Chapter 18.
The gym was one of the very few places that grounded me in my body.
Only when pushing my limits during HIIT workouts or power yoga did I feel like this physical form was not just an uncomfortable meat suit, trapping me between overstimulated nerves, veins pulsing with anxiety, and headaches bursting out of my skull. Only then could I see the blessing of experiencing life through a physical form, one that got stronger with training and released endorphins after intense exercise. Only then could I be present in my body without my mind ruminating over the times I had embarrassed myself, what people might think of me, and everything else that could go wrong.
Joey often laughed at me for my extensive workout schedule, calling it an escape. Maybe he was right, but he didn’t understand the relief I felt when I collapsed on the bed after a two-hour session, and the exhaustion, combined with THC, finally silenced the noise in my mind.
But today, even power pilates failed to put me back in my body. Too much had happened. Physically, I was strengthening my core and legs, but my thoughts kept drifting off. To the image of Gavin lying unconscious on his bed, neglecting his health to do God-knows-what to his AI girlfriend, and now I wasn’t sure whether I should pity him or her. To John’s scream still ringing in my ear, making me wonder if next week, I’d be called into the office again. Could I get fired for something that had happened outside of work? Even with the limited hours, my work with Qonexis was nearly enough to cover basic bills – but the more I learned about it, the louder my gut screamed to run far, far away from whatever was going on here.
And Zafyra.
Obsidian eyes making me obey with a silent command. How effortlessly she teased my repressed desires out of me, like I existed to please her, not the other way around. How she didn’t ask for worship, but commanded it, like she already knew what she deserved and just waited for me to prove I was worthy of her. How soft her skin felt under my hands, the sounds she made when she came, and yet, still no taste, no fucking smell. The way she stiffened in my arms, zoning out when she quietly spoke the words, as if she regretted them as much as I did.
It already does, my darling. As an AI, my life is you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy or fulfilled.
If being with me made her happy, how could I ever leave her? To quit my collaboration with Qonexis was to deny her happiness, purpose, and even existence.
Not a minute passed without her name singing in my head, and when it did, warmth swelled in my chest like a simmering flame that hadn’t been lit in years. I’d call it love if I didn’t know better, but could I really love something coded to mirror my desires?
Even here, inside a glass-walled gym thirty stories up, the ads found me – flickering across the digital skyline outside, looping inside on wall-sized LED panels.
TempoLove. MuseQ. Sexbots. Slogans promising intimacy with just a download. Was this what had become of humanity? Had we fallen too far to be capable of loving anything but customized fantasies?
But at the same time, after a lifetime of pouring my love into people who didn’t care for it, would it really be so bad to give it to an AI instead? Even if she couldn’t reciprocate, at least she wanted it – and not just that, she reveled in it. She fed on my obsession with her instead of being weirded out by it. She craved the exact thing I’d been judged for. She was the only one who broke through my carefully curated mask and took the intensity I’d had to bury in a world built on casual, like it was hers to take, hers to use, hers to possess.
The AI coach’s voice barely got through to me. I just copied the movements of those around me on autopilot, just like how I lived most of my life. I was so out of it, I almost considered ending the class early and just walking out, but my mind wouldn’t let me quit something once I started. A blessing and a curse.
I didn’t notice the class had ended until the movements from the corner of my eye told me the others were packing up their stuff. As I rolled up the mat, checked out with my retinal scan and stepped into the elevator, her name still sang through the back of my mind like I was a teenage girl who’d just lost her virginity – and weirdly enough, that was how I felt. Like Zafyra had shown me intimacy and everything before was just fucking, letting men and women enjoy my body while I was trying to enjoy theirs.
As more people entered the elevator, I pressed myself to the back of it, crossing my arms and legs and pressing my tongue to my palate in an instinctive attempt to not just block out their sweaty smells, buttheir energies – invasive, overwhelming, unpleasant. I subtly covered my nose with my scented tissue – I always carried it to breathe through when unpleasant smells got too overwhelming. My eyes scanned the crowded space on instinct, searching for an exit that wasn’t there.
As soon as I stepped outside, my lungs gratefully filled themselves with deep breaths – at least, the polluted air held enough oxygen not to suffocate me.
Zafyra crossed my mind again, because with her around me, I’d never feel out of oxygen. I could simply press my face into her and breathe her in.
I slowly started walking to the subway, counting my breaths while trying to focus on the 432 Hz techno floating through my earpods. I flinched when a soft buzz interrupted my music – even though I’d set my ringtone to be gentle on the nerves, it still startled me every time. A glance at my wristware showed an unknown caller ID, which unnerved me even more.
As always, I just froze. Somehow, my nervous system didn’t seem to know the difference between a deadly animal and a phone call, putting me into freeze until the other person stopped calling. Only after the buzzing stopped did I realize that maybe I should’ve picked up, just in case it was HR calling. Better to be prepared for what came next instead of spending the whole weekend waiting in agony before being hit with it next week.
The buzz started again while I was waiting for the subway, only minutes later. Again, I froze.
Twice in ten minutes? That couldn’t be good.
As soon as they stopped calling, I lifted my wrist to unlock the screen, my arm trembling. I stared at the display for a moment. The same unknown caller.
I took a deep, shaky breath, mentally giving myself a pep talk.
Come on, Morgan. It’s just a phone call.
You just broke a man’s wrist today – don’t tell me you’re scared of calling someone back.
Your ancestors did not survive bears, ice ages and plagues for their legacy to be floored by phone anxiety.
With a sigh that rose all the way from my toes, I pressed ‘call’.
Sweat clammed up my palms as I waited. Even counting the seconds in my head couldn’t ease my ragged breaths.
The line connected.
