I have so many things I want to do with this story, so it's hard to decide which ideas to incorporate. Hopefully the story won't be too confusing.
After rereading the story, I've decided to go back and do some editing. After I have Chapter 10 published, I'm going to go back and tweak some things. I'll make Wheatley's POV sound more like Wheatley and add more of Space's dialogue.
Chapter 9: Split in Two
Quite frankly, I'm terrified.
It's been a while since we stopped moving, and Chell still hasn't come back. I'm beginning to think she's not going to.
"Lady!" I call, hoping she can still hear me. "Are- Are you still there? You're- You're not just going to leave me here, are you? I mean- I mean- I- I do understand you probably hate me, and rightly so, but honestly- Leaving me here- That's going a little far, isn't it?" I wait for a response.
Nothing. No answer of any kind whatsoever, except for the irritating patter of raindrops against what I'm assuming is a plastic bag. "Lady? C'mon, please don't leave me here. C'mon. Really. Please. Lady? Lady! Please! Please- C'mon- I'm begging you! You can't just leave me here! Please! Come on! Please, lady! Please! Come back! Please come back! Whatever you do, don't leave me here..."
She's not coming back, is she? I think, a tight ball of sadness and other emotions rising inside me.
No, she's got to come back. Another part of me desperately hopes. She has to.
"Please... Come back." I continue calling, screaming, crying, wailing, begging, pleading, on and on for so long I lose track of time. I know in my heart that she's not coming back, but I keep on forcing sound to come out of my speakers. And I don't stop until my voice fades into the soft sound of my sobs.
I don't know when I'm going back for Wheatley, if ever. Even if it's only to dispose of him. I'll probably have to at some point, because Wanda doesn't deserve to have a shrieking robot stuck in her tree forever.
But I push that thought away, trying to focus on the others swirling inside my head. I suddenly find that there is nothing to think about. I'm empty. Numb tears roll down my cheeks as I slowly rock myself back and forth on my bed. Pathetically, I'm curled up in a fetal position, arms wrapped around myself. The one thing I am glad for now is that I am in my own home so I can settle down a bit. After patching my scrape and letting me dry off a bit more, Wanda drove me back here. But it's hard to calm down when I can hear the Space Core screaming in worry for his lost friend. And right now, closed in my room, I have no motivation to get up and try to console him. The rain has stopped, so at least that makes it a little bit more quiet.
I don't cope well with big shocks or changes. In fact, I've never dealt well with emotion at all. Feelings are complex things, and they are hard to understand. Part of me wonders if it would have been wiser to avoid this all by simply leaving Wheatley floating in space. It's probably true. But I've brought this upon myself, and somehow I've got to get through it.
I can't.
I take the next two days off work. Most of the day I spend in the same position, curled up on the bed. I only get up to use the bathroom, and that's it. IFood and water, I ignore. I just stay in bed. I'm not really sure why I do this, honestly. I'm not sure about anything. I guess that I just have no motivation to lift myself out of bed. Most of the nighttime I spend awake, but occasionally my tired eyes will slide closed and I will fall asleep. When this happens, the nightmares that have been absent since Wheatley's return come back, this time with horrifying force, and startle me awake again. I think I hear the chime of the doorbell a few times, but I ignore it, just as I do everything else. I spend the hours laying there with no sense of time and barely any emotion. I'm a wreck. Why do anything, anyway? It's pointless. Life is pointless. I float through those days with an empty soul, feeling like a ghost.
I am broken.
It is Wednesday morning, and here I am. The elevator doors open and I step out into the long hallway of cubicles where I work. I'm tired and probably looking terrible, but I forced myself to go anyway. As I trudge down the hallway toward my cubicle, I keep my eyes on the floor.
"Chell?"
I look up. There, standing in a group together, are a large number of my colleagues. The voice that spoke was Amy, the woman in the cubicle next to mine. Her long and straight red-brown hair hangs down around her as she blinks her hazel eyes at me, awaiting some sort of response. Every head immediately turns to me, and I see the faces of the other people in the small crowd. Wanda's there, along with Rob, Caroline, Linda, Dave, and of course, Amy. Even Brock Cankell, the very owner of BetaByte, Inc. himself, stands before me. These are all people I've come to know because of this job.
Linda, my supervisor, stands with paper and pen in hand, blond hair pulled back in a braid and intelligent blue-green eyes focused on me.
Caroline is here too. I try not to talk to her much because she reminds me of the past. Her cold voice sounds too much like GLaDOS's for my taste, and her hazel eyes seem unnaturally yellow, like the ocular of the supercomputer who controls Aperture.
Dave, the short but helpful guy who works in the cubicle across from me, only blinks at me with his chocolate brown eyes, thick and silky brunette hair slightly reflecting the light.
"Well, look at who finally decided to show her pretty face!" Rob exclaims, starling icy blue eyes locking onto me. He reaches out to touch my arm, but I flinch away. Rob was a great friend when I first met him, but now he just creeps me out. He's always been friendly toward me, but now he's being a little too friendly, and I'm not sure I want to hang around him anymore. "Denied, huh?" he says with a slight laugh, stepping back. "Well, you can't blame me for being happy to see you. Everyone here's been going crazy trying to find you."
Looking for me? I think in confusion. I glance briefly into Rob's eyes, then turn my gaze back to the others.
"You're alright." Dave finally exhales, letting out a relieved breath.
"I'm glad you're back." Amy tells me with a small smile.
My eyes flick from person to person in confusion and suspicion. Absentmindedly, I raise a hand and rub at my right eye.
"I think I speak for all of us when I say we've been worried sick." Linda explains. A few people nod in agreement.
"The whole company has been worried." Mr. Cankell (or Brock, he insists we call him Brock) says, making erratic hand gestures to accompany his words, as usual.
"You came at just the right time, too." Linda adds. She briefly turns back to face the crowd. "Is anybody dialing the police station?" she asks quietly.
"I'm on it."Amy responds, whipping out her cell phone and punching in a string of numbers.
The police? What in the world is going on here? I think in panic.
"We called the cops." Caroline says in her smooth, slightly creepy voice, a lock of her long, whitish blond hair falling over her face. "They're on their way to your house to look for you." Her voice is low and anxious. "We called because you weren't answering our emails and texts. Rob and Wanda even stopped by your house, but you didn't answer the door."
"Care to explain?" Linda asks with a little challenge in her voice. A paper pad and pen are thrust into my hands. I glance up and meet Wanda's eyes. Her expression is unreadable.
Personal issues. is all I write.
"The cops have turned back!" Amy suddenly shouts, slipping her cell phone back into her pocket. A collective sigh of relief comes from the small crowd.
"Now, I want everyone to go back to work!" Brock yells, waving his hands in a shooing motion at the group of people. "Except you lot." he adds quietly, hand sweeping to indicate Wanda, Linda, Amy, Rob, Caroline, Dave, and I. "You follow me."
Our small group follows him into Conference Room C, and we all take a seat in the blue, cushioned swivel chairs. I take a moment to look around. These are the people I am closest to here at work. They really do care about me. I can see a look of actual worry on each of their faces. I take a deep breath and set the notepad and pen on the table. "Now Chell, we'll have you explain your absence, if you please." Brock begins, leaning back a little in his chair. I gulp nervously.
I'm sorry. I really don't want to go into details. I quickly scrawl, then push the paper pad to the center of the table for the others to see, hands tense.
"That's fine." Brock responds. "We're not expecting you to pour out your heart and soul to us. Somebody just needs to be notified of your absence next time."
Alright. I write, feeling relieved. I'll make sure to tell someone next time.
"We were close to filing a missing persons report." Dave tells me.
"And you don't want the pink slip." Brock quietly adds. "Alright! Meeting dismissed!" He suddenly shouts, voice changing. "Back to work!"
Once everyone is back to their respective cubicles, I log onto my computer and get to work. But when I glance over my shoulder, I can see people giving me suspicious glances.
Well, I think. My life just got even more complicated.
I'm pretty sure I'm wrapped inside a blanket of some sort, because whatever is surrounding me is soft and warm. And not in a good way. It's not so much warm as it is uncomfortably hot, and the not-actually-very-soft cloth is sort of itchy and tingly and just plain odd. And I'm still not sure where I am. So it's not a good situation, by any means.
The only bright side is that it's not raining anymore, so I can no longer hear the annoying plinking of the raindrops. All I can really do is just sit here. It's not like I can move. If I even try to wiggle my handles, they just get tangles up in the blanket and put me in an even more uncomfortable position.
I know I should be angry at Chell, but part of me still hopes that she'll come back. And most frustrating of all, that part of me actually believes that she loves me, thinks that this all isn't some grand scheme in the name of vengeance.
I know that she hates me. I know it for a fact. But that part of me is saying otherwise. It's as if I'm split in two, one part of me filled with shame, pity, and sadness, and the other filled with anger and hate.
But right now, I need to focus on how to get out of here. Ugh. I hate being so helpless, so unable to do anything on my own. I think. The only time when I wasn't so weak was when I took over the facility. If only I was in that position now...
When I was in that position, I was evil. The other part of me thinks. Why would I want to be like that?
So I could kill her for doing this to me! my angry conscience snaps back.
Violence isn't always the answer.
What other answer is there?
I could always just talk it over with Chell when she comes back, couldn't I? I don't know for sure that she hates me.
Yes, I do!
No, you don't.
Yes, I do.
All I have is a theory as to why she hates me. And not much evidence for it, I might add.
So?
So, she probably doesn't hate me. Honestly, if she hated me, would she comfort me every night I spent bawling?
Probably not.
All she ever did was try to help me, but all I ever did was hurt her in return.
Maybe- Maybe that's right.
She doesn't hate me. She forgives me. I just need to make up with her and move on. I don't need to feel guilty anymore. It's all in the past now.
But I still need to deal with the present.
Yes. All I need to do is wait, and then I can make my peace.
But what if Chell doesn't come back?
She'll come back, just wait. She'll come back.
