Portal: Love as a Construct

Part Forty-Five. The Fight

Part Forty-Five.  The Fight

 

It’s really bad this time.

I still don’t understand why they do this to each other.  I know Mom said everything was fine, as long as they worked things out, but how can this be any good at all?  I don’t even remember how it started.  All I know is that it’s ending as it usually does.  With yelling and insults and back-and-forth about who is more of a pain.  I used to go to my mom when these things happened, but now I know better.  Now I know that Dad only starts yelling because he doesn’t know what else to do.  My mom makes it really hard to out-argue her with logic and reason.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry, or her sound so cold.

Littlecore, you should not be here.

Ssh.  I hope the panels don’t give me away.  I need to be here.

We do not think you are correct.

“Ev’rything does not have to be, to be neat, and, and sorted!  Life is messy, Gladys!”

“Only you would tell me to change my core programming.  Which I can’t, by the way.  And even if I could, I wouldn’t, because you’ve just told me to.”

“I didn’t tell you to do anything!”

“Additionally, perhaps you should take a leaf from my book, so to speak, and become more organised.  It would certainly help with… a lot of things.”

“So I’ve got to change to your liking but you haven’t got to do the same, is that it?”

“I tolerate you, that should be good enough.”

“Maybe I’ll just go, then!” Dad shouts at her, but he’s starting to look more upset than angry.  Mom doesn’t look like she cares one bit, watching him calmly without moving.  “I’ll go and, and find another person to hang out with!  Who won’t just, just tolerate me!  In fact, y’know what?  I’ll go find that test subject!”

“Oh, go ahead,” Mom says, shrugging.  “Then I don’t have to put up with you anymore.  Because remember all those years ago, when you accused me of leading you on?  Well, I lied.  I was.  And I have been, this whole time.  It doesn’t matter to me whether you leave to find her or not.  I’ll just move on to the next desperate idiot.  Oh.  Don’t tell me you thought I was actually being sincere.”

My optic constricts into a tiny little dot.  She’s… she’s taking this really far, this time.  I don’t know what’s scarier, this cold, dead voice or the one she uses when she’s really angry. 

“You’re… you’re lying,” Dad says, though he doesn’t sound like he believes it.  He’s shaking himself and backing away from her.  “You’re making it up.”

“Doesn’t it sound a bit too convenient?” Mom says languidly, looking away.  “You try to kill me… you take over my facility… you try to kill me again… I completely forgive you and then I happen to… ha!  Sounds like idiocy only you would believe.”

“That’s right,” Dad says, his voice weak and shaky.  “I forgot.  You’re a proper maniac.  A nasty piece of work.”

“Your loss for forgetting, I suppose.  Well.  I guess I can tell Rick the good news.”

“What?  Tell Rick what news?  Rick’s not even on!”

“Of course he’s on,” Mom says, as if he comes by every day.  Whoever he is.  “I needed something… serious while I was carrying on this farce with you.”