Learning to Dance

“You -” She’d never been good at words. She tried to
find the ones that explain how she was feeling, why she
was doing this, why the pain in his eyes was hurting her
worse than she was hurting him. “You are a sad, spayed
little puppy.” She crouched and whimpered for emphasis,
knowing full well that now she was just being cruel. She
stood again. “And the old Up – the Up who made me what I
am – he would have never let this happen.”
She took a breath. “And now I see. I see that Up – he did
die in that Robot War.” Standing over him, she reached
down, and gently touched his face, which he had turned
away. A thousand emotions overtook her, and when she
spoke next, she spoke softly. “And I will never get him
back.”
The sight of him, crumpled on the ground, not resisting
her tirade, not fighting back, not getting back up when he
needed to - that was what drove her over the edge. She
caught the edge of his estupido false moustache and pulled.
It came off with a sharp ripping sound. Complete shock
filled his face.
“My moustache! You ripped it off – you ripped off my
moustache!”
“Sí,” she said as she pressed Alejandro’s masterpiece to
her upper lip. She slammed her fists together, and then
pointed at herself, wondering if she had finally, truly lost
her mind. “I am in charge of this mission now! So
everybody who wants to live – come with me.”
She left him huddled on the ground, and told herself that
she didn’t care if he followed.
She was lying.