Bryn

Last night I sent message after message to my friends hoping to get a response. It was like chasing shadows, always one-step behind them. In the end, I decide, the only way to get them to talk to me would be face-to-face. Rayburn would call it a frontal assault, and I’m not going empty handed.

I spend some of my quickly diminishing credits on a bag of faux-doughnuts (reconstituted carb rings coated in chemi-mon and still piping hot from a little bakery on Level Three) in the hope they’ll get me through the door.

You going to bribe them? asks Greyson. The open link buzzes comfortingly in the background, and every so often I get the stray thought from Greyson as he’s hunched over his workbench, screwdriver in hand.

Yup. With doughnuts, I say.

Keep me one!

But it’ll be cold by then, I warn as I turn down Harper’s street, the bag swishing softly against my leg.

I truly, honest-like, to the bottom of my heart, real don’t mind, he laughs. He has a nice laugh, a little raspy, as if he isn’t used to making the sound.

The apartments are stacked like books in neat identical rows. Harper’s would be impossible to pick out if not for the tiny number printed on the door, and the fact it has practically been a second home while I was growing up.

Wish me luck! I shake the bag as if it’s a weapon, or at least something no one can hope to resist, and don’t pause at the bottom of the stoop, instead flinging myself up the three steps and announcing firmly, “Bryn Morgan here to see Harper.”

Luck, Greyson murmurs.

The door doesn’t respond and I repeat myself. Nothing. Bloody thing must’ve been playing up again. When we were ten, the house suddenly gotten a sense of humour and insisted we answered a knock-knock joke before we could come inside. At first it had been hilarious but it got old pretty fast until Harper’s parents had someone in to reprogram it. After that, the house wasn’t the same and often had a particularly mean streak.

“Knock-knock?” I try anyway.

Who’s there? Greyson snorts and I give him a mental shove. I rap my knuckles on the door after no response, softly at first, then louder and louder until I’m pounding with my fist.

Something thuds on the other side and I rest my ear against the door, straining to hear movement.

“Harper? You home?” I call and give another knock, a polite tap-tap-a-tap-tap and stand back as I hear Harper call out to hold my hippos.

What’s ‘hold your hippos’ even mean? Greyson asks. Maybe I’m sending too many stray thoughts his way by accident as well.

It’s an Old Earth idiom. Means hold on or wait.

Why you know all this stuff?

It’s fizzy, I reply as the door swings open. Harper towers over me, modes pulled down low over his cheekbones, and I take a step back hastily.

“Hey, Harper. Look, I was hoping we could talk. I brought doughnuts!” I cheerily wave the bag as proof. Harper huffs, looks up and down the street, then slams the door in my face.

“Oh,” I say, surprised.

Doesn’t he like doughnuts? Greyson tries to joke.

I take a shuddering breath, biting my lip to keep it from trembling as I knock again. It isn’t long before the door flies open and Harper sticks his head out, frowns, and before I can say another word, firmly shuts me out. I can hear him retreating up the stairs, shouting a muffled “It was nobody” to one of his parents.

Bryn?

My head spins, all the blood rushing from my face, and I fight to keep my confusion from becoming revelation. I lift my hand to knock again, but notice how red my knuckles are. I creep down the stairs until I reach the bottom and curl up on the last step, pressing my knees to my chest and pushing my modes up on top of my head so I can dig my palms into my burning eyes.

Bryn? What happened? What he say?

He’s Blocked me.

Oh. Oh, Bryn.

My favourite people have chosen to forget me, not only deleting all our shared experiences and memories, but setting their modes to Block out my physical presence. Harper hadn’t seen me on his doorstep and he couldn’t hear me anymore. If he touches me, he’ll immediately forget the sensation. To him, I no longer exist. Was this what Jonas felt? When he was Evicted?

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I launch to my feet, staggering as if my legs are asleep before I sprint down the street, not apologising as I crash into people, taking corners too sharply, the doughnut bag swinging out to careen off the side of fences with a soft thwomping sound. I know Teo would’ve Blocked me as well. He’s with Harper; the two of them are as close as two coats of paint. But Chevette, she’s always been on the edge of our little charmed circle of three.

“Oomph,” I huff when I turn another corner and bounce off a big black hole. I land on my doughnuts with a grunt. I look up and up and up. A Mediator, dressed all in black – even his ears are covered beneath full head modes. I’m not even sure it’s a man, though his size suggests he is.

“Citizen,” he states, voice neutral, and reaches down to grab me, but I squirm away.

“Sorry, sorry. Bit of a hurry,” I stutter and weave around him, not looking back as I run towards Chevette’s place as if a herd of red-eyed, mouth foaming flesh-heifers are on my heels.

Just crashed into a Mediator!

On L5? Wiggy.

I always thought they were more of the lurk-and-spy kind myself. I’m panting through the link, on the edge of tears.

Bryn, where’re you?

Going to Chevette’s, I say. He doesn’t reply. That’s okay. I know he’s there.

I avoid running into anyone else and reach Chevette’s steps after two false tries. I rarely spent time at her place. Her mother is a bit on the creepy side, smiling all the time. I mean always. Perfect white teeth and a never-wavering smile.

I don’t wait to speak to the house, just pound on the door, the doughnut bag swishing around my wrist.

“Chevette? Hello? You home?” Has she already headed to work? Maybe I could try her at the clinic on Level Four? I rest my head against the door and squeak when it swings open, stumbling forward to steady myself, bashing the doughnut bag into Chevette in the process.

“Bryn?” she says, weary, yes, but also concerned. She’s wearing a pale green smock and her hair is neatly tied back in a bun.

“Oh, thank you,” I mutter.

“Come on, let’s go to the kitchen,” Chevette says and firmly closes the door behind us. I trail her, so close to hugging her tight, but that isn’t something we’ve ever done.

“I brought doughnuts,” I say, holding up the crumpled bag. Chevette carefully takes it, as if she’s worried any sudden movements will make me break. The doughnuts are squished, the soft fluffy mock-dough mangled and cold. I take one look at them, sadly sitting on a florally patterned plate, and start to shake.

“Bryn …” Chevette reaches out before changing her mind, instead pulling out two mugs. She begins preparing hot drinks.

“They’ve Blocked me.” The words tumble past my lips in a rush. I want her to deny it, to come up with some other explanation, but the tightness in her face tells me otherwise.

“I know,” she says and hands me a mug. “It’s hot,” she warns. I wrap my hands around it, absorbing its warmth and hoping it’ll chase away the numbness.

“I thought …” My voice cracks.

“Thought what?”

“We’re friends, right?” I ask. She stiffens, pulling away from me. Something inside me breaks, like shattered glass, sharp and jagged in my chest.

“What’s friendship, anyway? Shared experiences? Usefulness? Love?” she spits the last word out, her lips curved downwards as if she tastes something bitter. Guilt surges around my gut, for being so oblivious about her feelings for me. It couldn’t be too late to salvage something.

“Friendship is …” I begin, desperate to convince her. “It’s like when we were kids, right? Remember when we held each other’s hands and spun around and around in circles? Eyes closed and spinning and spinning, faster and faster until at any moment I felt like we’d go flying, but when we opened our eyes, the world kept turning but for me and you, we were steady, still, perfectly balanced like we were in the eye of a storm. Just the two of us.”

“Oh, Bryn, you always had your head in the clouds,” Chevette says sadly, and she reaches out and grasps my hand. When was the last time I was touched by one of my friends? When had hand-holding and hugs and tickle fights and teasing shoves become unwelcome?

“We all do, we’re in a flying city, remember?” I try to joke and her lips quirk a little. “I don’t understand, though, why Harper and Teo have shut me out.”

“It’s more than that,” Chevette murmurs and my heart pounds hard in my chest when I bring up my Friend list with a slow blink. They’ve Unfriended me. Of course they have. They’d have to for a complete erasure.

“But you haven’t.” I’m so grateful yet terrified at the same time.

“No,” she murmurs. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“Bryn, you think you’re being sneaky,” she hisses, shaking my hand slightly. “The trips to the lower levels, all those questions you’ve been asking, and then you vanish for a week! I was hoping there was an explanation for it all.”

“There is!” I insist.

“No, you’ve a death wish!” she all but shouts. “Look,” she says quietly. “You disappeared. I know wherever you were wasn’t in the station – no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” she states when I open my mouth. “You’re up to something dangerous, Bryn. Something that can hurt you, can hurt a lot of people, so surely you understand why Harper and Teo have done what they’ve done?”

“But we’re friends. Friends stick together, especially when things get tough, like on quests,” I say, brushing away a tear with a knuckle. Another takes its place, tickling my chin. I rub my cheek against my shoulder.

“This is too big, Bryn. You’re asking too much.” Chevette pulls back, turning her mug in an anti-clockwise direction, watching the liquid swirl.

“Am I asking too much of you?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She doesn’t look up and we sit in silence, my soft sniffling like a shout in the quiet. I must look a mess, but I don’t think Chevette can see past my holo-glamour.

Something beeps and Chevette straightens.

“Work?” I guess.

“Yeah,” she sighs and I stand, following her out into the hallway as she gathers her bag and slips on her shoes. “Look, Bryn,” she grabs my sleeve and gives my arm a little shake. “I’m asking you to stop this. Please.”

“I can’t.” I feel as if I’m tearing in two. After all these years, this is the closest we’ve ever been, so close it hurts.

“Whatever this is, as your friend,” she says and her words warm me, “stay safe, be careful.”

“I’ll try,” I offer and she slips her hand into mine again and squeezes.

She holds my hand all the way down the steps and even halfway down the street before she lets go and vanishes into the crowds, leaving me with something sitting heavy on my chest.

Hey, Bryn, Greyson shakes me from my thoughts and I begin the meandering trip home. I don’t want any platitudes or pep talks, but I reply anyway.

Yeah?

Save me any doughnuts?

My lips tug into a small smile.

----------------------------------------