How To Tell Her: Michael's Story
"I got tested," I announced. My grip, on the velvet box in my pocket, tightened.
"Excuse me?" Sarah asked looking up from the menu with a smile. I loved her smile. It wasn't the perfect curve of her lips but the way her eyes glowed when she looked at me.
"I got tested," I repeated. "The results arrived this morning."
"Tested for what, darling?" she asked putting the menu down. I looked out the window to avoid her eyes. She reached out to put her hand on top of mine.
"I'm EMC-Positive, Sarah," I whispered. Her hand pulled away; my nails dug into the box.
"The Institute started testing everyone at puberty over ten years ago, Michael," she insisted.
"An exception is allowed if the biological parents and the child refuse the test," I informed her.
"Who would do that?" she asked horrified. I turned to stare at her.
"But even your parents have to be reasonable about some things, Michael!"
"No, Sarah, they don't," I sighed. "They thought that the Institute was just another government conspiracy. They still do."
"Everyone gets tested!" she spat.
I didn't have anything to say to that; I had been dealing with the repercussions of my parents' political beliefs since I moved out of their home.
"You had to say no for the exception to apply," she said furiously.
"I was fourteen, Sarah," I reminded her. "Every kid talked about refusing the test."
"But no one does!"
"Parents do not refuse the test," I said. "I thought it was cool that I could do what everybody else only talked about."
I warned the waitress off with a small shake. Sarah sat in silence for a few minutes.
"Are they sure?" Sarah asked. "There could have been a mistake."
"No mistake, Sarah," I said.
"There's drugs though," she said staring at me. "I've heard they suppress this."
"The drugs are rare since the Institute threatened to Quarantine anyone working for a company that manufactures them. It doesn't matter though, if I were Telepathic or Symbolic, the drugs would work," I said. "Hell, even an Empathic can be trained not to project. Not me."
"What are you?" she asked raising her voice.
"Pheromonic," I told her.
"That's impossible, Michael," she said. "They're the easiest to detect. We had a Fem-Pher in my high school; she was always flocked by boys."
"For all my parents' political beliefs, they wanted the best for their little boy," I said staring out the window again. "The best schools in my city were the single-sex grammar and high schools. Nobody thinks to ask why one boy is more popular than another in that environment."
"What about college?"
"I attended The Castle, Sarah," I stated.
Her nails scratched at the tablecloth. I picked up my napkin and wiped my brow.
"Do you need another couple of minutes?" the waitress asked approaching the table.
"Yes, please," I said.
She smiled and turned away too quickly, losing her balance. Her hand came down on top of my napkin when she tried to catch herself.
"I'm so sorry!" she said.
"It's okay," I told her.
Her face changed expressions as she looked down at the napkin. She picked it up and brought it to her face; a deep breath seemed to fuel something inside of her.
"Excuse me!" Sarah hissed.
"I'm sorry!" the waitress said blushing.
"It's okay," I said taking the napkin out of her hand gently. Sarah watched her flee.
"Is that how it's going to be?" Sarah growled at me.
"That's how it has been since my military discharge," I said. "I just didn't know why."
"Waitresses fawning over you?"
"And co-workers," I said. "Your friends. Your mother."
"I have to use the bathroom," she said getting up and walking away.
I pulled the box out of my pocket and stared at it.
"Would it be crass to ask for your number when you're getting ready to pop the question?" the waitress asked from behind me. I put the box back in my pocket before replying.
"A little."
"It doesn't seem to be going well," she pushed.
"It's not going at all," I admitted.
"You're one of them? A mind controller," she asked in a voice laced with an excitement she could have only felt around 'one of us'. "I've never felt like this before!"
I settled into the pattern of conversation I had unwittingly begun to use with women after meeting Sarah. The waitress spent the next couple of minutes being frustrated by my refusal to exchange with her.
"I'm not going to be able to leave you alone for a minute without some woman coming on to you from now on, am I?" Sarah asked sitting down. "And the Institute will insist that you do whatever comes naturally to your kind!"
There was no point in answering the question, if it even was one.
"I always knew there was something wrong with this," she said sitting back and staring at me.
"Wrong?" I asked with a thumb stroking the box in my pocket.
"I feel too much for you," she said angrily.
"I can't make you love me, Sarah," I told her.
"You're EMC-Pos," she said dismissing my protest with a wave of her hand.
"It's the little things," she said. "I don't even like the taste of semen, and when we had sex, lying in your bed felt like I was surrounded by warmth."
She always said 'made love' before.
"If there's nothing we can do about it, then we'll have to deal with it," she said raising her chin.
"No, Sarah," I said. "I'll deal with this; I'm sure the Institute will help. You've already decided not to."
"Let's just eat, Michael," she told me. "We'll discuss this at your apartment."
It was no longer our home.
I understood the height of our stupidity at that moment; we had been living an abnormal life and thinking we were somehow exempt from the new laws of nature. No one just had sex anymore, not in a world that needed the Institute and its growing army of Erotic Mind Control Positives.
I let the box in my pocket go.
