I move around the kitchen to make myself some hot chocolate. In the meantime, I study the static mask currently flickering in the screen before me. I have no idea what he looks like, but I can paint a picture with the little facts I do know.
Otto_Bot is probably always casual, rarely dressed in anything but a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I imagine he wears glasses, only because there’s this little movement across the static every now and then like he’s pushing them up or adjusting them. Would they make him look boyish and cute, or like a professor? Maybe he’s tall and lean, his face angular, or maybe he’s soft and a big teddy bear. He probably has messy hair, not because it’s dirty, but because running your hand through your hair while you work on the computer is such a habit for me, I assume it’s one for him as well. All of this is just imagination. I couldn’t guess accurately at even the smallest detail. All I have to go on is his voice, which he has not modulated, and his words. It’s a genuinely nice voice though. Deep and level, calm.
“So, we’re not planning to attack him physically?” I ask as the machine runs.
Another little jostle from the robot. “No. Wylan is going to mildly inconvenience him for now like we discussed. He’s not happy about it, but he’s good at what he does.”
Something in his words makes me frown, an undertone of malice maybe, but the machine dings, so I turn to worry about that and don’t think about the strange tone in his voice again.
“What exactly comes with mildly inconveniencing him?” I ask.
“Sneak into his hotel room and take the batteries out of everything, steal the toilet seat, set the wake-up call for three in the morning. Those kinds of things.”
I laugh at the ridiculousness of that, how childish it is, but I also imagine Ric’s reaction to all of these things and can’t help but enjoy it. He was always a stickler for everything being in its exact place. “Have him move everything an inch to the right, too. He won’t understand why it freaks him out, but I imagine it’ll be great for his nerves.”
The computer screen looks over at me like he thinks it’s childish, too, but when he sees my laugh, I hear his own chuckle.
“It feels a lot like Mean Girls level petty, doesn’t it?” I ask, shaking my head. “Maybe this was a silly plan after all.”
“There’s some merit in the plan,” Otto says.
His mask shifts in the static, as if looking down at my arm where some of my scars are uncovered. I’m not wearing my blazer today. Instead, I’m wearing only a tank top and jeans. I suddenly realize just how many scars he can see right now. I usually have them covered up when I’m not at home, but I hadn’t thought about it today. I’d grab a jacket and cover them up, but it’s too late to hide them now. He’s already seen them.
“Do you want me to put a jacket on?” I murmur, glancing down at the biggest scars, everything from cigarette burns to cuts.
Some people don’t like to see the reminders. They don’t like to know that evil exists in this world, so when they see evidence of it, they prefer it wasn’t there. If it bothers Otto, I’ll cover them up. I’ve grown indifferent to them at this point because they’re a sign that we got out.
“Why would you do that?” he asks, the machine moving as if in agitation.
“They’re ugly,” I shrug. “I get that.”
The computer screen rushes over to me so suddenly, it startles me. I stumble back in surprise, bumping my hips into the countertop as he stops right in front of me. The mask on his face shivers, and I can imagine his eyes are hard on mine. He has no way to grab me with this machine, no way to do anything at all. My hand wraps around my wrist and rubs at the scar there, the one that first made the hospital start questioning how truly clumsy I am. The wrist had been broken at some point, and I had to have pins put in. I forget what the reason was that Ric had snapped it. It was probably something small.
“Battle scars aren’t ugly,” he whispers. “They’re a part of you. You shouldn’t ever cover them up.”
“They’re hardly battle scars,” I say, looking down.
“Don’t do that,” he chastises, and I flick my gaze back up to the screen. “I don’t think you realize you were in a war, Ava. A battle is a battle regardless of your opponent. Even if it was your own mind. Even if it was your husband.”
I suck in a breath. “You’ve seen the records then,” I rasp.
“I see everything,” he muses. “I know your grades from kindergarten, your final exam from college, that you dislike green tea, and yes. . . I’ve seen the medical records.”
I flinch. “I bet you’re wondering why I stayed so long.”
“I’m not. I’m well aware what a narcissist is capable of.” The robot screen rolls backward and I immediately miss his presence being so close. Which is weird. Because he’s only literally a robot screen right now. “Besides, I also saw Elsie’s medical records, or lack thereof.” The mask tilts on the screen. “You never let him touch her.”
The tears swell in my eyes before I can stop them. It’s not something I talk about. Not even Tonya knows the extent I went to, to keep Elsie safe. But here’s this hacker who deep-dived into my history, seeing things I’d really rather he didn’t, who saw what I’d done.
He doesn’t say a word when the first tear falls. The screen rolls back and forth as if he’s not sure what to do. Part of me thinks he’d comfort me if he were here. Another part reminds myself that I have no idea who this man even is.
“You’re a good mom,” Otto says, the static flickering.
That only makes the tears flow faster. He’s almost a stranger, definitely a criminal, but here he is, telling me I’m a good mom after seeing just how extensive I was abused.
“Oh my god,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.” I wipe my face and turn around, trying to compose myself.
“Don’t be,” he says. “You have nothing to apologize for. When you’re ready, come have a seat and I’ll run through all the information I have so far in case I’ve missed something.”
