At first there was no response. Just an endless stretch of empty silence as Cym stared at their joined hands and slowly began to give up hope.
What if he’d broken Fourteen forever?
Then Fourteen’s hand closed tightly around his. Cym dared to look up. Fourteen blinked slowly and his eyes came back into focus.
“Are… are you back now?” Cym peered intently at Fourteen’s serious face, no longer lifeless, but still colder than Cym had started to get used to.
“I think so.” Fourteen wiped a tear off Cym’s cheek, and to his chagrin, he realized he had cried all over their joined hands.
“What just happened?” Cym asked.
Fourteen blinked as if he were still coming back online. “The… conditioning is still there.” He tapped the side of his head and sighed. “I was afraid something like this might happen. I might have my memories back, but they programmed me like a goddamned machine. It’s been softened by you, but it’s still in there.”
“How could you have anticipated this? Have you imprinted on other people before?” Cym tried to stay calm, but inwardly he was freaking out.
If he could become Fourteen’s handler so easily, what if it happened with some random person? Before Cym could get completely lost imagining what he would do if Fourteen imprinted on a cashier at a gas station, Fourteen interrupted.
“No. This is new. What I meant was, after you ordered me to sleep last night, this doesn’t surprise me. I would have mentioned it, but I was… otherwise occupied up until now.”
Cym’s cheeks turned pink at the reminder of what they had been occupied with. “Wait… I ordered you to sleep? That’s why you passed out on me? I just thought you were exhausted.”
“I was, but I shouldn’t have fallen over like that. You told me to go to sleep, so I had no choice but to comply. Now that you’re my handler, you’re going to have to be careful when you tell me to do something.”
Fourteen’s casual acceptance of the situation had Cym flabbergasted. “That’s all you have to say? Doesn’t it bother you that a nineteen-year-old boy you just met can literally tell you what to do?”
Fourteen lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Better you than the Colonel. I trust you. You’ve saved my life, remember?” An emotion Cym couldn’t identify filled his eyes, and he looked away. “Unless you don’t want to be my handler.”
“Of course I don’t want to! What kind of person do you think I am?” Frantically, Cym tried to shove the plastic object back into Fourteen’s hand. “Take it, I don’t want it. I don’t want to control anyone.”
I don’t want to control you.
Fourteen’s shoulders dropped a fraction, and he pulled back, avoiding the device Cym offered. “It doesn’t work that way. I’m not permitted to take it back.” His eyes were on the wall, his posture rigid.
The Company had done this to Fourteen. That horrible, rotten, miserable place had hurt Fourteen so foundationally that he was forced to belong to someone whether he wanted to or not.
Cym would burn the whole damn operation to the ground.
He hugged Fourteen again, wanting to wipe away everything that had been done to him.
Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to him. “Do you have to hug me whether or not you want to?”
Fourteen hesitated before responding. “If you initiate it, yes.”
Cym’s arms flew away from him so suddenly his elbow popped in protest. “Tell me, okay? You have to tell me if you don’t want me to touch you.”
Cym felt sick and scrambled backward to give Fourteen space. How could Cym have thought that Fourteen wanted him earlier? For all Cym knew, his magic had combined with Fourteen’s conditioning to turn him into his slave.
No wonder Fourteen had gotten so friendly with him during their dream. The short moment Fourteen had gotten angry at him was probably the last vestiges of his personality fighting to break free.
Cym’s breath caught in his throat. What if, when Fourteen was touching him, he had no choice but to do whatever Cym wanted him to do?
Cym climbed off the bed and put his hands behind his back. The chance that his magic was imprisoning Fourteen, rather than liberating him, made Cym think the man would be happier behind his cold walls rather than be subject to Cym’s whims, no matter what he said. Of course he’d tell Cym what he wanted to hear.
Cym’s voice shook as he said, “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”
Fourteen nodded, his face as cold and still as the first time Cym saw him.
Cym was torn. He wanted to go to Fourteen and free him from his mental prison. But Cym had no idea if he’d be actually helping Fourteen or just imposing his own desires on him.
What Cym wanted was to give Fourteen as much free will as he could, but he had no idea how to do that.
“What do you need right now, Fourteen?” Cym asked, hoping that sticking to only asking questions would be safe.
“I need to shower and eat.” The blankness on Fourteen’s face as he responded was nearly unbearable to witness, especially now that Cym had seen a different side of him.
Cym kept his voice light and tried not to show his distress as he said, “If you show me where you keep your food, I’ll make us something while you go shower. We’ll talk more about this handler issue while we eat, okay?”
Fourteen nodded curtly and said, “You’ll find what I have for food on that shelf.”
Fourteen pointed to a wall that held an old, rusty sink and a battered set of shelves. One shelf had boxes, cans, and pouches; the other held several chipped dishes, a saucepan, and a hotplate.
Cym could work with that. He’d spent enough time on the run to be able to cobble a meal together from almost nothing. “Okay, I’ll come up with something good, you’ll see.”
A slow blink was Fourteen’s only response.
Chapter 12Cym
