Chapter 4: Am I Really a Person?

I felt better for a little while when I was riding the high of the workout, but that hope was quickly squashed. I had breakfast in the cafeteria they have here which was full of scientist who quietly observed me like I was the most fascinating creature to ever walk this planet. It feels sickening, I barely even touch the pancake and eggs that I filled my plate with until the crowd starts to thin out, I don’t want to be made a spectacle out of.

Truthfully, I almost hid in the bathroom until they left, only I don’t know where the closest bathroom actually is. I would rather let them passively observe me rather than directly interact with any of them, I don’t even want to know how they would react if I dared to speak to one of them.

I scarf my food down as fast as I can as soon as there’s no one else here, then head back to the gym. I don’t trust the people here enough to look for anywhere else to spend my time, and I would rather have something else to occupy my time than my own thoughts about mortality and identity.

The halls are empty as I walk back to the gym, no creepy scientists here to stare at me. Though, the quiet also leaves me vulnerable to my own mind. I quickly find myself trying to fight back a sea of intrusive thoughts; some things that have a stinging comfort of familiarity to them, things that Matt used to think when he had panic attacks, while others are entirely new. I’m not in a full-blown panic now, but my thoughts are just as intense as they would be if I were. I’m not strong or smart enough for what they want me to be. I can barely even keep it together for one meal, whatever they want from me is going to be worse than a couple of nosy people in lab coats. I’m only going to let people down as soon as they rely on me.

A clear sign that the panic is not strong as this happens, is that I can push the thoughts to the side. So while I can’t think of anything else, I don’t have to focus on my own thoughts. I manage to make small observations about imperfections in the walls, the floor and ceiling, and the numerous doors sitting in their frames. There are far more scuffs, stains, dents, and notches in the surfaces than you would expect to see from the pristine hallways upon first glance, but as soon as I notice them I begin to hyperfocus onfinding as many little flaws in the architecture as I can. Maybe the walls can tell a story I don’t know about yet.

It takes me almost the entirety of the rest of the walk that even if I compile all of the different miniscule imperfections in a corner of my brain, I don’t know anything about forensic science so I probably wouldn’t be able to get anything meaningful from it. I don’t even like the sound of forensic science, why did I eve think this was a reasonable thing to do? It may have been a good distraction in the moment, but that’s all that it was. A distraction.

As soon as I get to the gym, I’m greeted by the smell of sweat and antiseptic, and there’s no one else in here. I take a quick lap around the space to see exactly what is going one here. There are a lot of machines packed pretty close together in the narrow room, but there’s generally enough room to use whichever machine you choose, with minimal shifting of the other equipment around it.

There’s a rowing machine, a stationary bike, an elliptical, a bench press, a pommel horse… basically anything you could want to use. There’s also a rack with weights and a few long jumping ropes, or there’s just the mats for doing gymnastics and brawling and stuff.

My eyes linger on the various machines for a few long moments before shaking my head and returning to the mat. I kind of want to try doing some gymnastics, Matt did it as a kid and never really got into it. It might have had something to do with being angry at not being on the boy’s team, back when those thoughts were barely starting to run through his head.

The memories I have from that time are generally tainted by anger and envy, with exceptions being very rare. The first time he wore a suit, the year he got a skateboard for his birthday, the day he got his name changed legally, those were the bright spots. The rest of the time, it kind of felt how I feel now, his mind and his body were separate entities, and he couldn’t make up the disparity. It got better, of course, which is why everyone knows him as Matt at all.

I try to divorce the emotion from the activity as I stretch. I’m a lot more tense than I thought I was, my muscles are sore and throbbing by the time I’m loose enough to feel comfortable contorting myself. I would have thought that having a younger body, in the sense that I’ve only been using it for a day now, that my muscles would be more relaxed and loose, but I feel as tense as anyone my age would if they had an office job and no masseur.

I stand up straight, twist my hips around a little bit, then bend back to touch the ground behind me. My muscles start to yell at me, shaking and hurting. I manage to hold the position for only a couple of seconds, before collapsing onto the floor mat beneath me. Ow.
I sit back up and grumble to myself. “Stupid weak limbs… I should be able to do a stupid back bend… it doesn’t even take that much damn energy…”

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I sit there for a moment longer to let my muscles quiet their shouting, letting me know I’m not strong enough to do this yet. Of course, I don’t listen. As soon as the soreness fades, I lie down on my back and try to push myself up instead of stretching over myself. It takes a few moments to adjust, but I manage to hold the pose for a little longer than last time. Still, my muscles kick up a fit and I have to let myself down after about ten seconds. Not bad, but I know I can do better. Do I keep trying at this until I can’t anymore, or do I try something else?
I can’t even make up my mind again before the door opens and I leap back. I still don’t really trust anyone here, especially after most everyone was ogling me at breakfast. My anxiety is partially put to rest when I realize that it’s Mac. He hasn’t given me any reason to dislike him yet, but then again he hasn’t really given me a reason to like him, either. Aside from that first meeting, he’s been more of a quiet observer so far. Then again, it’s only been a couple hours since the day started. Maybe he’s just having an off day?

“Oh.” His voice is quiet as he acknowledges that I’m here. His ocean green eyes have a soft expression behind them, even if his face doesn’t give much away. “Hey, Vin. Mind if I’m in here with you?”

Well, that’s already extra points for him. He’s using my name, he’s acting like I’m a normal person, and he’s asking to be here with me.
“Oh, um, sure.” Why am I getting flustered? He just asked a simple question. Sure he’s being nice, but isn’t that how I should be treated anyways? Everyone else is in the wrong with how they’re treating me, and I know that. But still, something in his eyes makes me think he might actually care a little about me outside of the context of some science project, unlike everyone else here. And besides, he gave me the name, why shouldn’t he be using it?

He slips into the jungle of workout equipment, quickly vanishing from sight behind the various machines. What was I doing again? Oh, right. I was going to try switching techniques for a bit. Maybe working on wall stands will help my bruised pride after how badly I did with the bridge.

I move towards the wall by the door, which has no mirror on it. I don’t want to smudge the mirrors. I stand a good three feet away from the wall, rocking back and forth a bit to get a good guess at how close I’ll be when I kick up. I take a long, deep breath, then fall forward onto my hands and try to let my momentum carry my legs over my head to make contact with the wall.

For a moment, it feels like it’s working. I lock my elbows and keep my legs against the wall above my head, and try to distract myself from the feeling of blood rushing to my head. But almost instantly, my arms start to tremble and common sense tells me to let myself down, but I try to just shift my arms and I’ll be fine.

Not even a full two seconds later, my right arm buckles and I crash to the ground. It’s loud, but still muffled from the fact that the entire floor is slightly springy and absorbs some of my impact and the sound along with it. The clunking of metal I heard before stops abruptly and Mac comes running out of the metal jungle.

“Hey, what just…” He starts while he’s still barely out of view, but cuts himself off when he sees me laying on the ground sideways. “What where you doing?”

It feels like there should be an accusation behind those words, but there seems to only be concern. I pull myself up to a sitting position and put my head in my hands. “Ugh, I’m just… trying to do gymnastics. It’s not going well.”

“That’s not surprising. You only have the most base level of muscle development you needed to function properly, you’re going to have to work on building your muscles before you try… whatever you’ve been doing."

I give a grunt in response, only unfolding myself once I hear him walk away. I can’t tell if he was being genuine, or if he’s just trying to study my reactions or some shit. Maybe I just don’t want to believe he’d actually care about me.

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