Feelings

“That’s…” Joe exhales heavily and scratches his neck “that’s a lot, Pyro. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say lamely. Everything about this is lame. I feel so useless.

“I just keep thinking about what she said,” I continue. “Because I’m a purple-type, I’ll know the way? What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Before we discuss that, I think we should talk about what happened. I mean, someone you knew killed herself in front of you. That’s a lot to handle by yourself.”

I shrug. “It’s not like we were buddies or anything. I mean, I told you I shot her the last time we spoke. It’s just weird to have met up after all this time.” I pick at a thumbnail. “And it was even stranger that she wanted to speak with me. If I was her, I would have wanted revenge.”

“She probably realized it wasn’t worth it,” he says. “Time spent in a place like this can really sort out your priorities.”

“I would have wanted revenge. My resolve would have only strengthened.”

“But you’re not the reason she was here. She attacked you, remember.”

“Only because I made a bunch of fucked-up decisions,” I retort, my thumbnail stinging from my mindless picking. “It seems like everything I do is a mistake. Even decisions from years ago come back to spite me.”

“That’s how you learn,” Joe intervenes and snatches my hand. I’d picked at the cuticle until it started bleeding. He gives me a cross look. “Where are your Band-Aids?”

I point in the direction of the kitchenette. He flicks on a light and grabs the first-aid kit from a cabinet while I watch the blood trickle. A lot more had come out of that green-type. It’d gushed from her neck like we were in a B-rated movie. Or maybe that’s my brain remembering it as horribly as possible to punish myself.

He sits on the coffee table directly in front of me and opens the kit. Our knees stagger like puzzle pieces, and I can feel the heat radiating off him without actually touching.

“Give me your hand,” he orders. Like a child, I wordlessly obey. “Your hands are like ice,” he exclaims. “Are you usually this cold?”

“Dunno. My body regulates itself pretty well, but sometimes the organic side doesn’t keep up with the inorganic.”

“So, yes, I’m assuming?” He disinfects the wound with a cotton swab soaked in alcohol. I welcome the sting and almost feel sad when it ends. He wraps the Band-Aid around my thumb and I scrunch my nose at it.

“Batman? Really?”

He chuckles quietly. “It was an option. How could I pass it by?”

“I need a new kit.”

We both realize at this point he hasn’t dropped my hand, so I casually start to slip away. His grip tightens.

“Pyro, there’s something I have to tell you.”

My brows furrow. “Something important?”

He averts my gaze. “Well, yeah. I know you just went through something traumatic, so I’m hesitant to tell you. But on the other hand, I feel like now is when I should tell you more than ever.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you gay?”

“What? No!” he says an octave too high. I cover my mouth to hide the bubble of laughter which has unexpectedly fluttered up inside me.

“Calm down,” I say, suddenly feeling slightly lighter. “I was only joking. But I’d be cool with it if you were, obviously.”

He groans and scrubs at his face with his free hand. He’s still holding onto me, and I can’t help but be hyper-aware of it now. Something strange is definitely occurring.

The tops of his ears are red, but instead of pointing this out and making fun of him like I normally would, I sit and wait. Something tells me it’s the right choice.

“Pyro,” he begins warily, “the last thing I want you to think is that I expect anything from you. I mean, your friendship is more than enough. So if what I’m about to say causes you to want distance between us, I’d rather you pretend I didn’t say it at all.”

The corners of my mouth tug downward. “What do you mean?”

“What I’m trying to say is--damn I wish I left that light off,” he mutters. “I’m trying to say that I like you. More than as just friends. And I know that’s a lot for you to process right now, after everything. But I wanted you to know how important you are to me, and no matter what you think of yourself, you’ll always be perfect in my eyes.”

I stare unblinkingly at him. One of our hands is clammy, or maybe both. “Are you sure?” spills out of my mouth.

He smiles hesitantly. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t say something like that if I wasn’t.” He takes my other hand and holds them both together in his. “I want you, Pyro. All of you, good and bad. If you need time to answer me, I understand.”

I glare at our joined hands then up at him. “Do you love me?” I ask accusingly. He’s obviously taken aback by this.

“Uh, well,” he hesitates. “I wasn’t going to say it unless you said you liked me back, but yes. I do. Love you… Pyro?”

My face is wet and I realize with a jolt of surprise that I’m crying. A sob wracks through me and Joe’s freckled face is now difficult to distinguish through my wet eyelashes.

“Jesus,” Joe says, startled. “Did I say something wrong?” He’s scrambling for a tissue, but is unable to find one. Finally, he just holds out his sleeve.

I use it to wipe my eyes but say, “Joe, I’m not blowing my nose into your shirt.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wash it.”

A hiccuppy laugh escapes me. “That’s not the point, dumbass.”

“Oh, sorry.” He finally finds a napkin in the muffin box and offers it to me. The nose-blowing probably wasn’t in the scenario he’d been picturing, but I can’t help it.

“Why did you cry?” he asks and wipes my red-rimmed eye. Twenty minutes ago, I never would have imagined him performing such a tender gesture. On me.

“I’m kind of overwhelmed,” I admit.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he says firmly. “That was selfish of me.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, you distracted me from my self loathing, so there’s that. But I mean, no matter when you would have said that, I’d be overwhelmed. We’ve been friends for almost three years now. And for a portion of that time I hated you.”

“Not anymore, though, right?” he jokes weakly, undoubtedly to test my mental state.

“Right.” I look at the Batman Band-Aid. “No one has said that to me in over ten years.”

“That they loved you?”

I nod.

He’s silent for a moment, but moves to sit beside me on the sofa. “You know,” he starts while fiddling his thumbs in front of him. “I can’t remember my mother ever saying that to me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, now that I think about it, I can’t remember anyone saying it. Except for some girls back when I was in school, but that doesn’t count.”

“Why not?” I inquire. The thought of some pretty teenager confessing to him makes me nauseous.

He shrugs. “That’s puppy love, you know? This isn’t like that. It’s real.”

A warmth spreads in my stomach, something foreign and unlike the jitteriness I’ve been feeling lately. “You mean it?”

“What?”

“What you said. That you love me.”

He looks directly at me. “I love you, Pyro. I mean it.”

I smile a little. “I love you too.”

The way he beams at me, I know I’ve said the right thing. It’s like the sun has come out. It’s too bad I’m about to close the shutters.

“But we can’t date,” I add.

“What?” he says, disbelief in his voice. “Why not?”

“Because of everything going on. Because we’d be long distance. Because of your mother. She literally lives right here.”

“Then we finally leave!” he counterargues. “We both love each other; I think it’s time we jumped ship.”

“But I’m not--”

“Don’t even,” he interrupts. “After all this time, all you’ve done is give. I think it’s only right for you to take for once. Do it for me.”

He looks at me imploringly and I grimace. “Turn those puppy-dog eyes away from me.”

“Come on, Pyro. Think about the future. Our future. If you think for one moment that I’ll let you slink away after everything we just said, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Slink? Am I a woman of the night or something?”

“Don’t avoid the subject. We’re leaving. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You’re out of your mind!” I stand up and stalk toward the kitchenette. He follows me of course.

“What’s wrong with tomorrow? Would you rather leave tonight? I was trying to be considerate and let you gather your things.” So demanding! His rich boy upbringing is coming out.

“The problem is that we’re doing it at all,” I gripe and open the fridge. I need something to cool down. I grab a soda. “Who stocked my fridge with diet?” I grumble to myself.

Joe closes the fridge door so I’m forced to face him. “Think about it, Pyro. Give me one good reason why you can’t leave tomorrow.”

“Because I need to find out where that secret hallway is,” I answer. “I won’t let Angie's death be in vain. She told me for a reason.” I found out what her name was after the match. It dislodged a memory of that yellow-type kid calling her 'Miss Angie' all those years ago. It made me feel worse.

I should have already known what her name was, what with all that information I downloaded from the security system. Somehow, though, she wasn’t uploaded to my chip.

Wait a minute.

“Why wasn’t she in the system?” I ask, lost in thought.

“What?” Joe asks, still built up from arguing.

I grab him by the shoulders. “Angie! She wasn’t in the security system. Something which only a purple-type who has downloaded all the information would have caught. If she’s not in the system, then there are certainly other cyborgs they’re keeping hidden as well!”

I think I just discovered a very big clue.