The rest of the way to school was perfect; he was my puppet. I dragged him by the wrist and didn't let go until we were at his classroom, leaving my touch on his skin. I went to my class, knowing he'd use that time to think up some foolish plan.
At lunchtime, he didn't keep me waiting; I went straight to the restroom because I knew he'd hide there. I found him talking to Mark, that invisible boy, who confirmed someone had fallen onto the subway tracks. I was glad he knew the truth about the accident. I approached, and Mark froze.
— Mark: I better go.
— Me: (T/N), I was waiting for you, why are you talking to others? I heard you talking about the subway; I told you, don't talk about nightmares. You have to listen to me: I'm the only one who knows what's best for you. I don't want you to ruin this wonderful day again; behave.
I stroked his cheek, a soft warning. He understood that it's useless to investigate or talk to anyone else.
I resumed my kind tone and forced him to have lunch with me. When he asked about the accident again, I smiled at him: "Oh, (T/N), I already told you, you had a very vivid nightmare; I'm here to protect you." He accepted my lie.
His mission changed: feign obedience. He asked how I found him so quickly:
— Me: Let's just say I watch you everywhere, (T/N); I always make sure I keep my valuables close by. Focus on your sandwich.
He froze; he understood that to me, he is a possession.
Then, he made his biggest mistake: he asked about Alex.
— Me: I don't know who you're talking about. Don't talk about irrelevant people who aren't here anymore; only you and I matter.
I cornered him against the lockers and pressed him: "Do you need me to remind you again that I'm only here to help you?" He surrendered again. Good boy.
I invited him to my house so he wouldn't be alone, with the excuse of "helping" him with his History essay. He accepted; my house is the safest prison.
On the way, I told him a bit about my past: people called me a "robot" for being perfect. I explained that my control is meant to "fix" the disorder: "Once I understood the rules, (T/N), I understood that if you are perfect, you have the right to fix what is broken."
We arrived at my house. He asked to go to the bathroom, and I knew he'd try something. I heard him turn on the faucet and, knowing he'd use his phone, I went to the door and knocked: "Are you okay, (T/N)? You're taking too long."
He got scared. He thinks he's clever, but I'm cleverer, so I'll play along for now. He came out, smiling falsely. He told me he was sorry, but in his eyes I saw fear: he already knew about Alex's death.
It's a pity, he's in my house, and I control the pace; there's nowhere to run, (T/N).
(T/N) came out of the bathroom scared; I knew the truth about Alex's death had impacted him. I smiled at him, for perfection demands focus, and I led him to my study. I gave him the History lesson: "If you don't define disorder, disorder consumes you." He understood that Alex was my disorder; I explained to him that mediocrity is the disorder and that I help restore balance.
While I was looking for a book, I caught him trying to pull out his phone; I quickly put a book next to him: "Ah, here it is!" He pulled his hand back, but his oppressive silence confirmed he was still investigating.
I decided to give him a break for the movie. I went to the living room, giving him a chance, as always. When I returned, I noticed his paleness; he must have seen the scrapbook. I leave it visible because he is my possession, and he must know me. In it, he saw my truth: my triumph and the hated competition from Alex, with the subway clipping underlined: Finally at peace. He already had proof that I celebrate my control.
In the living room, we talked about the film and how I like to end imperfection. Curious, he asked me about Alex. I gave him the official truth: "Alex committed suicide, feeling cornered," and then my truth: "Some things are better left uncertain, (T/N); curiosity is dangerous."
He insisted on the subway, on his "dream" of returning to life. I told him my theory.
— Me: The subway is a strange place; there are things that move beneath the tracks. When something final happens, as with Alex, the place swallows a part of them.
I told him about the night of Alex's death and how he sent me a photo of the creatures in the darkness and his last sentence: "They're here, they're looking for me." My voice cracked; I felt empty after that, as if the subway had stolen my ability to feel. That's why I know the place is real.
The time for confidences was over; he stood up, scared, but with a decision in his eyes that terrified me.
— (T/N): I need to go there.
— Me: No, (T/N). Something in that place doesn't want you to return. If you go back, it will catch you, too.
I saw his fear, but even more, his resolve.
— (T/N): I'm sorry. I have to do this. If that place turned you into who you are now, I have to find a way to fix it.
He thinks he can save me. It hurt, but I couldn't physically stop him; he left. My warning, however, echoed: curiosity is dangerous. My puppet has cut his strings. It's time to tighten the knot. Outside, the shadows were long and winding, as if something were moving underground.
Autor:
I'm not sure if I should continue the story, although I tried my best to summarize Chloe's point of view. By the way, a romantic rival for Chloe will be introduced in the upcoming chapters.