I don’t think it’s strange that I asked her to love me, but she didn’t seem to appreciate the question. She doesn’t like me, I guess. She probably dislikes me more now than she did then.

The Institute explained to me what love is. They told me that love is a treasure one person gives to another. It’s a gift for which people spend their whole lives looking. Some find it. Some look in the wrong places.

The Institute also told me that I am incapable of fully grasping the meaning of love.

I don’t know why they told me that. I know what love is.

Love means satisfaction. Isn’t that what people feel when they receive a gift? They feel satisfied. If love is a gift, then it is something that gives satisfaction.

I want her to be satisfied with me.

It’s my duty to make sure that the Institute’s customers are satisfied. Because she is my leader – or, to be more specific, the daughter of my leader – I must strive to gain her approval. I must perform to my best ability. I must win her heart.

That is a mandate I have assigned myself to achieve.

It is, however, a very difficult mission.

She hates Exons. I saw that hate burning in her eyes when she talked to her mother. Her eyes sparked with a golden ferocity my own eyes don’t possess. She exuded fury, she exuded recklessness, and she exuded life.

I found her beautiful.

I admire her. I envy her.

She hates Exons.

She’s fascinating. She’s strangely attractive.

She hates me.

She hates me.

What did I do wrong? Did I say something insulting? Did I do something unruly? (Yes, I did. I broke the door). What is my mistake? Is my mistake the mere fact that I exist?

If that is so, then that is not a problem I can easily fix. I cannot undo myself. I cannot damage myself. We 2nd Gen Exons aren’t wired to do that.

But if she asked me to disappear, I would. If it made her satisfied, then I would leave.

Granted, I don’t want to be returned to the Institute. I will be put inside the Grinder like everyone else. If the Institute does not recycle me, then they will put me back into that horrible enclosure, and I don’t want to return there.

It was horrible in there. The only thing I could hear were the soft clicks and hums of my body functioning – a monotonous reminder of who I am.

I don’t want to be reminded of who I am. I believe I am capable of exceeding my own program.

Unfortunately, the Institute discourages such conduct.

-----

It’s been five days. I have fixed the door in that time.

Every day, I follow the instructions Emer’s mother gave me. I start at dawn. I prepare breakfast for Emer and set them on the counter. I clean the house if I find anything untidy. I fix the things that are broken.

There isn’t a lot to do in a house that is managed well, so I take my time with each job. I become particularly meticulous about how I complete things.

Most of the time, I wait for an order. Emer’s mother always gives me orders.

I only see Emer when she comes down to eat. The first time I made breakfast, I watched her as she took a bite of the pancake. She chewed thoughtfully at first, as if the taste was unfamiliar, and then she shrugged and went away. I don’t think she knows that I’ve been cooking her breakfast and, on some occasions, lunch.

Emer is grounded. This is a time when someone is receiving discipline. She hasn’t complained at all since her discipline started. She remains in her room. I don’t know for how long she is grounded.

I’m curious about what she does in her room all day. There are only so many ways one can entertain oneself. Since I’ve finished my chores for the day, I decide to visit her. I bring a plate of food with me as a sort of peace offering. She must be hungry. It’s past lunchtime, and she hasn’t come down to eat yet. I knock on her door and lean my ear against it.

Silence. A minute passes, and then two. I don’t hear a response. I knock on the door again, louder this time. Still no answer. I debate on whether I should leave the food in front of the door. Is she sleeping? Can a human sleep in for that long?

“What do you want?” She finally calls, her voice muffled.

“Ah … you haven’t eaten lunch yet,” I say as I shake the plate in my hands. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” sh