Like Fire and Powder

15. One Terabyte

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

-- Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

〇〇〇

The controlled fury didn't last for long.

When you got to your desk, you grabbed the back of your chair and tried to focus on your breathing -- tried to calm down.

But all you could focus on was your prosthetic arm, how your fingers, which also weren't your fingers, dug into the padding. Your chest heaved as you tightened your grip, and your fingers pierced the leather with a dull pop.

Your mouth went dry as your mind took you far away, to a life with Connor, with the white picket fence -- that kind of life.

And then you snapped back to reality all too soon when you realized you wouldn't have that life because of some fucking psychopath. Who'd tried to fucking kill you. Who had Connor. Who'd made Connor try to kill you. Who'd ruined your only chance at a happy, normal fucking life.

White-hot rage filled the darkest corners of your mind. You screamed behind gritted teeth and flung the chair into your desk. You finally unclenched your jaw so you could breathe your mouth, and you thought you'd finally calm down, but you needed more. Not more air -- more things to throw, to break.

You were well aware this was no logical way to deal with anger, but logic didn't apply to anger.

Every part of you was tense. You felt like you were about to snap again, about to pick up your chair, and throw it, but you momentarily came back to yourself when someone touched your left shoulder. You blinked and turned around -- it was Gavin.

Before he could even say anything, you said, "You can't say anything to make it better. So just don't."

You whacked Gavin's hand away when his face pinched together in concern.

"(Y/n)--"

You bristled. "Don't."

"You don't even know what I'm gonna--"

When you saw Nines approaching, you backed away. "Just fuck off, okay? Both of you." You turned and started toward the exit, but you didn't make it far because Nines reached out and grabbed your left arm, hauling you back a few feet.

"(Y/n). You're unstable. I advise you to stay. At least, until you calm down."

You wrenched away from him, gave him a pointed look, and then kept walking. You fixed your leather jacket as you left the station, and you hailed down a self-driving taxi a few minutes later. You needed to clear your head, and what better way to do it than to get drunk?

〇〇〇

You were five shots in when you started to feel drunk.

You'd decided to go to a local dive bar. It meant that either Gavin or Nines could find you within fifteen minutes, but right then, you didn't give a single fuck. You motioned to the bartender, and they gave you another shot.

You scrolled through notifications as they got it ready for you, and when they put it in front of you, you immediately threw it back. You grimaced and shook your head, and you scraped at your tongue like it would make the bad taste go away.

You sighed and zoned out, trying not to think about Connor and failing miserably. He could've been your family, as well as Gavin and Nines, but without Connor, nothing seemed worth it anymore. And just knowing that the chances of Connor getting all his memories back were slim to none made you wanna puke.