The Me Generation
copyright © 2007 8-bit
* * *Dana saw the girl out of the corner of her eye, and that’s what saved her: the motion of the girl’s arm in her peripheral vision.
She turned, saw the arm going up and the light in the girl’s hand, squeezed her eyes shut, and ducked a split second before the flash went off. Even with her eyes shut and her head down, she felt it: a hollow disconnection with her body, like she was feeling herself from the inside. A stillness seeped through her; the moment seemed longer than it was. Then she dove forward, rammed her shoulder into the girl’s soft stomach, and slammed her against the wall. There was a startled express of breath as the girl’s wind was knocked out of her, and a beat later, the dull clatter of the device as it dropped to the floor.
The girl wasn’t much of a fighter. Actually, she seemed to be totally confused by the idea of defending herself. Dana seized her by the shoulders to hold her still, sinking her fingers into the soft flesh, but the girl didn’t squirm—she swayed, dazed, not trying (or able to try) to get away, looking at Dana with her brow furrowed. She seemed surprised that the person she’d just tried to brainwash had done something about it.
The fight ended a moment later when Dana palmed the girl’s head like a basketball and knocked it against the wall.
The girl went from soft to softer in her hands, the muscle relaxing in a strange, sudden way as she lost consciousness. She became a rag doll. Her legs folded beneath her as she fell, and she landed on her ass before drifting onto her side in an awkward heap of white limbs.
Dana stood over her until she was sure she wasn’t getting up anytime soon, then picked up the light.
It was a small thing, about as wide as a roll of quarters, longer, but just as heavy. There was a small glass window on one end and a button on the side. That was it: the device that had taken over the world was simpler than a flashlight. If she pressed the button, she’d be standing there until the neighbors found her.
She put it in her pocket and looked her attacker over.
“Oh, snaps! I think you picked the wrong bitch to get flashy with this time.”
The girl didn’t answer. She might have been dead.
Her hair was jet black, but it was an obvious dye job: it was lighter at the roots, maybe even red. Her eyebrows were pierced, and so was her nose, and so was the one ear that Dana could see, in three places. A goth chick.
“See, if my girls ever heard that I got brainwashed by a goth chick, I’d never hear the end of it. Good thing I saw you, eh?”
The girl didn’t answer.
Dana felt the thrill of the fight leave and common sense intrude on her moment. She knelt and felt for the girl’s pulse. Alive. Dana felt a relief in her chest that she pushed away, because what Dana told herself in her active thoughts was that she didn’t care whether or not she killed them. But she hadn’t killed this one, which meant the girl would wake up eventually, which meant it was time to either get her out of there or finish the job.
She took the girl by the ankles. The girl was wearing combat boots and a skirt that appeared to be made out of curtains. It rode up as Dana dragged her away, revealing smooth white legs.
“Oh, snaps again! You shave your legs! Guess you’re not so much of a goth after all, eh? Or is that only hippy girls that don’t shave their legs? I get you all mixed up. You can explain it to me later.”
The girl didn’t answer. Her arms trailed out behind her as they made the short trip to Dana’s apartment.
Dana left the girl lying in the middle of the living room and dropped onto the couch to watch her. She turned the device over in her hands while she waited. It was made of what looked to be stainless steel. Dana had seen plenty of them—but usually out of the corner of her eye, as she ran away. She’d never held one. It gave her a thrill in her belly.
The girl stirred. Her head turned to the side. One pale arm flopped up over her head and seemed to search for something on the carpet. Dana knelt next to her.
The girl rubbed her face.
“Mrhnm,” she said. Her eyes opened.
Dana held the light in front of them, covered her own eyes, and pressed the button. It didn’t make a sound. She peeked between her fingers.
The girl didn’t look any different, other than the fact that she was no longer moving or trying to. One lily hand rested against her cheek. Her eyes were light blue, almost slate colored, and stared at the ceiling.
“Hello?” Dana heard her own voice. It was high and excited.
The girl didn’t answer.
“Maybe it’s a bad idea to do that to someone who might have a concussion, eh? Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Veronica.”
“Nice to meet you, Veronica.”
The girl didn’t say that it was nice to meet her too. She hadn’t been told to.
It works, for real. Of course it worked, Dana had seen it hundreds of times, but it was still strange to see it happen in front of her, when she was in control of it. She decided to test it.
“Veronica, go jump out the window.”
The girl sat up. The odd skirt had rode up around her hips as Dana dragged her; it bunched into a pile in her lap as she got up, then slipped down to her ankles once she was on her feet. She walked to the window.
“Stop.” The girl stopped. “I just wanted to see if you’d actually do it. Come back.”
Veronica turned back and stood in front of her. The slate colored eyes stared, seeing her but not seeing her. She was pretty, very pretty, in the way that some fair-skinned girls have.
Dana grinned. Her heart was beating. The possibilities spread out before her: a clockwork galaxy of potential, like a million blank notebooks.
“Touch your toes.”
The girl touched her toes and remained that way, bent over.
“Heheeee! Ok, you can stop.”
The girl straightened back up.
“Veronica is too long of a name. From now on, your name is Nica. That’s prettier. A pretty girl like you needs a pretty name. What is your name?”
“Nica.”
“Why is that your name?”
“Veronica is too long, and Nica is prettier. A pretty girl like me needs a pretty name.”
She was wearing a tight black T-shirt with a white duckling stenciled on the front. Dana snickered, then stopped. It was a reminder that this girl had once had a personality. The piercings, the dye job, the shirt, the weird skirt, the combat boots—they all painted a picture of someone who had wanted to be an individual, once, or at least wanted to stand out. Now she never would again. Happily’s Children didn’t discriminate based on looks.
Dana sat down on the couch, her moment deflated.
She flipped open her phone. Like all of the cell phones of resistance members, it was an old one, from the 90’s, without a digital display.
Her group had broken recently under particularly messy circumstances: one of the girls had been taken, and her girlfriend, instead of doing the right thing, had actually brainwashed herself just to be with her. It was days before anyone found out. There was no way to know whether the group’s cover was blown or not, so, they had to break. They split up and went in all directions, moving to different cities and taking different names.
The rule was, when a group split, you broke off all contact with everyone in it—but Dana and her old group leader bent that rule and kept in touch. She dialed Chris.
“Hey, guess what I got today.”
“Class?”
“A flasher, and the girl that came with it.”
“Get out.”
“Seriously. She’s standing right in front of me. Cute as a fucking button, by the way. Nica, do something cute.”
The girl didn’t react.
Of course not—cute is a subjective term, which requires a subject. A self. She has none right now. It was marvelously simple, in its way.
“Bend over and touch your toes.”
Nica did as she was told.
“Heeeee!”
“You used it on her?”
“No, she just really likes me.”
“Be careful. She’s still one of them. You can’t ever undo their core imprinting. If you try to get her to do anything against that, she’ll turn on you.”
“I know. So I won’t tell her to renounce The Haps, whatever. Anything else is fair game.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“She’s still a person, you know.” Chris’s voice was noncommittal, but Dana heard the undertone.
“Define ‘person’.”
“I’m just saying. She may be the enemy but she didn’t choose to be that way.”
“Maybe she did.” A lot of people had chosen it, actually. Faced with all of their friends and family turning against them, a lot had gone willingly. “Hey Nica, did you choose to be one of Happily’s Children?”
“No,” she said to her feet. The black hair hung down over her face, exposing the cream-colored nape of her neck. “I tried to run. My friends caught me and dragged me back inside. They held me down in front of the television until it flashed.”
Dana gaped.
“That... that’s actually really sad. I’m sorry. Stand up, Nica. You can stop touching your toes.”
“What did she say?”
“Nevermind. You’re right. But I’m not going to hurt her or anything. And I need to at least make her forget she ever saw me.”
“Then you’re going to let her go?”
Maybe.
“Yes.”
“Ok. Stay safe.”
Dana snapped the phone shut. The girl stared at the wall. Her face was flushed from being bent over.
“So, Nica. You any good at doing dishes?”
After Nica had done the dishes, vacuumed, cleaned the bathroom, cooked dinner, taken out the trash, dusted, done the laundry, cleaned out the fridge and gone to buy food to fill it back up, it was dark.
Dana watched her move around, busy as a bee. She was good at everything but cooking. After a barely averted disaster involving a can of tomatoes and the microwave, Dana asked her what she knew how to cook, and made a list for future reference. The ingredients became the grocery list.
Nica never seemed to get tired. She was a machine: the orders went straight from Dana’s mouth to the girl’s muscles. It was fascinating to watch.
It’s not like she has an ego to offend. She can be brainless in her own apartment or brainless in your newly clean and pine-scented apartment. That now has mangoes.
When she finished the first job—the dishes—she didn’t return to Dana. She just stood there by the sink, looking at the last dish, and Dana realized that was because she hadn’t told the girl to return when she was done—she’d only told her to do the dishes. The girl was like a computer: if there was nothing in the queue, she’d just stop.
Around eleven she finished the last chore and returned to the living room, standing in front of Dana silently. Dana looked her over.
“Bedtime, Nica. Follow me.” Dana led her to the bedroom, making a brief stop at the front closet to get a pair of handcuffs.
A flash from a device, right in the eyes, was supposed to last at least a day, sometimes two, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She couldn’t sleep wondering whether the girl would wake up in the middle of the night and come to her senses. If that happened, and Dana didn’t hear her in time, the last thing she would ever see would be a goth girl leaning over her, smiling. It wasn’t necessarily a bad way to go, but Dana didn’t want to go.
“You can take that skirt off. And what the hell is it made of, by the way?”
“Curtains.”
Dana laughed.
“I knew it.”
The skirt came down over the pale legs, then got caught on the girl’s boots. She struggled with it, trying to step out of it, and eventually fell over. Dana covered her mouth.
“Take your boots off first, sweety.”
But the boots were already wrapped up in the strange skirt, and the girl only made it worse when she tried to get at them.
“Stop! Stop! Let me do it.”
Nica stopped, sitting with her arms by her sides on the floor, while Dana untangled the mess.
“Take that shirt off too. I have something you can wear to bed.”
When they were done, Nica looked decidedly less gothy. White legs poked out beneath an oversized T-shirt, and her hair was up in a scrunchy.
“Ok. Get in bed and put your hands up over your head until they touch the bars.” Dana cuffed the thin wrists to the bed post. “Comfortable?”
Nica furrowed her brow and didn’t answer.
Comfortable is a subjective term.
“I mean, are you in any pain? Do you think you’ll be ok like that for a whole night without getting a cramp or something?”
“I’m not in any pain.”
“Good. I mean, not like you’d know it if you were. I could probably just tell you it doesn’t hurt and it wouldn’t.” Dana climbed into bed beside her. “Close your eyes and go to sleep, and—”
Nica’s eyes closed and she was instantly asleep. Dana stared at her, then shook her.
“Hey! Wake up! You didn’t let me finish.”
The girl’s eyes opened.
“Wait until I finish talking before you do it, ok?”
“Ok.”
“Close your eyes and go to sleep, and don’t wake up until tomorrow morning. And don’t move around too much. And don’t steal the covers.”
The girl waited for a few beats after she finished, then let out a sigh and was instantly asleep again.
Dana checked that the cuffs weren’t digging into her wrists, then rolled over.
In the dim hours of the morning Dana felt something against her leg and snapped awake, sitting bolt upright and reaching for her gun at the same time.
It was the girl’s leg. But Nica hadn’t moved—she was in the same position as the night before, just like Dana had told her. It was Dana that had rolled against the girl, sometime in the night.
She didn’t allow herself to think it consciously, but she’d never been lonelier.
“Say cheese!”
“What?”
Dana pressed the button on the device and the woman’s eyes went wide. She was mid thirties, wearing a business suit and holding a smart looking briefcase. Her hair was done up in a tight pile on top of her head.
The briefcase dropped to the floor.
“I said, say cheese. Jeeze.”
“Cheese. Jeeze,” the woman mumbled.
“Good. Got any cash?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
The woman produced a small roll of twenties from her pocket. Dana raised her eyebrows and counted it.
“A roll of twenties? Who are you, Tony Soprano?”
“No.”
“That was a figure of speech.” Dana peeled one of the bills off, then grabbed the woman by the lapel and pulled her close. The woman swayed, off balance. Her lipstick was dark red; her features were sharp and precise. Dana snaked her hand into the woman’s jacket and tucked the bill into her bra.
“There. Buy yourself something nice, sweetheart. Also, remember nothing from the past five minutes. None of this ever happened.” She pinched the woman’s ass and sent her on her way.
It was going to be a good day.
She walked back down the hall to her apartment, counting the money again.
Nica was still in bed. She was awake, looking at the handcuffs with a puzzled expression. She wasn’t struggling, but Dana guessed that, now that the girl was looking around all on her own, that would come next.
“I thought these things were supposed to last days!” Dana shook the device in mock exasperation. “They don’t make them like they used to, right? Maybe sleep helps put the mind back in order or something. I guess we’ll have to do this every morning.” She sat on the bed.
“What’s going on?” The girl’s eyes widened. It was the first real expression she’d made. She tried to sit up. The white arms were stopped by the restraints. They pulled, then pulled harder, the handcuffs clinking against the rails. Her legs bunched up and kicked the blankets away. “Where am I?”
Dana watched with interest.
“Say cheese!”
They walked back from the store. Dana had bought seven steaks, a cappuccino machine, a George Foreman grill, and the most expensive bottle of champagne she could find. Nica balanced all of the packages between her arms. She was wearing jeans and another tight black T-shirt, this one with a stencil of what appeared to be a pile of bricks on the front—Dana had sent her home to change before they left.
“So, goth girl, are you allowed to think? Not when you’re with me—I mean like, normally. Does Happily let you think?”
“Yes.”
“Could you elaborate?”
Nica didn’t answer. The question wasn’t specific enough.
“I have a better idea. Do you remember the way you were before you became one of Happily’s Children?”
“Yes.”
“What is the difference between that, and now?”
“Above all, there is Happily. She wants us to be beautiful. Girls are more beautiful when they’re hypnotized—”
“Blibbidy blibbidy blah! I know all that. What I mean is, is there any difference in what you’re allowed to think?”
“No.”
“Because you wouldn’t think anything she didn’t want you to in the first place.”
“Yes.”
What I’m trying to ask you is: what’s the difference between the two of us? Dana searched for better ways to phrase the question. It was exhausting work, questioning this girl. Her answers were always accurate, and they constantly pointed out how open to interpretation most questions are.
“I suppose you believe that Happily is a real person, too.”
“Yes.”
“She isn’t, man. It all stories, just like every religion ever. They’re all twentieth-hand accounts of something that supposedly happened once in a galaxy far far away. She’s the figurehead. She’s perfect, benign, loving, et-fucking-cetera. She’s just a mascot, so that no one will pay attention to the man behind the curtain.
“This whole thing was cooked up by government scientists as a way to control people. Think about it. No one’s ever seen her. They all believe she’s out there somewhere, watching everything they do like a size 4 Santa Claus—but no one’s ever seen her.”
“I’ve seen her.”
Dana laughed.
“And I’ve seen Jesus. He saved me from an unhealthy addiction to circus peanuts, oh lawd.”
The girl didn’t answer.
Dana stopped.
“Nica, do you really believe you’ve seen The Happily?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, what did she look like?”
“She is the most beauti—”
“Cut that crap. I want specifics. Eye color, hair color, facial features.”
“Her eyes are dark brown. Her hair is dark and long. It was in a ponytail. She wears black silk pants and a black silk dress shirt. She was the same height as me. She smiled a lot. She has a small beauty mark above her left hip. Her—”
“Wait, hold up a second. A beauty mark on her hip? You’re saying that not only did you see this chick, you saw her naked?”
“Yes.”
Dana shook her head and laughed for a long time. The girl held the packages, her eyes pointed somewhere near Dana’s shoulder. Dana wiped her eyes.
“Oh, man. That’s classic. A fuckable Jesus. It’s kind of disturbing, actually. Was that hallucination part of your imprinting?”
“No.”
“Then when do you think you saw her?”
“The first time was eleven weeks ago. I passed her on the street. She told me to stop. I knew it was her from the sound of her voice. I wasn’t sure what to do so I kneeled down, but she told me to get up.
“She told me I was pretty, and told me to show her my apartment. We went there, and she pushed me against the wall and kissed me, and—”
“You can stop. That could have been anyone, just like me. She flashed you, right?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
But the girl was telling the truth, or at least thought she was. She was incapable of lying while under the influence of the light.
“If this hypothetical chick actually existed, why would she be hanging around here? She controls the world. Shouldn’t she be, I dunno, doing something important at the White House? Maybe having tea with the Queen? Grooving with the Dalai Lama?”
“She said she likes the Red Sox. She thought they had a chance this year. She said that even though she could make them win, she would never do that because it wouldn’t be right.”
“Stop it, seriously, I’m starting to cramp up. Come on.” They started walking again.
Hypothetically, if she did exist, where else would she be? If you believed the stories, she was from a city less than twenty miles away. If you believed the stories, she didn’t care about her power, so she really wouldn’t be out grooving with the Queen or using it as a chance to meet Oprah. Well, maybe Oprah. If you believed the stories, the powerful women were her favorites.
Then again, if you believed the stories, you were either already brainwashed or insane to begin with.
They passed up the sidewalk and into their apartment building, the girl balancing the packages between her thin arms.
“Say cheese!”
Dana covered her eyes and pressed the button as the girl turned around. She didn’t need to sneak up on people before she did it—it was just fun that way. She took her hand away and admired her new source of income.
It was a shortish girl, early twenties, wearing khakis and a thin jacket.
And sunglasses, dark almost to the point of opacity.
Oh, fuck.
She’d gotten the girl right in the face, with the device mere inches from her eyes—glasses or no, she was going to be stunned for a few minutes. Dana looked up and down the street. No one had seen them.
“Have you been imprinted?”
Please say yes.
“No.”
Dana’s heart raced. Then she saw the bulge in the side of the girl’s jacket. She slipped her hand under and felt it. It was a gun.
“Fuck. Are you in the resistance?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me. Quickly. And if anyone asks you if you’ve been imprinted, say yes. Have you been imprinted?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Come on.”
She led the girl inside and to her apartment.
“Nica, go in the bedroom and don’t come out until I call you.”
Nica went. Dana sat the girl on the couch and took the glasses off of her. She needed to be able to see her eyes. Then she put some coffee on and waited for her to come out of it.
After a few minutes the girl began to blink. Her hands twitched, and her eyes began to focus for real, instead of looking at whatever imaginary nothing the tranced looked at.
“What’s your favorite color?” Dana asked.
“Blue?” She blinked some more, then looked around. “What’s going on?”
“You got flashied. It’s ok. I’m not one of them. You still woozy?” Dana handed her a cup of coffee. The girl held it, seeming not to know what to do with it. “What’s your name?”
“Jill.”
“Nice to meet you, Jill. I’m Dana. I used to be resistance too, out in western Mass. My group kinda broke.”
The girl’s eyes focused on her, seemed to search for something.
“I was walking down the street... someone tapped me on the shoulder... and then...” Her eyes turned hard. “You. You flashed me.”
“I know. Relax. I didn’t know you were resistance.”
The girl put down the coffee and stood up.
“It’s ok.” Dana did the same.
“You’ve got one of the devices, and you’re going around flashing people with it?”
“I just needed a few bucks. It’s not like they miss it. Happily doesn’t let her kids starve, remember? There aren’t any more homeless.”
“You said you were resistance? Why didn’t you find a group and bring it to them? Do you know how much easier something like that would make it to save people? Even if they’re stuck in the middle of a crowd, you could just flash the whole crowd and get them away. Just like that, a free pass. You know how many girls I could have saved with one of those?”
“I’m going to bring it to a group, as soon as I’m done with it.”
“Oh, right.”
“I think I missed the part where it’s any of your business. I don’t know you, I don’t know your group. You’re no one to me. Find me the law that says I can’t do whatever the hell I want with this.”
“Doing the exact same thing they do? I didn’t know we needed one.”
They glared at each other across the coffee table.
“Ok, I think that’s enough hospitality for one day. You can go.”
The girl drew her gun.
“Give it to me.”
Dana raised her eyebrows.
“So it’s like that, eh?”
“It’s like that. Hand it over.”
“Fine, but I want the name of your group leader, because I plan on filing a complaint about this shit.”
She held it out and pressed the button.
The girl froze. Her eyes had flicked down naturally as Dana held it out, and they stayed that way, fixed on that point in midair even after Dana put it back in her pocket.
“Sorry. I’m in the Me generation.” Dana’s voice was casual, but her heart was racing again.
You can tell her to forget, but what if she remembers later? She remembered that you were the one that flashed her a few minutes ago.
She would remember, eventually. And when she did, she would remember Dana’s face, her name, where she lived.
You could get an imprinting kit and do it yourself.
But no, that would be worse. Happily’s Children spent their entire lives fixated on Happily—or the idea of her, anyway. Dana wasn’t ready for a lifelong pet. Besides, to any non-brainwashed observer, it would be more than obvious what she’d done.
There was only one way.
“Jill. In a moment, you’re going to walk out of here and go home. You will remember nothing that happened in the last hour, other than these instructions. When you get home, you will call your group leader and tell her that you’ve been compromised. Tell her to take you out of the circle. If you get voicemail, tell it to the voicemail. Say nothing more, then hang up.
“After that, you will leave your home and tell the first person you find that you need to be imprinted.
“Go, now.”
Jill turned and went. Dana felt nauseous.
That was the only way to make someone permanently forget you. When Jill was imprinted, the memory—or in this case, lack of memory—would be burned in, just like everything else during the imprinting process.
Dana sat down and looked at the carpet for a very long time.
She went into the bedroom. Nica was standing just inside the door, staring at the opposite wall. Dana sat on the bed and looked at her.
“I did a bad bad thing, Nica.”
Nica absorbed the information impassively.
“Come sit down.” She took the girl’s pale hand, and that feeling that she refused to acknowledge as loneliness stabbed at her. “But you, I think this is actually a good thing. Chris had it wrong. Because if you hang around a real person long enough, maybe you’ll start to act like one again. Right?
“It can’t hurt you, anyway. As long as I don’t overdo it with the flashing, but once a day seems to be enough.
“I mean, you’re not ever going to be free willed again. But if you’re going to have to obey someone for the rest of your life, I’d rather it be me than some fantasy woman who is a government and a religion all in one. Because that, that really is crazy.”
The feeling that wasn’t there gnawed at her. It was a low ache in her chest. It only happened when she touched the girl. Nica’s hand was warm in hers.
They sat that way for a while, until Dana heard herself mumble,
“Kiss me.”
Nica leaned over and kissed her, woodenly. She didn’t close her eyes.
“Kiss me and like it. Kiss me the way you would kiss Happily.”
The girl fell on her—this time, her eyes were closed. Her lips were hot; she moaned when they touched Dana’s. Dana felt Nica’s breathing quicken and then her own. She pulled the girl closer and heard a startled little express of breath, a lot like the sound she’d made when Dana first tackled her in the hall.
Happily is one lucky girl.
Then she felt the girl breathe against her and that was it.
“Fuck it. Take your,” the girl interrupted her with her lips, “shirt off. Take it all off.”
They tore at their clothes. The girl seemed human, a real person, for the first time. She might have been any girl from when the world was normal. There was nothing mechanical about it. For the first time, Dana saw Nica want something, and it made sense, because Dana had used the H word, and that was the one thing Nica could want.
She grabbed the girl by the waist.
“I want you to imagine that I’m Happily,” she breathed, and watched the girl’s knees go weak, and held her up. “I want you to feel free to do whatever you would if you were with her. Scream, tear at my hair, anything.” Dana indulged the girl’s fantasy for the sake of her own. Nica whimpered.
Dana threw the girl on the bed and dove on her. The pale limbs wrapped around her, grasping.
She’s real.
Dana pressed against her.
If this is the only time you can act like a real girl again, Nica, then I’m happy to oblige.
She seized the thin wrists and pressed them into the bed. The white legs circled her waist and the white hips worked. She kissed her way down the girl’s body, stopping to tug on a nipple ring. The girl’s bush was auburn, and Dana was happy, in a distracted way, to see she hadn’t pierced her clit.
Dana licked and the girl screamed. It was the scream of a normal, non-brainwashed girl, and it sounded like music. Dana did it again. The girl’s calves slid on her back, one between her shoulder blades, the other down by her ass.
The ache in her chest loosened, and Dana let herself admit for the first time that it was the loneliness of a year on the run, and in doing so, felt it dissipate.
“If all that running,” she breathed, “from becoming one of Happily’s Children was worth it for anything,” she breathed, “It was worth it for this.” She kissed an ivory leg.
“You aren’t one of Happily’s Children?” It was only the second time Nica had ever spoken to her without being prompted, and it was jarring.
“Um, no? What gave it away?” Dana grinned up at her. Nica looked confused. “You couldn’t tell?”
“No.”
That made sense. Even if it was blindingly obvious to a normal person, it required at least a teaspoon of deductive reasoning, and that was something Happily’s Children weren’t taught. They didn’t do detective work to find the uninitiated—they flashed them and just asked them. And, now that Dana thought about it, there wasn’t any single red flag that could distinguish a thinking person from the other kind, other than Happily-talk.
She licked again; Nica’s hips jerked. The lily white thighs wrapped around her neck and squeezed.
Dana laughed.
“Ease up there, cowgirl.”
She bent her head forward to taste the girl again, but the legs squeezed tighter. They became a hot, slippery vise around her neck.
Dana stopped laughing.
“Nica. Ease up. Relax your legs.”
Nica looked down at her with something like joy.
“I didn’t know you weren’t one of Happily’s Children. You’re lost, but Happily will help you. She’ll make you beautiful.” The girl’s eyes glowed. It was the first emotion besides lust and occasional confusion Dana had ever seen on her face.
Chris’s voice came to her: Be careful. She’s still one of them. You can’t ever undo their core imprinting. If you try to get her to do anything against that, she’ll turn on you. Her blood went cold.
“Nica, let go. NOW. That’s an order.”
“She only wants to make you beautiful. Girls are more beautiful when they’re hypnotized.”
Her face felt hot. The legs were too tight. No blood was getting to her brain. The girl’s thighs squeezed, constricted, a soft and immovable weight on the sides of her neck. They were damp with sweat. The girl’s smell was everywhere.
Dana gripped the girl’s knees and tried to pry the legs apart. Dana was not weak, not by far, but her arms were no match for a woman’s thigh muscles, even a smallish one like Nica. She couldn’t part the girl’s legs even a half inch.
Dizziness rolled over her in a wave.
“NICA. VERONICA. LET GO. LET ME GO.“
“If I let you go, you’ll be able to overpower me.” She seemed puzzled that Dana didn’t get the logic. “This is probably the only way I could beat you in a fight,” she concluded.
Dana pulled herself towards the edge of the bed, dragging the girl with her by the hips. She weighed almost nothing and Dana could probably walk around the apartment wearing her as a necklace—she just couldn’t get her off.
Spots began to dance in front of Dana’s eyes.
She reached the edge of the bed and stood up, lifting the girl up with her. Nica was turned upside down—only her shoulders and the back of her head touched the mattress. The legs wouldn’t let go. Nica smiled up past them. It was not a cruel smile. It was excited.
The spots joined together in a grey sheet. Dana felt her body go numb. Dimly, as from a great distance, she felt herself drop to her knees.
So this is how you go out. Trapped between a goth chick’s legs. Good thing the girls from your old group aren’t around to see this. You’d never hear the end of it.
Her eyes focused on the girl’s auburn bush, inches away, then unfocused.
Dana had a split second of awareness as she regained consciousness, then the light went off in her eyes.
Nica’s hand patted her cheek.
Dana’s eyes opened, but they didn’t want to focus. They closed. Patterns danced on the backs of her eyelids.
“Are you still dizzy? I was dizzy for a while after I was imprinted.”
“Mmmhmm.”
She was lying on a hard surface. The floor? She opened her eyes. The floor. There was a blanket on her and a pillow was under her head. She was lying in front of a large television. The room wasn’t familiar.
“This is my apartment,” Nica explained. “You didn’t have a TV so we had to do it here. I wanted to carry you to bed after, but you were too heavy, so I brought the blankets and stuff in here.”
Dana smiled.
“Thank you.”
“Do you think you can get up yet? Or do you wanna lie here a little longer?”
“Here... juss a lil longer...”
“Ok.” Nica kissed her. “I think I’m going to keep the name Nica. You’re right, it’s pretty. I’m going to ask her if it’s ok when she gets here.”
“Mmk. Who?”
“Happily.”
Dana couldn’t tell if she was still dreaming or not. She guessed she probably was. Fingers stroked her hair.
“The harder your mind fights, the worse it is after. You’ll be ok, you just need some rest. Sleep.” Lips kissed her forehead.
That sounded like a great idea. Dana did that.
Something touched her cheek. Dana tried to brush it away in the haze of half-sleep. It came back. A hand.
She opened her eyes.
A woman was leaning over her. She wore a black silk dress shirt. Her hair was dark and long, and her eyes were smiling.
“Hello, Dana.”
That voice.
It was her.
Dana fainted.
“Hey.” Fingers poked her in the ribs. The most powerful woman on the planet was poking her in the ribs. Dana felt herself start to swoon again.
“Wake up.”
Dana snapped awake, the order running through her like electricity. She looked up. Happily was still there. An indefinable, bigger than size, all-encompassing something filled Dana: a reverse vertigo, like she had looked at the moon and realized it was close enough to touch. She would have fainted again, but Happily had told her to wake up.
“Don’t worry, I get that a lot. I’m like the Beatles!” The dark eyes studied her. They were kind, and they glinted with a sharp intelligence.
“Are you real?”
“I think so. But maybe I’m just a brain in a jar somewhere, imagining all of this. I think that sometimes.”
Dana didn’t try to get up. She wished the hand would touch her again. She waited; it was a movie, it had to be. She was a spectator.
“I bet you didn’t know that Veronica was one of my favorite girls. I visit her sometimes when I come through here. You could bounce a quarter off of that ass. And you—you tried to make her yours. She tells me you even tried to give her a new name.”
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m—”
“It’s ok. I forgive you.” The hand stroked her hair in the same gesture Nica had made a little while ago. It was ok. Everything was ok, forever. “You didn’t know any better. And she likes the name, so she can keep it.
“I’m proud of her. You’re pretty butch, and she took you down all by herself, the skinny little thing.” She smiled over her shoulder. Nica was there, naked, standing on the balls of her feet like models do to make their legs look better. Her hands were behind her back. She looked like a porcelain doll.
“But you, you’re special too, in your way. A fighter like you, I wish I’d been around to take myself.”
The compliment radiated through Dana like warm brandy.
“You were in the resistance, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to know a secret?” Happily leaned closer. “I allow the resistance to exist so that there will always be girls like you, girls who will fight to the last. The ones who come willingly—they don’t know it, but I never even think of them. They might as well not exist.
“It’s the fight that I love, Dana. If you don’t do that, you might as well not exist. Veronica here fought, and had to be dragged down by all of her friends. It took four of them to keep her pinned on the living room floor, even though she’s just a skinny little thing.
“The girls in the resistance, even though they don’t know it, they’re my favorites. They hate me the most and so I love them the most. I bet if they knew that, they’d hate me even more. Maybe I should tell them.” The eyes flashed and twinkled.
“Who was your resistance group leader?”
“Christine Cooper. Chris.”
“Where does she live?”
Dana told her.
“The leaders are my favorite, above all. Chris is special and she doesn’t even know it yet. I’m going to take her myself. That is how I take all resistance leaders. A woman like that doesn’t deserve to be taken by drones. You didn’t either, but Veronica did what she had to.
“Chris hates me the most—she inspires others to hate me—and I’m going to reward her the most, not punish her. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Dana did. It was beautiful and simple.
“Good.”
“She’s dangerous,” Dana heard herself say. Happily hadn’t asked her to speak, but she was scared, so scared, of what might happen to The Happily if she didn’t.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“She has guns. Lots of guns. And motion sensors. She sets them up around wherever she lives, but she doesn’t need them because she hardly sleeps.”
“Go on.”
“When she moves into a new place, she takes a saw and cuts a hole in the front door. Then she covers it up with thin wood and paints over it on the outside, so she can shoot someone through the door if she has to. One of her houses even had land mines buried in the yard. I don’t know where she got them. She’s paranoid, all the time,” Dana finished.
Happily took her chin and smiled down at her, and Dana felt like there was warm light all over her, but especially in her chest, where the loneliness of years used to be.
“It’s not paranoia if I’m really out to get you.”