[Purification Process, Day 21 - From Epsilon's Perspective]
One hundred forty-seven. The number itself carried weight. When I started meditating, I could feel something clawing its way up from the depths of my soul to the surface. This was a threshold, and I was preparing to leap.
As always, I sank into the void. But this time, at the bottom of that peaceful ocean, there was a shipwreck I had been ignoring for years. And the doors of that wreck creaked open.
The memory didn't burst into my mind like a flood, but seeped in like a single poisonous drop. That cold, sterile smell of the middle school hallway... That disgusting, sadistic grin on that teacher's face... And that moment. That moment when the whole world turned against me, even though I knew I was right. The moment when the purest, most just part of me was crushed and killed that day.
This wasn't just filth ripped from my soul like in previous purifications. It was the exposure of decay at the very core of my soul. And the worst part... was that Null saw it too.
She recognized that small, helpless, wronged girl I hid behind the joking, cheeky, confident Epsilon. She saw the most naked part of my weakness, my shame. The "yamgium" inside me fed on this shame and rebelled, and I lost control.
As I sank into darkness, a voice and a touch pulled me out. Null's voice and touch. What freed me from that memory's prison was her instinctive, illogical intervention.
When the session ended, my exhaustion wasn't just from the pain of purification. It was from that overwhelming vulnerability of revealing the darkest secret of my soul. The smell on me was a physical reflection of my mind at that moment: Rotten and poisonous.
When I exited the purification room, I found her lost in thought. As always, I tried to lighten the mood with a joke, "Were you thinking about me, my life?" This was my armor. The mask I used to hide my shame. But she said, "Yes."
This single word broke through my armor. Instead of the sarcasm or anger I anticipated, I faced genuine honesty. At that moment, I understood the relationship between us had changed forever.
In our continued conversation, I noticed a shift in her tone and pauses. When she asked me, "What happened to that girl?" it was no longer just a data-gathering question. There was curiosity, maybe even... concern.
The reason I didn't want to tell her about Delta wasn't jealousy, as I joked. This was part of that memory, and I couldn't lift the scab from that wound while being this exposed.
Finally, when I confessed my fear and asked, "Will I continue to experience such bad things?" my voice trembled like a child's. Instead of answering, she just waited. That silence communicated more than words ever could. That silence said, "I'm not judging you."
When I hugged her from behind, it was more than just a thank you. It was a refuge. For the first time in years, despite showing someone my weakness, I saw that person still standing there.
When she said "I'll be here to save you," this wasn't a promise from an android. It was a companion's oath.
The childish joy I felt when I pulled back wasn't just temporary relief. It was a discovery. Null was changing, yes. But the person truly changing was me. For the first time in years, I was allowing someone to be by my side. For the first time, I was letting light seep in through one of the cracks in that armor.
While she looked through her systems for the definition of the verb "to love," I discovered something much more basic: Trust.