Entangled: part i

#Rom-Fi #Valentinesday #Series

This is my first-ever mini-series. A 3-part Rom-Fi special for Valentine's Day. T

We became entangled on February 29, 2120, because tradition states that a woman may propose on the leap day. In front of friends, we masked the truth with tears of joy. That’s the great thing about tears: They work at both ends of love.

Sam’s words, a memento she left behind, buried beneath these memories.

Our three years together had proved time enough to know, with time yet to learn. We were the flotsam of two failed marriages, bonding over tequila and roller skates before swapping tales of hand-me-down trauma to seal the deal. Neither of us had close families or children, just an autistic cat and a desire to be the centre of someone’s universe—simple, beautiful, forever.

It’s funny how fleeting forever can be.

One day, you’re picking paint for the home office, and the next, you’re told Sam’s headaches have nothing to do with new glasses or dehydration and will kill her in six months. Our benign conversations mutate, “grow” becomes “Growth”, and “love” lessened to “Live”. The fear of loss fuels our desire to go deeper and “be more together”. Mirroring the promise emblazoned on the wall of Entangled PLC. A promise we embraced but, like so many others, did not understand.

I read in a journal that volunteers in the first wave had no pain meds because some quantum-neurologist was concerned about nano-receptor interference, whatever that is. Nobody knows how anaesthetics work; therefore, don’t give them any. It’s a simple decision for the doctor, not the patient. Depending on your viewpoint, it’s a miracle or a curse that anyone survived the first wave, let alone achieved a successful entanglement. But we joked away the risks and exchanged easy drunken promises about funeral songs and scattered ashes.

“Spin me around by Kylie. It was my gran’s favourite,” I said.

“Chuck me in the sea, ‘bout time I learnt to swim.” She replied, backstroking across the bed. I laughed because she needed me to, but we knew, as clear as the cloud on her scan, that Sam’s wish would come true. We had no time for our life together, so in a concrete womb buried deep in the bowels of Entangled Plc’s quarterly targets, two became one.

We both remember holding hands as we signed the flat screen held by the immaculate receptionist. Sam recalled a name, Rachel or Rachilla, but I’m not a detail person, so the name badge is blank. Yet, I can still picture the chilling serenity of an android emanating from her eyes. No human ever smiled as sweet, watching people sign themselves away.

Maybe they didn’t understand the risks. Maybe they didn’t lie. Maybe we’ll never know. If you’re looking for someone to blame, you can read accounts written by other survivors. This is not a warning. I’m not advocating to punish those involved. They had their reasons, and we had ours. Though the past few months have been agonising, there was an exhilarating happiness in our entanglement. I want to share that to help me remember her, remember us.

In the beginning, you’re naked, save for some monitoring equipment and a glowing silicone cap, which made us look alien bald. We got high off a mist of drugs sprayed into our cells, dancing and playing like nobody was watching. Two lovers leaping, pretending to be skinheads, pogoing to the song in our heads.

That’s the last time we had different songs in our heads.

Once the lights dimmed, the dancing ceased, and pain began. It existed inside our bodies, our blood, our atoms, our electrons, and our brains. It buried deep into our private universes and exploded out. Everything you are, every cell, molecule, strand, and string, gets stabbed, sliced, split, and reborn.

Our contorted faces bit through skin cold with sweat. Nails dug deep, carving blood-drenched scratches that wept long after our eyes ran dry. We roared like demon mothers, wet, guttural shrieks that shredded our memories. The truth of entanglement is the first thing you share is pain. The agony binds you, mother and child, mother and father, mother and mother… always the mother’s pain.

Born again, we slept, swaddled flesh to flesh.

On the first day we can both remember, we awoke together, which differs from waking at the same time. One person will always wake up a fraction of a second before the other. Your breath changes, your eyes flicker, and you move with purpose, a twitch of a finger, the turn of a leg. The unconscious releases you, and you regain control. Piece by piece, you slide into your body like some easy joggers. Stretching, pulling and twisting. As imperceptible as these movements are, they speak to your partner. You see each other, tight-lip smiling, morning-breath conscious, sharing a moment.

You wake at the same time.

Waking together is different. We woke together because we slept together, our bodies and minds entwined, floating in our void—a liminal space suspended between the seen world and the unseen self. We weren’t aware of each other at first; the lucid dreaming came later, but our synchronicity triggered as we rose to consciousness.

We woke together, entangled.

I saw the darkness of her eyes in the darkness of my eyes. As we opened them, the light flooded in, needle-sharp, snapping our lids shut. It was funny. We laughed as one, which made it funny again, triggering a rush of endorphins that spiralled up and out. The giggle became a laugh, and the laugh wrapped around us, squeezing the night from our minds. We released everything we had into each other, a rapture of sensations elevating our souls.

I held her; she held me. We held us.

Eyes closed, bathed in the silence of breath.

We shone in the darkness, reaching out from within, sensing, seeing, and exploring. The shape of us painted in light.

I was her; she was me. We were us.

We lay as one in our white womb room, inside our world, outside of time. Connected, not daring to let go but knowing we would never have to. The physical touch acted as an anchor whilst the second subconscious blended and resolved in the first, creating a third. When the nurse entered the room, we sensed fear in her voice as she urged us to wake. Perhaps some never returned from this place. It’s easy to believe. We had forgotten the world outside of us. She called again. Her voice tugged on the frayed tether tying us to reality, and we allowed ourselves to be pulled in.

We sat up, naked, inside and out. Open eyes locked together as tight as our minds, we shared the first thought.

“How will we make space for them?”

We smiled. I knew, she knew, I knew… well, you get the idea. Other people existed. We would need to find space for their universe in our universe. We felt sadness, like babies clinging to the memory of the womb, longing for the simplicity of our shared unconscious but forced to live in segregated reality. “Is that the pain of twins?” I thought. “Yeah”, whispered Sam, her lips parting just enough for me to see the tip of her tongue. Is she flirting? “But twins don’t get to fuck like we will!” My shock and embarrassment flooded the room, making Sam giggle again. The Nurse watched.

“Seriously Sam, not funny!”

I noticed my nakedness and lunged for the robe at the end of the bed. As I dressed, my brain tried to understand what had happened. I glanced at the nurse and apologised; her face flickered from confusion to understanding in the space of a smile. I thought about saying something to Sam, but the words “What the fuck…?” leapt between us, prompting Sam to laugh, the sound cutting through the ever-present silence in the room.

Neither of us had spoken aloud since the nurse arrived.

I trembled under the cotton robe, realising I would always be naked in front of Sam now. We stood apart, but inside, we stood together, occupying the same space. She apologised for my embarrassment without saying a word; she touched my emotions, and they dissolved away. Sam had a calmness and confidence that I envied; now, she shared that with me. I relinquished my shame and replaced it with awe and perhaps a little fear.

It should have been a warning, but we didn’t see it. You can’t when you are swimming in the everything of the one you love.

End Chapter 1