The Energy Room (The Elementum Trilogy) Page 6

  I looked up to see Eric sitting anxiously on the very edge of the sofa, bringing a whispered laugh to my lips. After setting the vase on the counter, I returned to the living room, making sure to sit an acceptable distance from my apparent suitor.

  “Eric, we need to talk,” I began hesitantly, searching for the words that would be the least painful.

  “I know. I want to apologize for the way I acted yesterday. Around Al, I mean. I was kind of being an idiot all day,” Eric said, looking down in embarrassment.

  “What? Oh, that’s… that’s alright,” I said softly, patting Eric on the back like I had done many times before when he was upset.

  “It’s not, though. It was immature, and I don’t want you to think you’re dating an idiot,” Eric said, looking to me brightly.

  I twitched a little at that word—dating. Eric didn’t seem to notice, he just continued to stare at me with adoring eyes. I had seen those eyes before; from Lakin every night of my life, and I knew those were the same eyes Lakin saw when he looked at me. I imagined the person I cared so greatly for, telling me that he couldn’t return the feelings. My heart almost imploded just at the thought of it. I sighed in defeat, knowing I wouldn’t be able to cause Eric that kind of pain. Even if I didn’t love him in the same way, I did love him. I was physically incapable of knowingly hurting him.

  “I know you’re not an idiot,” I said, doing my best to display a reassuring smile.

  “So, we’re okay?” Eric asked happily.

  “Yes,” I laughed, “we’re okay.”

  “Great!” Eric exclaimed, drumming his hands on his knees in delight.

  “Let’s go get some food,” I chuckled, shaking my head as I pushed myself up from the couch.

  I was taken aback by Eric’s grasp on my arm, just above the Electro-Cuffs that I hated so much. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as I turned to look at him, but I was not met by words of explanation. Before I could even begin to understand what was happening, I felt a pair of chapped lips placed awkwardly against my chin. I lurched backward, eyes wide in shock.

  “Sorry, that’s… that’s not how that was supposed to go,” Eric said, mortified.

  As the incident fully set in to my mind, I started laughing uncontrollably. Eric had just made out with my chin. I knew Lakin would be upset, but I thought it was absolutely hilarious. I stifled my chortling when I noticed how red Eric’s cheeks had become. His look of embarrassment was quickly turning to one of determination. His eyes narrowed as he pulled me close. An unexpected feeling of safeness fell over me as he went in for a redo, this time meeting my lips with his. My hands fell on his shoulders, which I had never noticed were so broad.

  As the kiss ended, I made no effort to remove myself from Eric’s commanding arms. I remained in his clutches, staring into eyes I definitely should not have been staring into. Those were not Lakin’s eyes, and my utter contentment with that was terrifying.

  Finally, I staggered backward a bit, still in a silent shock. Thoughts began slicing a race track through my mind. There was no excuse for kissing Eric. Lakin had issued a simple, reasonable request; don’t get too close. I hadn’t planned on challenging that request, but I had—most definitely—gotten too close.

  Flabbergasted, I gazed at the man standing a few feet before me. Within moments, Eric had transformed from a lanky kid I had never seen as more than a close friend, into a divine, masculine being I barely recognized. It seemed that growing up with the boy had prevented me from noticing when he became a man.

  “I, um… I’m going to… food?” My words regurgitated from my mouth in lagging pieces, as I inched backward toward my bedroom.

  “Yeah,” Eric said tensely, showing a hint of the awkward boy I knew so well.

  “I’m… clothes… hang on,” I slurred, reaching my doorway at last.

  After nervously slamming my door shut, I began pacing the bedroom as if my life depended on wearing a path into the carpet. I frantically pulled at my hair and gritted my teeth, trying to bring any sort of reason to what had just happened. Finally, I paused in front of the mirror to see the messy-haired monster staring back at me. Its eyes were watery, and its lips were pursed tight with bitter judgment. I slumped onto my disheveled bed, head falling into my hands. My thoughts battled from Lakin to Eric, and back. There was no way to get out of the situation without at least one person I cared for hating me.

  “Are you okay in there, Angie?” Eric called from the living room.

  I wondered how long I had been quietly drowning in self-loathing.

  “Yeah! Be out in a sec!” I answered hurriedly.

  Attempting to pull myself back together, I threw on a shirt that smelled relatively clean, and a pair of jeans. I shoveled my hair back into its usual, messy bun, and cleared away all signs of watery detest that had leaked from my eyeballs. Oxygen fell all the way to the bottom of my lungs, as I struggled to release my feelings of discomfort through a long, swooshing exhale.

  Opening my bedroom door to Eric’s friendly face immediately melted away my anxiety. I didn’t know how I would deal with the situation, but I felt no need to continue dwelling on it at that point in time. I would do what I often did; nothing. At least until I absolutely had to do something.

  Eric offered me his elbow, and I graciously accepted. We walked through the hall toward the elevator, arms intertwined and grinning like gleeful children going to the playground. We didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable like I had expected it to be. The atmosphere didn’t feel too terribly different from any other time we had gotten lunch together.

  The feeling of familiarity and comfort was immediately robbed from us, as the elevator doors opened to reveal Al’s chiseled face.

  “Oh, hi! Am I interrupting something?” Al asked casually.

  “Actually—” Eric began.

  “We’re just going to get some lunch,” I butted in.

  The jerk Eric had apologized for being the day before returned with a sideways glance and half-hearted scowl. Al caught on to Eric’s sudden shift in attitude, and took it upon himself to relieve the tension.

  “I won’t keep you, then. Angie, would you mind showing me around the rest of the building later? Whenever you’re available, that is?” Al asked politely, ushering us past him into the lift.

  “Sure, uh… do you want to ride back down to your floor with us?” I asked.

  “No, no, no. That’s alright. I’ll take the next one,” Al said with a slick grin as the doors closed between us.

  The feeling of comfort had all but disappeared, while Eric stood rigidly beside me. I shook my head at myself, running over in my mind the cobweb of drama I had unintentionally weaved. Lakin was upset about Eric. Eric was upset about Al. Al, well… Al wasn’t upset about anything, but I was upset about everything.

  Neither of us uttered a word as we made our way through the food queue in Caf 1. I glanced around at the various scientists who were enjoying a midday snack or cup of coffee. Some sat alone, surrounded by piles of paperwork, while others chatted merrily in groups about who-knows-what.

  “Good morning, Angie!” Paula called from behind a mound of sausage links, her hairnet gradually migrating down to her eyebrows.

  “It’s about noon, isn’t it, Paula?” I asked, letting a few pancakes fall onto my plate with a muffled thud.

  “Morning for you, though.” she winked. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, what kind of cake do you want for your birthday?”

  I was stunned that I had managed to forget my own birthday was coming up. I would be turning eighteen in just a couple of weeks, not that it made any sort of difference inside The Facility. Cake was the only real reason to look forward to birthdays. Paula was a Molecular Gastronomist, but was rarely able to share her amazing talents. Birthdays were among the few rare occasions when she could really shine. For my seventeenth birthday, she had made a chocolate and winter-mint cake; each bite emitted a puff of fog from your mouth—it was freakin’ magical.


  “Surprise me!” I exclaimed, knowing whatever she’d decide to make would be absolutely amazing.

  “You bet I will,” Paula said happily.

  After an enjoyable exchange with the chef, I had almost forgotten that Eric was acting like a jerkwad. I followed him silently to a table at the back of the room. As we sat across from each other, I was able to see a stressed look on his face. He looked like a child who had just been mugged of his scooter by the neighborhood bully.

  “Are you just going to fume for the rest of the day?” I asked blatantly, taking a bite of pancakes, which had been massacred with syrup.

  “No.” Eric was quick to respond.

  “Good,” I said through a mouthful of deliciousness.

  “Why was Al going to your apartment?” Eric asked accusingly.

  “Gee, I don’t know. He did ask if I would show him around later. Perhaps he was hoping I would be free to do it now. He’s also my therapist, so maybe he just wanted to poke at my brain with a stick,” I said. I was a bit ashamed of my minor air of snobbery, but didn’t care enough to apologize.

  “None of your other therapists made house calls,” Eric murmured in a low tone.

  “They most certainly did! It just didn’t bother you, because they were all old and furry. What, exactly, is your problem with Al?” I questioned, dropping my fork with a clink.

  “I already told you. It’s obvious that the only reason they brought him here is for you to fall for him. You sure seemed quick to trust him.” Eric grimaced, arms crossed.

  “Just because I’m being nice to him doesn’t mean I trust him. Honestly, Eric, listen to yourself. You’re acting like a… like a jealous little… like a jealous little hamster!” I said, rolling my eyes at myself for desperately latching onto the first words I could think of.

  “A jealous little hamster? What does that even mean?” Eric asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “I… I don’t kn—The point is that you’re jealous, and of my shrink none-the-less. It’s completely ridiculous,” I concluded, returning to my pancakes.

  Eric stared blankly at me for a moment, before rising to his feet. He said nothing as he picked up his plate of uneaten food, and made his way toward the door.

  “I guess I’ll see you later, then,” I called, but received no response.

  I finished my food in lonely silence, reconsidering the abnormal feelings of attraction toward Eric that I had experienced earlier. I deduced that receiving my first conscious kiss had sent my hormones into a frenzy, and had confused me into believing the boy who had been standing in front of me was some sort of gorgeous, mature god. I convinced myself that I would not be making that mistake again, as I walked the remainder of my plate to the compost bin.

  “Everything alright, Angie?” Paula asked before I could make my way out the door.

  “Everything is always alright, Paula,” I replied with a weak smile.

  “That’s my girl. You want to know a secret?” she asked, leaning over a tray of biscuits, so as not to let anyone else hear.

  “What?” I asked curiously.

  “Boys are dumb,” she said, nudging me gently on the chin with her balled fist.

  “You know… I had my suspicions.” I smiled, actually feeling a bit cheerier.

  Lakin’s face found its way into my mind as I trotted toward the elevator. I imagined a growing look of despair in his clouded eyes, as he witnessed my encounter with Eric. ‘No,’ I thought, ‘I’m not going to deal with it yet.’ I cleared my mind with a sigh, as the lift opened to the intensely-lit eleventh floor. I passed sterile, white doors, all identical except for small, black numbers bolted below the peepholes. I came to a halt in front of number twenty-two and was about to knock, when the door opened in front of me.

  “Help!” Al shouted at me, panic saturating every fiber of his being.

  “What? Are you okay?! What is it?” I screamed in terror as he dragged me by the arm into the miniature apartment.

  My eyes shifted, expecting to find a fire, or maybe a giant spider. Al leaped to the small kitchen area, struggling with something he had smothered in a towel on the counter. A brownish, grimy-looking liquid had seeped down the cupboards onto the floor, inching its way toward my feet. I tip-toed around the fluid, until I was an arm hair’s length from the frantic therapist.

  “It won’t stop!” Al exclaimed.

  “What is it?” I frowned.

  I imagined some sort of strange, dying creature lying helplessly under the damp fabric. I reached hesitantly for the towel, sweeping it to the floor in one swift motion.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I scoffed.

  There, in the middle of Al’s countertop, was a mangled coffee-maker, spewing scalding, brown liquid from all the places it wasn’t meant to be spewing from. I looked at Al in amazement, before yanking the cord from the outlet behind it. The machine continued to percolate for a moment, then died out with a pitiful hiss.

  “That’s one way to do it,” Al said breathlessly.

  I was at a loss for words. The man who was supposed to be evaluating my mental health on a daily basis had just been attacked by a coffee maker. It wasn’t very reassuring.

  “Are you a child, posing as an adult?” I asked insultingly.

  “I’m just not used to violent kitchen appliances,” Al explained, smirking as he scooted the towel around on the floor with his foot.

  “Excuses, excuses,” I said.

  While I watched Al clean up the bloody remains of the Great Java War of 2012, my thoughts circled in on one, tiny detail I most likely would have missed, had I been any sort of useful in helping to tidy up the mess.

  “Hey, how did you know I was outside?” I questioned.

  “What? I heard you knock,” Al said innocently from the floor.

  “You opened the door before I knocked.” My eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Oh. I thought I heard it,” Al said pensively, pausing his floor-scrubbing duties for a brief moment.

  “No, I definitely did not knock,” I stated adamantly.

  “Hmm…” Al shrugged, returning his attention to the floor.

  Al reminded me of myself, in that instant; he was a very convincing liar. I, however, was not fooled. My eyes flickered up to the small camera in the corner of the room, then back to the man on the floor. I wondered if he was a psychic of some sort, if he had sensed me approaching the door. I knew Lakin would laugh at me later for the idea. He would call me paranoid and obsessed with the unlikely.

  Just as the thought of Lakin’s probable response crossed my mind, I noticed Al suppress a chuckle. I had been watching him intently while my mind wandered. Was he actually psychic? Had he been able to see or hear my thoughts about Lakin? Was he still listening?

  The glittering, blue eyes connected with mine, showing the same oceans of knowledge I thought I had seen the night before when he wished me sweet dreams. My heart felt as though it was about to migrate up through my throat and land on the newly-polished linoleum. I held my breath, waiting eagerly for Al to give me some hint that I was on the right track.

  “How about that tour, then?” he asked, pushing himself to his feet.

  A sigh of disappointment escaped me, releasing my entire body from the tight, internal chains of anxiety. Lakin was right, I was paranoid and obsessed with the unlikely.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Wardrobe Malfunction

  It had been approximately seventy-two hours since I last slept. I kept myself locked up in my apartment, avoiding everyone in the real world as well as in my dreams. I stared at myself in the mirror, prodding at the dark shadows that had taken up residency beneath my eyes. The first thirty-six hours weren’t too bad, but not long after, a sense of surrealism had begun to consume me. I lived on coffee, even though it seemed to have lost its influence around hour-forty. I spent the majority of my time as a zombie, sitting on the couch watching old British sitcoms, and laughing at jokes I didn’t really understand.

  I was terrified at
the thought of confronting Lakin about the incident with Eric. I hadn’t spoken to Mr. Smoochy-Face since he stormed out of Caf 1. The last time I could remember having a fight with him, I was around eight years old. He wouldn’t let me play with his new scooter, so I punched him in the face; we didn’t talk for an entire four hours. Our most recent conflict seemed significantly worse.

  In the epitome of my forced insomnia, I imagined possibility after possibility of how Lakin could react when I told him about what had happened between me and Eric. The imaginings started with simple, heated arguments, but as my lack of sleep progressed, I began picturing fantastical things. I visualized Lakin willing a dragon into the Room to eat my face. I imagined him with a greasy, pointed mustache, villainously tying me up to a train track. I pictured him force-feeding me spoonful after spoonful of sauerkraut. I shuddered.

  I was brought back from my imagination by a few loud raps at the front door. I wasn’t entirely aware of how my body was still functioning, but my feet managed to carry me through the living room. I glanced quickly to the microwave; four o’clock. I looked at my hologram-window to determine whether it was morning or afternoon. Little, chirping birds told me that I did not have a mysterious, late-night visitor.

  I slowly pulled the door open to Al’s annoyingly cheerful face. It probably wasn’t actually annoying, but everything is irritating when you haven’t slept for a billion years. Al’s smile subsided when he noticed how horrendous I looked.