“Thanks,” she said again, her voice thick with tears as he handed the clothes to her. She wiped her eyes on the comforter. “Do you mind… turning around?”
“I have already seen everything, but I will turn away if it will soothe you.”
She nodded, and he turned to face the wall, listening to the soft rasping sounds of fabric over skin as she dressed.
Sensitive. Her emotional state was a fragile thing, and perhaps her self-esteem as well.
“You are frightened of having sex with me,” he noted.
There was a pause in the rustling.
“I’m… frightened of having sex with anyone.”
“Even Logan?”
She sighed. “No, not Logan. At least… not before tonight.”
“May I turn around?”
“Um, yeah.”
“What frightens you about sex?” he asked, sitting down in the chair that faced the bed.
She was back in the tight, bundled position. A feeble defense against her anxieties.
“Why are you asking?” Suspicion clouded her tone.
“I wish to understand you. I was brought here to pleasure you, but I bring you distress, instead. I wish to fix it.”
“What if you can’t?”
He contemplated it. “Likely, Logan will bring me back to the testing facility, where he and the other creators will further alter my coding or appearance to be more persuasive. Perhaps I will be decommissioned.”
“Decommissioned?” Her jaw dropped, eyes widening.
“Yes. If I am deemed to be defective.” He studied the way her face fell and her breath hitched. “This distresses you.”
“Of course,” she said, clutching her legs closer. “You’re… practically human. Doesn’t it distress you? That’s robot death, isn’t it?”
“It does not. I cannot die. I am not alive.”
“You look alive,” she murmured. “You… you felt alive.”
“Yes. To mimic you. To make you feel at ease.”
She didn’t say anything in response, eying him in a way he interpreted as wariness.
“Tell me what frightens you about sex. Please.” The question nagged at him.
She sighed, looking down at her hands in her lap. “All of it. Everything.” Blinking fast, she looked up at the ceiling and took an uneven breath. “Being nude. Wondering if I’m too bloated or too awkward or making a stupid expression. Knowing there’s always going to be something to be disappointed about in my body or my performance.”
Her glance slid to him, silence falling, but he did not fill it. He sensed she was not done. Sure enough, she took a deep breath and continued.
“And the… the act of it. The smells, the sounds, the textures. Wondering if they’re clean enough. If I’m clean enough. Thinking about what skin looks like beneath a microscope, and sperm, and, and…” She hung her head and buried her fingers in her hair. “God, I sound insane.”
“You sound like you are struggling.”
She peeked up at him.
