In a futuristic society where people are differentiated and valued based on the purity of their genes, can a person define for themselves who they really are? Or does The Gene Test provide the answer for them?
Depression... Addiction... Criminality...
I suck in a breath, and break our gaze, looking down at my hands on my knees.
I open and close my mouth a few times, each time trying to come up with some excuse, but backing out every time. He doesn't rush me, and simply continues staring at my profile quietly, patiently waiting for my answer.
Lying won't work with him, I know that. I guess the only choice is the thing I hate most — the truth.
"You're Sterling Crawford, and I'm Juliette Aldaine," I start gingerly. He furrows his eyebrows together, not seeming to get where I'm going with this. I take a deep breath, and continue, "You're the heir to a multi-billion dollar business empire, and I'm just the daughter of one of the night shift security guards." I smile bitterly, looking down at my fingers as I twiddle with them uncomfortably on my lap. "And not even a real daughter at that."
"People see me as hybrid freak, either as a Perfect growing up under Imperfect influence, or as a fraud who managed to pass the Gene Test by some fluke and fooled everyone into thinking I'd actually pass off as a Perfect. Both are true to some extent, I guess." I chew on my lip uneasily, pondering upon my next words, before finally verbalizing the thought, "Imagine the kind of things those snooty Kera Rosamund clones would say about Sterling Crawford being around someone like me."
He begins to sit up slowly, but I keep talking before he can cut in, "Not like I give a crap about what they have to say, I don't really have anything to lose, but you do. You have to care. You're forced to care, no matter how apathetic you pretend to be towards everything and everyone. You can't afford to lose your image over someone like me."
He doesn't say anything for a while, and I still don't want to look at him. After a few moments of silence, he finally speaks up.
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"Am I apathetic towards you?"
"What?" Is that all he took from my whole speech?
My eyes snap to his. "Do you think that I'm cold and indifferent when I'm around you, just the two of us?" He sounds almost hurt, an emotion I'm still not accustomed to associating with him.
"No..." I say quietly. It's true, when it's just the two of us there's a side of him that comes out which he never shows in front of other people. He's playful, but still considerate and cautious of my feelings. It's like he's always reading my mind, and calculating exactly how much to push and pull to annoy or fluster me, but always keeping within a limit that I can handle. Even if I don't like how he has to come and save me all the time, he's always concerned about my safety and wellbeing, and it's really comforting, knowing that there's someone watching out for me.
"That's because it's not the same when it comes to you. With you, I— Don't you realize that—" He doesn't seem to be able to complete that sentence. He exhales sharply and clenches his jaw a few times, looking away.
"Looks like you don't know as much about me as you think you do. You're wrong. I don't act like I don't care about what others think — I actually don't. At least when it comes to this. Class... Status... Position... I don't give a single damn about all that shit!" He slams his eyes into mine, and they're flashing silver. "It's all just fiction made up by those who are so insecure about themselves that they have to overcompensate to create their own sense of self-worth."
