Void walked away from Keira with a grin stapled to her face, the kind that said, "Look at me, emotionally functional and completely normal, haha, just fucking kill me." Keira had waved, tossed her a wink, and disappeared behind the garage's sliding door, blissfully unaware of the emotional crater left behind. Not her fault - Void had made sure of that.
She turned the corner onto a cracked sidewalk and started walking towards home. Evening settled over her like a jacket picked for appearance, not warmth - just like her: good enough to pass at a glance, useless up close. Streetlights blinked on one by one, casting pale cones that tried to be comforting but mostly just reminded her of how alone she looked when illuminated.
"There it is," she thought, her internal voice already pacing. "The Void Special post-connection crash. Comes free with every mildly affectionate interaction and stays for hours. Or days. Or years. Who's counting."
Keira had done everything right. She'd been warm, open. She'd looked at Void like she was something interesting, not broken. And Void? She smiled, nodded, played the part, then ran the second the moment ended. Because why ruin a good thing when you can quietly bleed out the potential all by yourself?
A couple passed by, laughing. Hands tangled, matching stride. Of course - the universe needed to rub some salt into her open wounds, as always.
"Lovebirds spotted. Hope they enjoy their limited-time trial before trauma sets in."
She kicked a stone into the gutter. It hit metal and skittered out of sight.
"Amazing. Even trash is better at getting away than I am."
The city was alive in that background-hum sort of way. It never saw her, never cared, and that suited her just fine, she thought. Being seen meant being known. And being known? That was dangerous. That was vulnerability. That was a countdown to abandonment with extra steps.
"It's always the same," she thought bitterly. "You get close. You start to care. You think: no, no, no. This time, it'll be different. Maybe you're not just a human crash test dummy for other people's growth. And then? Poof. Gone. Or worse: still there, just bored."
The worst thing wasn't being dumped. The worst thing was being forgotten.
She crossed the street, boots loud on the pavement. Every step felt heavier than it should've. She wasn't tired. Not physically. But there was a hollowness in her chest that walked with her, companionable as ever.
The kind that whispered, "This is what you get. You don't know how to hold anyone close without cutting them open."
Void had friends. Lots of them, technically. Friends who invited her out, called her cool, even thanked her for existing during the right mood swings. And yet, somehow, the loneliness stuck like tar. She could be in a room full of people who adored her and still feel like a fucking exhibit behind bulletproof glass.
"Look," they'd say, "There's Void. So funny. So smart. So edgy. So not crying in the shower twice a week."
"You're the fun one," she thought, passing a broken storefront. "You're the keeper of everyone's secrets. The reliable one. The girl people vent to when they've emotionally wrecked themselves trying to chase some unavailable loser they call 'the one.'"
And then they'd leave.
Not out of malice. Just... Drift. Like smoke. Like it never mattered.
Like she never mattered.
She hated how even her fictional characters were doing better. Somehow, despite all the cybernetic trauma and government conspiracies, her own creations managed to form deeper, more intimate relationships than she ever could.
"They at least have conflict," she thought, scowling at her reflection in a shop window. "You? You make everything too easy. Too safe, boring. No stakes. Nothing to fight for. Just... You. A blank fucking canvas nobody wants to paint on."
That was the thought that had sucker-punched her earlier. She kept watching her friends' relationships: messy, chaotic, full of love that clawed its way through real struggle - and realized hers had always been peaceful. Ideal and safe. Dead, in a way.
Because nothing was threatening to rip it apart.
Except her.
She turned down the alley behind her apartment block. The shortcut she always took when she wanted fewer eyes. Fewer chances to feel the sting of seeing someone else be held the way she'd give anything to be held.
"You don't want peace," she whispered to herself, vicious. "You want someone to suffer with. You want shared trauma. You want war stories to stitch into your skin and say, 'Look. We survived this. We're real.'"
That was so fucking pathetic.
She was pathetic.
And even knowing that didn't stop the wanting. Didn't stop the part of her that ached to be needed in some catastrophic way. Not just liked or tolerated. Needed.
But that never happened.
Because she was replaceable. Comfortable, but ultimately forgettable.
And the worst part? She tried to be better. To talk, maybe open up. And every time she peeled back a layer, it was met with discomfort or that awful, gentle smile people gave when they didn't know how to say, "That's a bit much."
So she stopped. So she laughed. So she told herself being alone was a choice.
She reached her door and stared at it like it might hiss and vanish if she blinked too slowly. She opened it. The flat greeted her like it always did: quiet, dim, clean, with an occasional wire scattered on the floor.
She took off her shirt, kicked off her boots, and sank onto the bed. The ceiling stared back.
Her phone buzzed, but she didn't care enough to move.
"Maybe it's someone who cares," her brain offered. Then: "Or maybe it's just someone who needs something from you. Again."
She knew people cared. She wasn't stupid - there were friends. Communities. Girls who said they admired her, even loved her once. But none of them knew her. Not the part buried under five miles of wit and self-defense, the part radiating with exhaustion.
Keira didn't know either. Sure, she had her suspicions, but Void wouldn't dare confirming them.
Because how do you say, "I want to matter so much it hurts, and I hate myself for it," without watching someone slowly fuck off?
You don't. You write a story about it - stuff it into fiction. You give your pain a cool haircut and let her kiss someone under firelight while pretending you're above it all.
She curled into herself, arms around her ribs like she could physically hold in the ache.
"You're surrounded by people, and still somehow terminally alone - must be a fucking talent. Should put that on your resume. 'Emotionally available to everyone except myself.'"
She hated herself for crying, alas, she just couldn't hold it that evening.
It wasn't loud, nor cinematic.
Just her on the bed, in the dark, leaking.
That horrible ache that lived just beneath the surface had finally cracked its shell. And all she could do was let it happen. She thought if she got it all out tonight, she wouldn't wake up wanting to give up entirely.
Again. Spiraling like baby-trans folks over all the fucking "lost years" of life. On the clock, every year, every July. The itch to pull away had always crept back.
Void let the silence sit a moment longer, then breathed out a dry laugh. "I suppose I understand you now, Aura." She ran a hand through her own hair, staring blankly at the floor.
"Thanks for giving me a shot at this..." she murmured, then paused. Her gaze shifted toward the vibrant violet glow of Eitria's print chamber. Pulsing. Waiting.
"...but I think I'll just keep talking to machines."
She laughed through her tears.
"Maybe tomorrow," once again thinking harsh, "you'll wake up and be someone lovable. Or at least someone who doesn't look in the mirror and see a fucking caution sign."
It sounded like a joke no one else would find funny.
Soon after, she fell asleep.
Void shot up like she'd just been dropped from the 9th floor.
Air sharp in her lungs, hands twitching. A wake-up that didn't feel like rest at all - more like coming back from something she wasn't really supposed to leave.
She sat up slowly, blinking into the dark. The blanket was halfway across the bed, her cheek pressed into a damp patch where she'd cried herself to sleep.
She didn't remember the dream. Just the warm voice - unmistakable in its gentleness: a memory she hadn't meant to keep.
"You're not unlovable, Void. You're just standing at the edge of the puzzle I never managed to solve. Don't stop here, Void. Please - finish what I couldn't."