Void vs Yearning Part 2

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE.

My chemically induced elevation must have worn off by now because I'm not feeling anything but disappointment and confusion. I don't remember the trip to the room or back, but there had to be a mode of transportation, right?

I've been in every room in this building and none them are like that one.

I place my grabber on the print identifier beside the door to unlock it and step out.

Does she work here or something?

Nah, I would have remembered her name. I've crossed every other worker at Triple D and I'm pretty sure she would have stood out.

Those tattoos, though.

What facility could she be from where they condoned that?

At Superhuman Santuary nobody could even get away with dying their veil.

Every facility is a unit made up of all mechanical beings that inhibit the building.

There's no way she would fit anywhere with all those ink drawings on her arms and face. I'm pretty sure I spotted a collage of a red electric guitar surrounded by bolts of lightning on one arm.

Wild.

Interesting, but wild.

Hmm maybe she doesn't have a home, you know, because of her tattoos and stuff.

Nah, she doesn't look like she's struggling.

Unless she gets money by giving tattoos secretly. That's her job isn't it?!

I've heard of people doing that illegally. I bet there's at least one person in every facility that has a secret tattoo and is slick enough to get away with it.

I notice Harry working hard on a car repairment.

You know, he always seems to find out about secret shit. Maybe...

"Yo Harry!" I say urgently

"AHH" he flinches "Moon! Wow..uh didn't see you comin'! Just working on this car or whatever, nothing crazy....unless you think there's something you think I could do better!, I would love to..Uh.....do ...better"

"No man, I wanna ask you something,"

I say grabbing my tool belt preparing to help on the car. I mean, honestly, he was doing a fine job but I need to be in close proximity to avoid anyone over hearing.

We're talking secrets here.

"So I notice you always seem to be in the loop about private stuff. Am I right?"

"I-hehe is that obvious?", he giggles nervously.

"Very. But relax, I'm not confronting you. I'm asking because I want to know something about the tattoo community. Do you know anyone involved in it?"

"Do I?! I'm part of the community myself, damnit!" he says excitedly as if he can't get in trouble for that.

"Wait, huh?"

"Yeah, every now and then we get together and have a blast I tell ya! They even talked me into get inked on my-"

"Wait-"

How is blabbermouth Harry managing to get away with a tattoo? Huh, the guy is full of surprises I guess? I don't know.

"So you do know some tattoo artists?", I cut him off. I might really be on to something.

"Well, yeah! And people that have tattoos. All of us in town know each other and hang out when we can, you should meet them!"

"All of you in town?!" I ask suprised.

" Yeah well, there's not much of us. I would say....equivalent to a small elementary school or something. We usually meet online, secret chats, you know."

Okay, so if the girl is from here, he would have to know her.

"Do you know a girl with long black hair, Hawaiian background, caramel skin tone sustainer tattoo on her face, the cute kind I mean, arms have a bunch of little tattoos but one of them have a big electric guitar with lightning bolts around them."

Hawaiian. I remember.

I don't remember her saying it, though.

"Wooow. Specific," Harry says impressed,

"but what's her name?"

"Aruh...uh..damn."

I knew for a second. I knew it. I had it in my head then it disappeared. When did I hear it?

"Well I'm sorry but based on the description, it doesn't ring a bell. Why do you need to find this girl?" Harry asks.

"I-It's private. Thanks anyways, though".

"Anything for Moon Castillo!" He says with a big smile stretched across his face.

I walk away disappointed and step into the transportation sector to go up to the Building Department.

I don't want to tell anyone what I think about this girl, how I felt around her or why I have to find her. Mainly because I'm not really sure what that feeling was myself. I just know it was good and only comes with her.

******

The rest of the day was a blur. I moved on autopilot while replaying my meeting with the girl over and over again in my processor. Nobody talked to me and I never talked to them. Which isn't rare behavior in itself but, you know, different reasons.

Why can't I think about anything else?

It was different in the moment, but now that I'm home I just feel disappointment that I'm not there with her and I don't know how to get around her again.

I step into my hygiene chamber and stand there as the waterproof washing rods with the wash cloths at the ends work to scrub my sheath with soap specifically tailored to my sheath design (coupled with special products for my face and private area). As the walk pad exfoliators built into the imprints on the chamber floor massage my soles, I exhale deeply.

Maybe my system just isn't used to the stimulus of everything in that moment. It's not like I have ever been through anything like that before. I think I remember Cindy saying something about the human machine sometimes having to replay events to come to terms with it.

The grabbers at the top of the chamber extend down to massage, groom and rinse my veil with the products specifically formulated for the biological information and needs of it.

I need a break. No way I'll fall asleep tonight like this. Unless.....

I open my mouth to allow for cleaning.

I know what I need tonight.

I am gently dried off, moisturized and wrapped in a robe before being transported by the gliding pathways that lead to the sleeping areas. The second I get in I pull on underwear and one of my silver velvet nightwear uniforms.

I pull my veil into a bun and crawl into my bed.

We're sleeping good tonight.

I reach up to the little jewel on my veil tie and press down to activate it.

It's a secret microchip that I got from Cindy when I was struggling with nightmares.

I told her I needed something discrete. I didn't want anyone finding it under my pillow or in the Clothes Washing Department or anything like that. She showed me a collection of veil ties with dream controlling microchips disguised as jewels. You press down on it and think about what you want to dream about. The microchip receives the information from your processor (the veil acts as an antenna in this case) and it enables you to dream about whatever you choose.

I lay down, close my lenses and picture the two faces that can steal my focus from anything.

Mama and Daddy.

Both of my parents were born and raised in the Dominican Republic and moved to Canada when they were 18. Why Canada? Who knows. They never mentioned it. Neither of them really went into details about their childhoods, upbringing, or family members. All I know is that they left it all behind when they decided to study mechanics in a foreign country.

Daddy was always a straight forward guy, All the way down to his clean cut look. He had olive sheath tone and big, thick ringlet curls like I do. His thick, curly veil was always slicked to perfection with a sharp side part, giving a wavy appearance on his head. Daddy always had a clean shave except for maybe a couple of times that I can recall seeing him with a mustache. I assumed he was feeling adventurous.

Everything was fact with him.

He was never the type to make cheesy jokes or tell made up stories before bed. Every story he had every told me had been things he had witnessed, experienced or actual events he had heard about in his life. Every now and then I would catch him giggling or smirking when nobody else was looking. Most of the time he would force friendly giggles and smiles in public. You know, the type of laugh that people do when they really don't find anything funny but a laugh comes out anyways because they know that's what they're supposed to do.

The only time he would genuinely laugh or smile was around me or Mama, and even that was rare. I could tell when it was real because his whole face showed amusement. His lenses would brighten, the top of his face would wrinkle and he would clap his grabbers uncontrollably. The first time I had ever seen my father have that much expression was at 4 years old when I built my own bike.

"Who taught you how did you do that, Mija! Oh my goodness, my baby, the genius!"

He exclaimed loud and excited while lifting me up and spinning me around. Ever since then, our times together consisted of building and repairing together.

That was our special thing.

He taught me everything I know today about Mechanical Engineering.

Mama on the other hand, never had a problem showing emotions. Her full, pouty lips were always fixed into a slight grin and her eyes beamed with kindness without her even being conscious of it. Her light brown sheath always seemed to radiate with the love she had inside her. That was my theory for her for her glow at least.

Daddy always used to say she was born with a light bulb in her *fuel hold and that's why she glows.

She was always wearing cherry red lipstick and her shiny black veil styled in neat pin up curls brushing passed her shoulders. It was only at home or on days off that I would see her natural lip color and big curly veil that grew outwards in spiraled patterns, just a little tighter than mine.

She was a mother out of a fairytale.

She never wanted me to play with gadgets or electronics. She built toys with me and we would play with them together.

Sometimes, Daddy would even join in.

"You're processor is just as capable, if not more, than half the gadgets they're selling out there," she would tell me.

She read books off the story gadget we used to have. There was an automated voice included in the gadget stories but she always chose to read it herself. Which was perfect because there was no voice more soothing than Mama's.

After Daddy died, Mama's voice changed a bit. It remained soothing but I always noticed the underlying sadness in her tone. I couldn't explain it at the time, though.

Only Mama and I know that Daddy's death was self inflicted. To everybody else it was an accidental death caused by a fatal electrocution in the work place.

Daddy had left two DVDs behind before the incident.

I remember one was labelled Por Marie y Luna

I vaguely remember him talking about always feeling like he wasn't supposed to be here in the video. He didn't feel like he was cut out for this world. I remember he mentioned seeing professionals for the malfunction in his processor that made him feel the way he did. I remember the troubled look on his face through the whole video. I remember the way his voice kept trembling. I remember him saying "I'm so sorry" after every few sentences. I remember him saying we brought something good to his existence. That he loved us. And then he said goodbye.......

I remember the way Mama broke down when we find out about what Daddy did. The way water seemed to pour out of her lenses uncontrollably.

The way the liquid supply just kept refilling.

It was the first time I had learned what crying was.

When I felt the liquid coming out of my lenses is when I realized it wasn't an action either of us could control.

Well, at least before I trained myself to.

I was 8 years old.

The last time I cried was 13 years old.

That was when Mama died.

It was reported that a foreign substance was attacking her system, causing her to die suddenly.

The next day I took both DVDs Daddy left behind and kept them with me as I was headed to Superhuman Santuary.

In honor of their memory.

At 22 years old, I still keep them in a private contraption I built in my closet.

At 22 years old, I still haven't brought myself to watch the second DVD labeled Por Marie.

I don't like crying.

Wait, I don't want to dream about how they died.

C'mon think about the cute stuff.

Back when we lived in one of those facilities for families. Big enough for every family to have their own sector, equivalent to an apartment suite. The bedroom had three beds, one per person. Mama and Daddy always ignored it and slept in the same bed. They would always remind me not to tell anybody at school that they do this. I found out later in life that it is not necessarily normal...or encouraged for parents to do so.

Most nights I would end up laying there between them. One of Mama's reach rods wrapped around me, while the other gently stroked my veil. I would ramble on and on, just saying whatever popped into my processor.

Daddy would grin and giggle sayjng things like,

"Oh really?...then what happened, Mija?.....Oh no....then what did you do?....oh my goodness".

When I drift to sleep Mama will have her reach rod around me while stroking my veil and Daddy will be laying right before me asking about the girl I think I know as I tell them everything that happened when I woke up in that dark room.