I am not upset that he tried to manipulate my emotions—no; such tactics would not be beneath a highblood. I am upset, I am furious, that after going so long without feeling anything my first sensation is of manufactured love. And now I cannot enjoy the array of emotions I did not know I missed until now; I cannot appreciate anything at all. A small part of the enormous computing power I now possess wonders if fury is a side effect of having such high blood, if I am not only being manipulated into loving someone but hating them also.
I am shouting at him, screaming at him, demanding that he take out the chip that is trying to turn anger to love. I don't want to be influenced by outside forces anymore. I want my new, more superior, blood to give me not power over others but over myself. Yet I now understand the difficulty of controlling oneself, even when my mental and physical abilities far exceed any I've had before. This is the voice of blue, anger and rage, so different from those of the dead. For the moment it is tolerable, unlike the chip in my heart. I rip out my own heart and slam it down mercilessly before it breaks. Yet that is not enough, for myself nor my blood, which begs me to make him pay.
And I do. I beat him and then, because I hate the feeling of owing him something other than violence, kiss him. I do not love him, and I never will. I kiss him because he made me this body, this wonderful emotive body, and this is the only way I can think to repay him. It isn't long before I remember why I am here in the first place, why I was dead.
Once again my blood begs for revenge, and once again I give in. I leave him to find Vriska, to get the payback this body demands. I am not who I was before my death; that much is obvious. But it's her fault that I was left emotionless for so long, it's her fault that now my most dominant emotion seems to be hate.
Everything happens because it must. If I must be manipulated by my own blood, if I must be part of countless doomed timelines, then it will happen. I am not upset by my current situation because I know there is no way to avoid it. I know this, and have long since accepted it. So why do I have a sneaking suspicion that my heart has been broken, not by my own hand, but by the realization that everything that must happen will tear everything apart?