thea falls into an uncomfortable silence, as if she isn't quite sure how to respond. "She's — she's my mom."

            Aside from the name, there doesn't seem to be any similarities between Thea and Dr. Mendoza. It seems unbelievable that the tiny, nervous, unassuming girl sitting in front of me could have been shoved out of the vagina of the woman in charge of this entire institution. "Really?"

            And then I remember the rumors about the Mendoza Institute and Dr. Mendoza's supposed daughter — hadn't she supposedly been named Pasithea? I wonder if Thea's her, and I wonder if the rumors are at all based on facts. From what Thea's told me, her story seems to line up with the fictional Pasithea. Or maybe Thea's just Dr. Mendoza's normal daughter. But I figure that now's not a good time to ask.

            She nods, bowing her head out of what seems to be embarrassment. "Really really."

            "Well that's cool," she seems uncomfortable with the idea of me knowing who her mom is, and I want to say something to comfort her, but I'm not sure what would help. "I met your mom today. She seems nice."

            Thea is hesitant to nod, as if she has to think about whether or not she agrees with me. "What's your mom like?"

            "My mom? I wouldn't know." I flop down onto my back on the rug, turning around so that I'm looking up at Thea. She seems to find this funny and breaks out in a fit of giggles. "But my dad's cool. He pretty much just lets me do whatever I want, so long as I'm happy, not dead, and not in prison."

            "Your dad sounds great," Thea replies, dragging her nails through the fabric of the rug. "Why don't you know your mom?"

            I sit up. "I don't like to talk about it, I'm sorry."

            "We're friends, you can tell me." Thea smiles sweetly. "It's... It's good to talk about things. I think."

            I sigh. It's not like my mom's one of the secrets I have that I really, really can't tell. I did tell Thea the truth; it's just that I don't like to talk about the fact that my mom killed three fucking cops while my dad and I watched on before I'd even said my first word. "My mom was arrested when I was a baby. I don't remember anything about her, and we've never visited her. That's all."

            Thea's lips part ever-so-slightly as she tilts her head, trying to figure out what to say. She eventually settles with lifting her hand up and pressing it against mine. "I'm sorry about that."

            "Eh, it's okay." I shrug. "I was too young to remember anything about her. My life's always just had my dad in it, and I'm fine with that."

            She doesn't respond, so I go on and ask her, "What about your dad?"

            "I don't know who he is," Thea admits.

            I decide not to question that. "So you just have your mom, and I just have my dad."

            She nods, then tilts her head in the puppy-like way she does. "Can I ask you something kind of weird?"

            "I like weird."

            "I was just wondering if you'd ever had it a girlfriend." Thea giggles once more. "And if you've ever been in love."

            "Why?" I ask, trying to contain my laughter. "Are you trying to say — "

            Her face turns fifty shades of red, and she buries her head in her hands. "No! Oh, no, no, no. That's not what I was saying at all. I was just wondering, because I — I read a lot, and I read about love a lot. And I was wondering if you've ever loved someone, and if it's like the books say it is at all. Because I think I want to love someone one day, and I want to know what it's like so that I'm prepared."

            Relief falls over me. "Well, in that case, no. I don't have a girlfriend, I've never had one and I never will, because I'm gay."

            "Oh, so, like, homosexual!" Thea nods in understanding. "Do you have a boyfriend, then?"

            "No, sadly."

            "Oh. I'm sorry." Thea lowers her voice. "Aren't there bad people that don't — that — well, you know what they do? I think that it's lovely that boys can love boys, and I hope you fall in love with a really nice boy someday, hopefully a prince. But aren't there stupid mean people out there that will hurt you because of it, because they don't understand? Shouldn't you be more careful? I don't want you to get hurt."

            "There are bad people out there, but that's why I'm not careful about it," I explain. "Because people need to learn that it's okay, and then they'll stop being bad. And the only way for us to do that is to be loud and proud and unapologetic and unashamed."

            Thea smiles softly at my words. "Well, I hope you're able to change someone's thoughts — "

            Whatever she'd been about to say is cut off by someone in a lab coat throwing the door open. "Pasithea, it's time to — Wait, what the hell?"

            I turn, smile, and wave. "Good evening, I was just going — "

            "No. Don't go." Thea insists, her voice almost pleading. "He's my friend. He can stay. Please, don't make him leave. It's okay, really."

            "No, he has to go," the lab coat counters. "You know the rules, Pasithea; this is blatant disobedience. How did he even get in here?"

            "The door was left open," I offer, wanting to take the blame off of Thea's shoulders. "She looked lonely. I was bored in my room. It's not illegal to try and make friendly conversation, is it?"

            "Actually, it is." Lab Coat grabs me by my shoulders and yanks me to my feet. "Come with me."

            "No, no, no, please." Thea jumps to her feet in a panic, her voice well past pleading now. "I just want to have a friend. Please, don't make him leave."

            I don't understand why Thea seems so scared; I can easily just go back to her room once Lab Coat finally decides to let the two of us mind our own fucking business. "It's okay," I try to tell her.

            "No." Thea snaps, suddenly turning dreamy, unfoused. "You need to get out of here. But please — please come back for me. Please don't leave me here by myself."

            Why the sudden change of heart? I don't get a chance to ask, for Lab Coat brutally manhandles me (but, hey, I'm kinda into that, if I'm being honest) out of the door, slamming and locking it behind us. "What the hell do you think you're doing, fuckwad?"

            I hear a thump, most likely Thea throwing herself against the door in vain. Her muffled cries of "No!" form an eerie, ghostly whisper.

            "My best?" I offer.

            Wrong answer. Lab Coat cocks his head, and the next thing I know, bam! I'm thrown to the floor, my face pressed against the tile, although he never set his hands on me.

            "I don't like repeating myself. What the hell were you doing? Fucking answer me."

            What's even going on? I try to get back to my feet, but I can't move. It's like there's an invisible hand pressing down on me from above. Hey, God, how you doin'? "I just wanted to befriend her, man."

            "And what the fuck did you tell her?"

            "What do you mean?" I ask as the hand presses tighter against me, sending an unpleasant burning sensation shooting through my body. "I just talked to her, man, that's all."

            Lab Coat leans down so that he's eye-level with me. Is this a bad time to realize that he's kind of hot? You know, in a sadistic little evil scientist I'm-gonna-torture-you-for-the-Vine kind of way, which I happen to like. "Your talking to Pasithea could ruin this entire assignment. What the fuck did you tell her?"

            "She just needed a friend," I whisper between gasps for breath.

            "She doesn't need anything, especially not from you. Do you understand me?"

            I respond with a smile and a sarcastic salute. "No, sir!"

            "How about this?" he presses his real hand flat against the wall, and the invisible hand presses against me so hard I can feel my bones beginning to crumble and my veins beginning to pop under the pressure of it. "If you even so much as think about Pasithea again, I won't hesitate to kill you. Do you understand that?"

            I can't breathe, much less talk. But I don't allow my smile to waver. "Your death threats are poorly executed, sir."

            "You're lucky I'm letting you off so easily," Lab Coat says. "Next time, I won't be so merciful."

            The weight lifts off my chest; I sit up, gasping for breath, my hands grasping at my chest to make sure that nothing got out of allignment. "That's if you even manage to catch me, douchebag."

            "Watch your mouth, son." Lab Coat's mouth twists into an ugly sneer as he lifts his hand. The air underneath my chin painfully pulls me to my feet. "You need to learn to respect those in power."

            "With all due respect, sir, I'll start respecting those in power when they learn how to respect me."

            With a flick of his wrist, an invisible fist closes around my throat. I gasp, frantically grabbing at nothing, trying to pry it off of me. "Now, now," he chides. "That's rude of you to say. Apologize."

            I can't speak, and he takes my silence as an apology. In reality, it's me telling him to go fuck himself.

            "Now get back to your room," he instructs. "If you make so much as a tiny misstep — "

            Suddenly, I can breathe again. "I know, I know. You'll kill me. We've been over this before. You know, it becomes a lot less threatening the second time you say it."

            His eyes narrow. "Remember what I told you."

            Sometimes I can't help it. My inner gay likes to occasionally slip out of the closet without my consent, all SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKER! YOU'VE JUST BEEN HOMOSEXUALED! "With eyes as pretty as yours are, how could I forget?"

            Lab Coat glares at me before walking away, being sure to shove me into the wall one last time he goes.

            "Somebody has anger issues," I mumble, dusting my pajamas off.

            Once I'm sure that he's gone, I creep back across the hallway to Thea's door. I rest my hand on her doorknob, take a deep breath, then push against it.

            It's locked.

***

ok lmao FRIENDLY REMINDER to go check out the writing contest i made on wokeawards !!!!!!!!!!! it's lit af and there are a LOOOOOOT of spots open if u wanna sign up to be a judge or nominate a book or whatever.
pls it's for a good cause (me)
ALSO y'all should go check out the amazing book atlantis by my wife cowspiracy bc it's SOOOOO GOOD it's so beautiful and my skin is clear my grades are saved my crops have grown my hair is
ALSO HERE'S SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT I LEARNED LIKE? YESTERDAY? but anyways KANGAROOS HAVE THREE VAGINAS