Life has not really been fair to me since the moment I came to know what pain felt like. Sometimes I wonder, why it has to be me out of all people, maybe out of exasperation towards my unnecessarily pitiful life or livid thereof, but every time I came up with no such succinct reply that can satiate my curiosity and put an halt to my endless introspection, or maybe it has never been one in the first place.

No matter how hard I try not to get overwhelmed by people or circumstances, no matter how much I try to convince myself that those are nothing but mere hurdles to hinder my way and to propel my restraint on the edge before a fall, but still I let them overpower my thoughts, leaving me completely disoriented.

I guess, I can't help it. It's way too stronger than I thought, because I'm having this very feeling, right at this very moment, and the worst part is, when I feel that vulnerable, I shrink into myself, leaving no room for feeling anymore.

I can't just let go of it like that, 'cause I believe, it's easier to be said than done. Even today's mere event has lingered on me further more than it should. Not that it hurt less or I'm not used to, but I can't bear with unfairness, not even for a single moment, and that's why I can't just brush it off.

"Cause your pains will ignite you for later, for more requisite work," muses my subconscious.

I let out a deep sigh and stand up, shaking my head.

And this subliminal replies always get me moving, providing enough provisions for me to strive, washing away all the sordid details of my everyday life.

Sometimes I presume, what if the situation would be different and I would have my family beside me, what if Eric would have been here, what if I could go back in time, turn back the clock and stop everything from happening, maybe and only maybe I could have been living a different life.

But the thing is, I can't do that. That's why 'what if's make me so sad.

After getting back, I wrap up the due work in laundry. Since the household devices and bots are away, I had to do all the chores, designated for them, along with mine, including moping, cleaning, and doing dishes and so on and forth.

I couldn't find any bruises or swells or blisters, just like Gray mentioned. But the pain was immense. It was difficult to even stand properly. Hopefully, there was no severe internal injury. Though I couldn't be cent assured for the absence of medical bots, I think I will be alright. I guess, he was right. They indeed give shock like heart attack, but leaves no physical injury. And as for the pain, it even faded away after a couple of hours.

The Princetons have previously left for the Chanteuse Ball, in the downtown Metron, in honor of Chief Livonn (CL), Yeon 441 Brooks, for winning the presidential election along with Chief Governor (CV), Quint Vikings or Lings or something like that.

In short, it's a sort of after party where all the distinguished people of the city came to get sloshed including the Royalty as well. I guess, for only a few occasions, the bots turn off their liquor resistance circuit, and Chanteuse Ball is one of them.

But to be pretty honest, I care less. In fact, politics has always failed to intrigue me and I'm not ashamed of that. However, everyone's corrupted and I've accepted the truth that the situation ain't gonna change any sooner, so there's no need or point of wasting my time or energy on thinking about those useless headaching factors.

Besides, there's nothing left to be thought of. We are all bound to this irreplaceable never-ending system, and can't do anything but feel disappointed for our bootless CV.

And right now, I just want to concentrate on my studies, obtaining the dream, I have harbored for so long.

Before leaving, Princetons made it clear that, if I try something foolish, it might have consequences. And like always, I care less.

I was on the moving stairs, coming down with Ashley's dotted hand-scarf when she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Carter!! Where's my polka dotted scarf?"

Getting off the stairs, I threw it in her direction and instead of her, Brit caught and handed it over to her sister. At this, Ashley huffed in disbelief and glared at me like she was gonna kill me right away.

"Where are the manners, you nerdy pimp?"

"Never knew, she had one," Brit replied, on my behalf.

"That's true," I assured with a smirk.

Ashley scoffed. "You are hopeless." She then turned her attention to her sister. "Let's go, Brit! Or we'll gotta be late. I heard mama saying, there's gonna be a lot of dishies out there and I can't wait to bag one. It'll be fun, don't you think so?"

"Ain't that too obvious, sister?"

"You know what, I really admire your cute ability to ruin my moments." Ashley gave Brit her signature forced smile.

"Oh! I'll take it as a compliment. But keep your eyes up, sister, I'm gonna kill it there with panache," Brit boasted off, making Ashley chuckle with incredulity.

"Huh? You and panache? Do you even know what's that?"

"At least better than you. You are way too flashy."

"And what are you? Wait, let me tell you," Ashley snaps back. "You are so miserable, always preferring shit-colored outfits, wearing shabby accessories, getting weird haircuts, thinking yourself to be on the top of the world and you know what, that really sucks."

"Huh? Whatever! It's a robot thing. It won't ever get to your dumb head. You're just jealous that I look both smarter and more presentable than you."

"What did you just say?" Ashley looked at Brittany, her body fuming with pure livid, ready to throw a cats' fight right away.

And it's always fun to watch them bicker, arguing over nonsensical issues, throwing fist fight and then giving up for nothing.

"Girls!!" Tiffany Princeton, their mother, my stepmother, screeched, silencing them in the process. "Enough! Stop this nonsense right now! I thought you don't want me to block your credits. But I guess, I'm wrong."

"Of course not, mama," they protested in unison.

"Let's go then. Shall we?"

"Yes!"

With that, she walked out of the front door with her studied gait.

The girls glared down at each other, before turning on their heels and going out of the door.

And the best part is, they ain't gonna come back tonight, so I'll be having some alone time to myself, with less annoyance.

****

I like the way people used to sing earlier in their mind, whenever they like, no matter wherever they were or whatever they were doing.

Now it's all like, you have do when you are asked to, and if you don't oblige, you'll be condemned or maybe doomed.

But like always, I care less. I like to sing whenever I'm alone, like this time, right now, cause there's no one to judge with petty mean words.

So here I am, singing and mopping, and swirling around the mop as if it were my dance partner.

If you
Are too good to be true
And would it be alright if I
Pulled you closer
How could I know
One day I'd wake up feeling more
But I had already reached the shore
Guess we were ships in the night
Night, night

This may sound weird or old-schooled and I will give you that, but it's what I like the most. 'Cause it's what that feels so real, so unalloyed like fresh burnt iron, so rational in this unrealistic puppetic  world.

When I was younger, people used to say that I got it from my mother.

I heard from dad that she was an amazing singer, always trying to renovate herself, create something new, out of everything that surrounded her. She was wholly devoted to music and music meant everything to her. It was such a natural symbiosis that she maintained till her last day.

Her voice was so temperate that it could warm up even the coldest hearts, so natural that it could calm down the racing nerves, so deeper that it had the ability to heal the battered souls.

That's exactly how dad described her.

Just like her voice, she was truly an incredible woman, the first thing for what dad fell so deeply and madly in love with her, like a bee drawn to flowers. They were so perfect, so in love, completely each others' missing parts. They were like soulmates.

It just gives me shudder to even think about how bad dad must have felt when she was diagnosed with stage-4 brain cancer. It was too late to do anything. He couldn't help but watch his soulmate's dying in front of his eyes. It's such an unspoken heartache to feel utterly helpless and insecure, when your beloved is gone forever. It was no exception for dad too.

I wish, I could get to know her more, knowing about what she liked or disliked, or what she wanted me to grow up to be.

But all I can remember are her eyes and the way she used to smile, so beautiful that it could melt anyone's heart, and the lullaby that she used to sing me to sleep.

And now I realize, how much I've loved her all this along, without even knowing her for so long.

A subtle smile crosses my pale face, a sudden little joy surges through me.

I have another thing of hers. It's a dress and so ravishing in its own way. That burnt orange color of its befits its whole ambience. The sleeveless border and the deep V cut at the front, have made it simple yet striking.

Whenever I touch the dress, I feel like mother is just next to me, comforting me, giving me strength for another day, another struggle. I love this feeling, I love being close to her.

Nostalgia fills through me.

After wrapping up the chores for the night, I retire to my attic, my separate small sector.

I take quick light pace to get at my doors. Since it's a one-way lock, nobody can barge inside my attic unless I let them in. Hence I feel a little safe and warm inside here.

Upon reaching there, I lock the door cautiously with my controller and then go inside my little closet and come out with a square glass screen. I carry it discreetly, fearing it may break if I slip it by any chance.

It's a digital portrait of my own family of three. Me, dad and mother.

We looked like a happy family, so content in our own small world. Just us. She was holding me there, so tenderly, so with love, as a smile left her warm pool of green eyes. She was in that same orange dress gown, the hem of which was resting royally on the floor, and she was looking so beautiful.

Whereas dad was smiling down at his wife and daughter, with such a pride as if he had got hold of the most precious thing in the world. And he knew, that was it.

I can feel a small smile stretching across my lips and a tear falling off my cheek, making me shiver in goosebumps of a bizarre feeling, I can't even name, but consistently nagging me to pour out.

I rub my cheeks and eyes, to get rid of the blurred vision, 'cause dad has taught me better than that and I can't let him down.

I zoom in and out at their faces, revolve it so that I can get a 360 degree view of their surrounding, in hope that someday, maybe, I will find something that will lead me to my destiny.

But it has always been the same old photograph, no matter however I try to get it. A large photograph of some abstract art on their right wall, a big walk-in closet on their left, while the ceiling was adorned with a large roof window, allowing the light to brightening the whole frosty glass room. And nothing else.

But dad told me, that if one day I feel like I have more than enough of my life and everything, then this photo will lead me to my liberty and hope.

But I still don't get him. Maybe it's all about timing, maybe the time hasn't come or maybe it has. I don't know really.

I restore the portrait back to where it was inside the closet, walk out of there as the door closes behind me.

I look back. Through the glass, I can see it as cold lights glisten out of it, making me smile at the sudden warmth, I'm feeling right now, inside my chest.

Maybe she was not there to see me grow up, but she's always there in my heart, and no one can take her place away.

As for dad, his ideals and ethics are in my blood and bones. He had taught me one thing so very well : dignity over everything. Even if the world comes to an end, I would still have to choose honor over my life, and so will I do.

All of a sudden, a continuous beep goes off and I already know someone has broke in, either a human or a spy bot. And since, there's a minimal possibility for the latter, I'll stick to the former one.

I press the white button on my controller and a glass tile of my floor soars up to create a hologram miniature of the mansion. Sensing the beep and the red spot in there, I shuffle the hologram and focus the particular region, so the interior shows up.

A movement can be seen there in the kitchen, but the face is vague. Instantly, I turn up the firewall barrier, a special coding to manipulate each and every lock inside the house, so that the intruder can't escape from here.

Since the shockers, those tiny black beetle-like bots are far off, it's time that I have to use my martial art skills to take out the intruder. So be it.

Locking the room and crossing the passageway hurriedly, I step inside the bigger sector and take light steps so quietly as possible, looking at my watch, often now and then, for the exact direction I'm heading to, and then finally approaching the source of the distinct sound discreetly, with an electrically modified baseball bat in hand. I kept it, in case some situation like now arises.

A dim light is illuminating from the refrigerator. I can only see the intruder's back as he goes on pulling out something from the crisper.

Tip-toeing near the kitchen, I crouch down under the island, as the meddler looks up with a bread in his mouth. But again I missed his face.

I lets out a deep sigh, to catch my breath, then tighten my grip on the bat and crouch-walk forward. Reaching the edge, I peep out from the corner, but surprisingly there's no one in sight, only both doors of the refrigerator are dangling open, that faint light from there is illuminating the kitchen.

I rise myself and walk up to there to close the doors. As I was about to do so, I felt a hot breath on the crook of my nape, startling me.

Instinctively, without even looking, I move around on heels and swings the bat with the absolute strength of my slender arms. I guess, I collides with the intruder's chest or torso.

As expected, it took a blow on him as he cries out in pain, crouching down on his knees at a quite distance.

But what is it? His voice sounds so familiar.

Closing the doors, I swiftly switch on the lights using my watch, looking down, I don't why but I find him so familiar, even the mess of his jet black hair, and refrains myself from beating the hell out of him.

I can't see his face, cause he keeps his head down, groaning and crouching back and forth, keeping his hand on his torso.

So I hit his torso.

I positions the bat again, ready for another blow, as I look at him with a murderous glare, waiting for his next move.

"Hey you! Who sent you here? Tell me first before I lose it," I bark at him. "And I guess, you will be least happy to encounter when I lose it. So be a good boy and act your brain."

"Goddamn it, Elly!"

His voice freezes me on spot. My body goes still as I blink my eyes for umpteenth time to relate things, but it's time that nothing's interpreting or co-relating with this voice.

There's only one person left who used to call me with this name except dad, and it's absolutely impossible for him to head overseas and get right in front of me.

"Damn! You still hasn't lost that rebellious spunk of yours!"

He winces in pain, in front of me. I still haven't seen his face, but I'm afraid, it might be him, and I don't know why I don't want him to be him. I really don't want.

I'm confused, debating whether I should trust on my instincts or I'm just hearing things, 'cause it's not possible for him to show up like this way, at this hour, and not especially inside this mansion, which is battered with thousands of encryption, cyber locks, and DNA locks.

At least, it's not possible for a normal person. Last time I remembered, he was the simplest guy, that I ever knew. It's just impossible.

Since dad's funeral, I haven't heard anything from him, except the piece of information that he's overseas, somewhere in Turkey, from one of his closet friends. He disappeared like the monsoon winds, without any trace or foretelling.

I never understood why he did that to me, when he was well aware that, at that time, I could only rely on him, I could only trust him, I needed him for putting my head on his shoulder and feel safe in his embrace, just like always I did.

At the end, he left too.

I was standing alone and scurrying into the rabbit holes, waiting for him. I searched for a while, but I guess, he wasn't willing to even see me, that's why he never showed up. Then at time, I stopped waiting, but there's still a part of me that keeps on craving to see him, ask him for answers to my endless questions, beat him up for leaving me alone, and embrace him to feel the familiar warmth, I missed for days.

I feel my eyes getting heavy with the unshed tears, the bat falls off my hands, creating a thud on the glass floor in the process, and then I finally muster up the courage to speak confidently.

"Who are you?" I whisper discreetly, afraid if I speak louder anymore, my voice may break.

The intruder slowly raises his head, his black eyes boring into mine, dry traces of his tears past his cheeks, and the cause is me.

And the reason, my breath gets hitched in my throat, is the person in front of me.

My best friend.

"Eric Christhoff?" I breathe out without a fail.

"Finally!" Eric grins widely and that smile is so infectious that I'm afraid, I may let my guards down.

"Here I thought, you might've forgotten. And...and uh...that was one hell of a blow. I wouldn't be surprised if I got several broken ribs and hemorrhages." He chuckled.

"Don't worry, your ribs are perfect. I hit your torso, hence can't promise anything there."

The rigidness in my voice must have startled him, as the amusement leaves his eyes, followed by deep pools of concern and wary.

He tries to get up and even succeeds after a good deal of wincing and cringing in severe pain, and lean against the counter to support himself, both his hands gripping the edge tightly, his legs crossing at the ankle, while his eyes are on me.

I feel a hitch of guilt in my chest as it rises and falls rapidly, I look at him with the same intense, like we are in sort of stare off.

My inside is screaming him out. "Stop with this torment, please!" But nothing comes out of me.

"How have you been, Elly?" He asks discreetly, his hand slowly rubbing his torso unconsciously.

He's starting to thaw me and I can't let that happen.

Out of blue, I start chuckling, though not sure what's it for: anger or surreality of the moment.

Eric reciprocates my deeds, as he chuckles, nervousness prominent in there.

Then abruptly I stop myself, looks at him with that look and he stops himself as well, gulping giddily.

Failing to succumb to look at my way and maybe failing to his conscience as well, he looks away, wiping his mouth and jaw to get rid of any hint of