The streets and sidewalks became mirrors beneath the precipitation, and the city glowed twofold. She felt like she could leap into a puddle of neon and find herself falling through to an upside-down world.
Or maybe she was already there. She stood at the curb and stared down at her distorted reflection in the oily streets until a bus came barreling down the way, crushing her other self and splashing water everywhere.
Her feet carried her back toward her apartment, but when she reached the block, she found herself circling the building. Once, twice, a third time, a fourth. Finally, the doorman stepped out from under the awning, holding an umbrella out to her.
“Are you alright, miss?”
He was a fatherly-looking man named Gustav who had worked there for as long as she’d lived there. The genuine concern in his eyes made her vision blur with tears, but she smiled, nodding.
“Just… getting my steps in,” she said.
Gustav looked wholly unconvinced. “Of course, miss. You look tired now. May I escort you in?”
She hesitated, her eyes darting toward the door, dreading the conversation that Logan would undoubtedly bring up again. With a wavering breath, she nodded. He offered his elbow to her, and she took it, smothering the part of herself that questioned what kind of germs his suit coat might have been exposed to standing by the street all day. He walked her all the way to the elevator, and when the doors closed, she finally broke and reached for the sanitizer.
The more distressed she was, the more acute her anxieties. She would go from managing to live almost normally to washing her hands until they bled, afraid to even leave her bed some days lest she encounter all the contamination of the world beyond it.
A ping roused her from her misery, and she stepped out into the hall. Numbly, she walked over to her door, noting the way her little palm by it had begun to wilt with neglect. She held her key fob up to the door, and it beeped an acknowledgment. The lock clunked as it retracted.
She pushed the door open, and the familiar smell of home washed over her, soothing some of her anxieties despite everything. Loamy soil from her many house plants, her favorite dryer sheets, and the apple-cinnamon air freshener she used year-round despite Logan’s insistence it was meant to be seasonal. She eased the door shut behind herself, spotting Logan’s shoes by the door.
He was home early.
Dread coiled in her gut as she removed her coat and put her shoes in the sanitizer as quietly as possible. He wasn’t in the common spaces, and it wasn’t like him to nap during the day. If she was lucky, he was taking a shower and she’d have another half hour to avoid him.
Tentatively, she opened the door to their bedroom. She couldn’t relax in her outside clothes; unless she changed, somecorner of her mind would keep churning over the lack of hygiene, refusing to let her rest.
To her dismay, Logan was sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with something on his holopad. He looked up as she entered, a beaming smile spreading over his face. “You’re home early!”
“Ah… yeah. So are you.”
“I have a surprise.” He leaned forward, his expression turning conspiratorial. “You know how I asked you to keep an open mind?”
Her shoulders sagged. “Logan, I can’t?—”
He chucked the holopad onto the bed, leaping to his feet with his hands held up to stay her. “Just hear me out. Please.”
She sighed, grabbing her elbows as she reluctantly waited for him to continue.
“I know you’re… loyal, Effie. You have such a good heart. I’ve thought about it hard this week, and I understand why the idea of having someone else in bed with you doesn’t click.”
Relief welled within her. He understood? Then he’d changed his mind about pursuing his fantasies?
“So… No other people,” he said, gently grasping her upper arms. “Just you, me… and a toy.”
Her curiosity piqued. “A toy?”
She had no problem with that. Before Logan, her compulsions had made it difficult to enjoy casual sex. She’d had an entire shoebox filled to the brim with sex toys during those days. The OCD didn’t affect her—veryhigh—sex drive, just her ability to enjoy it.
Something shifted off to her right, and she jumped, shrieking before she clamped a hand over her mouth. The man sitting in the small chair in the corner regarded her steadily, canting his head in curiosity at her reaction.
No, not a man. An android, wearing the freshly starched uniform that declared him to be Pleasure Unit 0031.
He was handsome—of course he was. Eyes as black as ink, skin with a golden undertone, wild, curling dark hair. There was a spattering of freckles over his nose and a small mole beneath his left eye, probably meant to keep him from being too uncannily perfect. It didn’t work. They only added to his inhuman beauty. Even with the stiff uniform on, his build was obvious: broad shoulders, narrow waist, probably rippling with muscle. His hands, resting on his knees, were broad and long-fingered. She could imagine why he’d been designed that way.
“Say hello, Thirty-One,” Logan commanded.
The android met her eyes and offered a devastating smile that dimpled his cheeks. “Hello, Ophelia.”
