The dumbest thing I ever did was try and turn you, or what remained of you, into something that you never were and never would become. I don't know why I tried to do it. Maybe it was because I didn't want to let you go. Maybe it was because I didn't know how to live without you in my life, even if you wouldn't even be "you" anymore. Maybe it was because I needed a distraction from the grief of losing you, and this was my only option that didn't involve self destruction or suicide. No matter what my reasoning was, it was never fair to you, or what remained of you after I was done trying to fix you.
Looking back, I realize that it was completely idiotic for me to go out with you. I was an AP Human Bio fanatic, and you were a Choir nerd, and we had literally nothing in common besides the fact that we were both extremely lonely, as well as horny, college students. You, as you said, "wanted to bang me," and I liked how your DNA lined up well enough to make you look so aesthetically appealing.
Somehow, we both agreed to meeting up in the Human Bio room during Professor D's lunch to have sex in his empty office. After our first few lustful meetings, I didn't expect complex new emotions to swirl up out of where I thought was nothing but a feelingless black hole. I didn't know, let alone comprehend what love was, so I didn't think that I was capable of feeling, or experiencing, it.
It was because of you that I ended up feeling the true horror that is love.
I had these thrilling, epic, manic highs around you. It was intense when you would push me up against the bookcase in Professor D's office, trail your hot tongue up my bare neck, and call me "babygirl" in the most erotic voice imaginable. If we weren't in his dark and cluttered office, you would sit on the black lab tables with your glorious legs spread, waiting for me to finish cleaning up cadaver remains so I could strip you down to nothing and have you in his bright and open classroom. We always wondered if he would ever finish lunch early and walk in on us. Thankfully, he never did.
Honestly, it was a different kind of amazing when you started stopping by the house I shared with my classmates after my internship hours with Professor D. just to watch me work in the lab that was the basement. You wouldn't tease me with your body, or dirty talk just to play with me the way you did during our time together in Professor D's office. Instead, you would sit patiently, asking curious questions about my work with the cadaver pieces as I tried to find a way to successfully animate the preserved dead limbs with the medical technology and the electronic "brain" at hand.
It got to a point where would feel unhealthily depressive lows whenever you weren't around. I would immerse myself into my work with a passion only felt by someone who desperately needed to waste the time in between meetings with their lover. As soon as my time alone was over, and I was with you once more, everything would feel right with the world until you left and I was alone all over again.
It wasn't until after a good year of us fooling around that you asked me out on a "proper date." When I looked up in your deep green eyes, lined with thick black liner and twinkling like the stars, I couldn't speak. All I could do was nod and pray that you understood that I was trying to say yes.
The night of the only date we would ever get the chance to go on, you picked me up in your little red piece of tinfoil and grinned at me like I put the sun in the sky. I had no idea where you were taking me, and to this day I'll never know. All I do know is that we would have made it there if the idiot driving the pickup truck that hit you didn't speed through the red light as your car was crossing the road.
The impact of the hit made your car roll over, and it wasn't until it stopped that I saw you lying on the bloodstained street, unmoving. I struggled to get to you, but I was too tangled up in the metal deathtrap of your car to move. It wasn't until we were both in a racing ambulance that I could look at you and see that you could never recover from the damage done to your poor, beautiful body.
After I was released from the ER with a mild concussion and all of my scratches stitched up, I immediately went to your room. When nobody showed up after a few days to claim you as theirs, I told the nurses taking your blood pressure that I would be here for you as long as you needed me to be. They told me that wasn't how it worked, but they would let it slide. It was later that I overheard them gossiping about how "adorable the comatose lesbian and her girlfriend look," that I realized that the only reason they let me stay was because of how much they found our story endearing.
Professor D. came to see me after a week of missing classes with a pile of textbooks and a bag of Mcdonalds. While his mouth told me that I could finish the rest of the year online, his eyes showed a level of sympathy that I didn't think he was capable of feeling. After the nurses reassured me that there was absolutely no chance of you waking up anytime soon, I began my online lessons after watching the tests the doctors would try on you, and eventually fail at completing.
They told me that you were in a vegetative state, even after I assured them that I understood that it meant that, although you were technically awake, you didn't exhibit awareness of your surroundings. As I worked on my lessons with Professor D. in the waiting room, I overheard many discussions of pulling the plug on you after eons of failed tests and theories that they hoped would bring you back to full consciousness, and didn't.
It was only when I said that I would be willing to take care of you, and I showed them that I was taking classes at the local University to become a Neurologist, that you were released into my full time care. I moved you into the basement of the house my classmates and I shared, combining your area of existing and the laboratory, much to my roommate's dismay.
After weeks of watching you, and hating myself for not being able to help you, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I had already done years of research on how to revive cadaver pieces, so why not try on an a living vessel- you. If it didn't work, I was a failure and a horrible lover. If it worked, I would have you back, and I would never let you go again. Ever.
I tried asking the new tenants of the house what they thought. The more moral of the people in the house we all shared tried to tell me that I should have left you in the hospital, where they could practice ethical tests on your brain to try and bring you back. They didn't think that I was capable of reviving you in a morally sound way, and they loathed me for it. Frankly, I didn't care.
The lesser moral people in the house asked me how I was to "mess with your brain without killing you." As soon as I brought up the aspect of tampering with the electrical currents in your brain to try and reawaken the Reticular Activating System, they all scoffed in my face. They didn't think that it was possible, stating that the swelling and pressure would make it impossible for your brain to shift back into place in order for me to even attempt at attaching wires to your brain tissues.
It didn't think their opinions would matter in the long run. I thought that I could bring you back without their help. I thought I could do it all on my own.
I robbed Professor D.'s lab for medical wires after he locked up his classroom for the night. That same week I snuck back into the local hospital to grab stimulators and lead electrodes. After months of examining the procedure for Deep Brain Stimulation, I thought that I could take the actions used for the procedure and use it at the reticular formation. I was cocky enough to think that I could use of of the lead electrodes and tap into your cortex without any problems occurring.
I was wrong.
After drilling into the back of your neck, my shaky hands tried to place the electrodes where I believed they should go. Underestimating my strength, I tapped the electrode past the point in your Reticular Activating System, and into your hippocampus. I didn't think that one mistake could affect your center of memory and your autonomic nervous system.
You stopped breathing on your own, and I didn't have enough time to get the equipment needed to keep your lungs going. Your body died that night, even though I managed to keep your brain activity going for the next few days, until I had the equipment needed to re-activate your corpse.
Implanting the microchip I took from the computer-engineering lab on campus into your brain was easy enough. Creating a full-body "sleeve" used to send electrical currents to your muscles to make them move was slightly more difficult. The hardest part was wiring the microchip to not just your brain, but to the electronic brain as well, so if you couldn't "think" your body into moving, then the electronic brain could instead.
I was shocked when within the first day, your finger twitched on the computer's accord. The next day, you could tap your fingers, still because of the computer. What I didn't expect was your body standing up, walking over to my sleeping form at the lab tables, and waking me up. When my tired eyes looked up into your dead ones, the computer spoke through your mouth.
"You have given me a vessel. Thank you."
You left me all over again that night. You vanished into thin air, without a look back, or a goodbye, or anything. Some part of me recognized that you weren't there, that it was the computer speaking, but it still hurt like you were slapping me in the face with your black fingernailed hand.
That night there was a party going on in the rest of your house. Apparently, your possessed body assaulted two students and killed another. That morning, each one of the tenets of the house came to me and begged me to destroy the computer.
I couldn't move. I couldn't think. How could I let them destroy the last thing I had of you, even if you weren't even a part of it? I couldn't. I had to be the one to do it.
There was a tracking chip inside the microchip I planted inside of your brain. After I pulled up your location on a separate laptop, I took the sledgehammer from the construction sight down the road and smashed the computer system into smithereens. The smithereens were then slathered in gasoline, and the soaked computer parts were then lit up by the lit lighter I tossed into the mix.
I assume that the house burnt down after I left. Honestly, I wouldn't know. I never got the chance to go back and look at the mess I tried to fix before I left to end what I had started.
Before I left the house completely, I took the gun from underneath the pillow of the paranoid tenet on the first floor of the house we all shared. I didn't think she would mind. I also took the laptop with me, even though I had the map leading me to your animated corpse pulled up on the smartphone in my hand. Unfortunately for me, destroying the computer controlling you wasn't enough. The microchip had a mind of it's own, literally.
I followed you by foot until I reached the computer-engineering lab on the opposite side of the campus. When I entered the building, I could hear a single set of footsteps down the hall, slowly making it's way towards me. When I followed the footfalls, I found your body, snailing down the corridor towards me.
The microchip spoke to me through your mouth. "I already destroyed the professor who made me. Now, I can destroy you, the person who made my vessel. After that, I can finally be free."
If the microchip believed that I could possibly stop it, it didn't let me know. It didn't even have an opinion of my presence until I pulled the revolver from the laptop bag.
It laughed at me.
"You think that you can harm me?"
I decided to be honest with it. "No, but I have to try."
I lifted my arm, pointed the gun at the neck of your corpse, and looked into your long since dead eyes. I didn't think that I'd start to cry. "I'm sorry, babygirl."
The first bullet went through your neck. It did nothing. The second one went through your forehead, and the third one went between your eyes. The fourth one went through your open mouth and caused your body to fall to your knees. Your dead eyes followed me as I went around you, pushed you face down on the ground, and shot the fifth bullet into the wound at the back of your neck.
When I opened up the bullet wound to find the microchip, I ripped the piece of technology out of your body and placed it on the ground. I placed the mouth of the gun around the microchip and fired. When I lifted the muzzle of the revolver off of the ground, there was nothing but a hole in the floor to show that the microchip ever existed.
I bet that the one thing the microchip never expected was for the last bullet to be for me. With a single click, pressed the mouth of the revolver to my temple, and pulled the trigger.
At last, I was as gone as you were.