As our eyes met, my mind was blank. The weight of the professor's words hung heavy on my soul. After a minute, I cleared my head, memories of her actions fighting their way through the fog of frustration left by the charged conversation. Thank you for coming back for me that day. Her eyes searched mine for something she didn't understand but knew she possessed. So you are the same boy who was watching me from afar and who helped me get the child to safety. If it's not too much to ask, why did you come back for me? I'm just a machine, something for people to use and neglect. As her words left her lips, they hung in the air and her eyes betrayed the emptiness in her tone, a stark contrast to the memory of her saving that child. On that day, there was a warmth in her life, a desperateness to save somebody. If one had to guess, it's because she couldn't save herself; she couldn't escape the label that had been placed on her head. It was hard to imagine being treated as a tool and not an individual. The professor's blindness felt heavier than before, reminding me of the hollow feeling when my parents got a divorce, a feeling that no actions could ever undo, their choices carving deep into my soul. It would be a lie to say that those memories didn't take a piece of my soul with them along with my happiness. Unconsciously, my hand rested against her shoulder, in a way trying to comfort her but really trying to comfort myself. My ears barely caught the shift in her tone as she muttered, I'm warm inside. Her tone came across more as a question than a statement, even as her eyes led up to mine, searching for an answer for me to explain what these sensations were.
The weight of her question bore on my soul, my thoughts crashing to a halt, unable to explain such a profound gift as emotions, let alone to someone who had just begun to recognize them as odd sensations? For a long minute, time felt like it just stopped. My heart ached, wanting to answer the question that her eyes held so deeply, but I wasn't quite sure if I should say anything or try to explain—even if I could. If she were to accept these sensations as emotions, she would lose the ability to brush them away as just an odd sensation, in turn being able to be hurt by people—their words and actions—because much like bullets, they can only be fired once. But was it fair to withhold such an incredible thing from her, even though she was already heading towards them?
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My soul and heart warred, trying to figure out the right choice. It dawned on me that she was going to find her emotions with or without my help, but at least with me by her side, she wouldn't be alone and maybe she wouldn't drown in them. My decision was concrete; after gathering my thoughts and aligning them, I started with, “Understand, you'll never be able to go back. Everything will affect you. You won't be able to just brush away hurt or the sensations that didn't make you feel good. They will be a part of you; they will always be there. But all those sensations that made life just a little bit easier to live—those come with it too. Emotions are much like a double-edged sword. On one hand, they can be incredible, making you feel on top of the world. But on the other hand, they make you vulnerable, allowing you to be hurt by the actions of others or their words, sometimes leaving scars that run deeper than any blade. So please, before you continue with wanting to understand these emotions, weigh the consequences.
But even as the words left my lips, the determined look in her eyes told me that she had accepted the consequences of being able to feel rather than just experience emotions. She took my hands and placed them over where a human heart would be. Despite not having an organic heart, the way her core pulsed beneath her metallic skin was a perfect reflection of a heartbeat. Any previous doubts of her being human faded into the background of acceptance and the beginning of a new life.
