I sit by the table again, staring at my untouched plate of scrambled eggs. They’re probably stone-cold by now, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never felt less like eating in my life.

In front of me, Aiden’s hands are lying on the table, his fingers interlocked. I can’t bring myself to look up at his face. I can hear Margaret and Harold talking to each other somewhere by the counter, but I can’t make out the words, and I don’t want to see their faces. I wish I could just disappear and go back to my white tiled bedroom and stay there until I die, because it feels like my life is over, anyway.

“You tricked me,” I say to Aiden’s hands. “This is a simulation. None of this is real.”

“Not a simulation, per se.” He doesn’t sound too pissed, but I still can’t bring myself to look at him. “I promised you’d see the sky tonight, and you did. The outside is real. It’s just this place, we’ve built it for training. People drive by, stop for a meal, get gas, buy something, it provides all kinds of interactions. Good for gaining first-hand experience in a semi-controlled environment.” He pauses. “How did Margaret and Harold do, by the way? Did you suspect anything?”

“They were convincing,” I say blandly. “Top grades. I suspected nothing.”

“I’ll let them know.” He pauses. “How’re you doing?”

I sigh. “I thought you’d take me to a real place.”

“So that you could betray me for real?”

I finally look up. He doesn’t seem angry. He just sits there, watching me, his handsome face carefully wiped clean of all expression.

“I didn’t want to betray you,” I say. “I just wanted out.”

“You said you wouldn’t try anything. You broke your promise.”

“I did,” I admit, feeling too empty to argue, or feel guilty.

He looks at me as if expecting something.

“Don’t you want to apologize?” he prompts after a pause.

I think about it. “Not really, no. I don’t feel sorry.”

He tilts his head. “Care to elaborate?”

“I did what I had to do,” I say. “I had to try and get away. In the past, I used to plot and make all kinds of escape attempts, especially at first. I had that burning need to be free again, and when you’re sixteen, you believe you can find a solution to anything. You guys have taught me otherwise. Some things are out of my control, my own life included. So, I cooled down, because as a prisoner, you either get used to it or go mad. What I did now was, I guess, the last spark of that flame.” I raise my hands and spread my fingers. “Puff. The fire is out. I’m done hoping.”

He watches me, his expression gradually changing. He looks pained now, as if my words are hurting him. He leans forward, putting his elbows on the table.

“I don’t like it that you say that your flame is gone,” he says. “It’s not.”

“Whatever.”

He rolls his eyes. “As for hope, maybe you were just hoping for the wrong things. Maybe you should have taken this opportunity that I was trying to give you, and created a better life for yourself within the given boundaries.”

“Better life,” I say, “as in going to fake diners and having play-pretend dates?”

A corner of his mouth curls up. “This date wasn’t play-pretend, at least not for me. I took it seriously. I understand now that you never saw it that way.”

That gets to me, a little.

“Aiden, I do like you,” I say. “You at least tried to do something nice for me, and you’re handsome as fuck, let’s be real there.” He gives me a smile at that, but I’m still nowhere near returning it. “But you’re an enemy. A slightly less cruel enemy is still an enemy.”

“Cruel? Are you saying we’re treating you cruelly?”

“You’ve locked me up for five years!” That bursts out of me like a blast, and I hit the table with my palms, making the utensils jump, because words alone aren’t loud enough. “People get locked up for crimes! What have I done to deserve this?”

“People get locked up for nothing, too,” he says, ignoring my outburst. “People get killed for nothing. People have their whole lives obliterated for nothing, in the blink of an eye. Have you ever watched the news? They’re full of people who have great reasons to be asking ‘why me?’, and some of them are too dead to even be doing that. Thinking that whatever life throws at you has any connection to what you deserve is pretty naïve.”

“That’s not the same. You’ve kidnapped me. You’ve actively interfered with my life. What you’re talking about are just people living their normal lives, and sometimes, yeah, shit happens to them.”

“So, what’s the difference?” He spreads his hands. “We were the shit that happened to you, that’s all. Not a war or a natural disaster, but us.” He leans forward again, locking eyes with me. “What I’m trying to say is that people get dealt all kinds of cards, and you’re not the worst off. Some get in trouble that leave them broke, or disabled, while you’re healthy and don’t need to worry about the roof over your head, or where your next meal will come from. The wisdom is to carve a life for yourself within the circumstances that you have no control over. You’ve lost your freedom, yes, and that is not going to change. The question is, will you spend the rest of your life crying about it, or create the best life possible under the circumstances?”

I stare at him, my eyes filling with tears. I don’t want to cry, not in front of him, but I guess that’s yet another thing out of my control. That is not going to change, he said, and it feels like a punch, like a needle puncturing what’s left of my hopes. I guess I still had some left, no matter what I said, but this just tramples them into nothingness. There is cruel, undeniable logic to what he’s saying, but I just can’t accept it right now. I don’t want to.

“Hush,” he says, getting up and then sliding into the seat next to me. “Hush, don’t. I know it’s hard for you.” His rough palm wipes my cheek. I wasn’t even aware that my tears had spilled out. “I’m sorry that you must go through this. That’s why I’m here. I want to help.”

I turn away, trying to suppress the crying, but it’s stronger than me. I haven’t cried for a long time. I guess I just felt too dead inside, but today’s events shook me up and made me feel things again. There are downsides to being able to feel.

“Don’t pretend to be kind,” I manage in between sobs. “You’re not.”

“I am what you want me to be,” he says. “Shapeshifting and all, remember?” He leans closer and draws me into a hug, and I don’t resist.

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