“Don’t all humans want safety and security?”
Shachath goes from hurt to angry; a rare emotion for her because if she felt anger frequently, she’d be a lot more righteously pissed at her situation. But Cleo’s apparent insensitivity, but also refusing to fight… It rubbed her the wrong way. Cleo knew Shachath was in a precarious position and still had the audacity to call her stupid for being stuck there.
As if this wasn’t all she knew of the world.
As if she’d ever been given a choice.
She stomped with her prosthetic leg. “This is what happened last time I acted on what I wanted. And these–” she pointed out small surgical scars where her neck met her shoulders, subtle enough people usually didn’t notice them unless they knew to look.
“Imagine a shock collar implanted under your skin. Then tell me again the danger of this existence isn’t real to me.”
Cleo’s face softened momentarily at the sight of the scars, but it hardened once she collected herself. Once she thought again of her own life.
She knew what the illusion of having no choice felt like. She knew what that powerlessness felt like. She knew and she hated that she did because she was starting to care again. Writing Shachath off as selfish, as foolish, had made it easier for Cleo to accept her death.
She was being killed by someone she hated, or so she would say in the afterlife. But being killed by someone you wanted to help was not only undignified for someone hellbound but... it hurt more too.
“Imagine coercion, you say, as if it was unique to you.”
Cleo couldn’t maintain her sneer, her venom. It wouldn’t be right to say she was pleading now, but it wouldn’t be wrong either.
“One hour to live, because you said no. Poison seeping through your veins, eating away at you faster and more agonizingly than anyone should ever have to bear because you had the audacity to say no. That was just one instance of violence I’ve faced for doing what I wanted. And given the choice, I’d endure it all again in a heartbeat because I wouldn’t be living otherwise!”
After sparing a glance at the ceiling to ask for help from someone she didn’t often speak to, Cleo moved from behind her desk. She knelt down in front of Shachath, her head bowed low.
She became quiet once again.
“I’ll ask you one more time. No, I’ll beg you. Please, trust me. I want to help you find a life that’s yours. You may be stupid... but that’s just because you haven’t lived a day in your life! So, please, let me show you what it is to live!”