Raina didn’t respond, not even with a slow sequence of dots. After what felt like a very long time, Troy sent another text.
Troy: I meant 50! Typo.
Raina: One would hope.
Milo didn’t think Rainawasforty, but the deepest research into her profile revealed strangely conflicting data.
Raina: Do you really want to add Riley AND your neighbor to this text thread, Milo? Couldn’t that get dicey if they realize you’re different from a normal bot?
Milo: I’ll worry about that. If we don’t add them and let them contribute, they might feel slighted.
Troy: Or make other plans for Saturday night?
Raina: Doubtful.
Milo: Not likely.
Milo had a sneaky suspicion that his and Raina’s overlap of responses was in relation to a different one among the named two, but the accuracy with both was undeniable.
Milo: Besides, if anyone is trustworthy with my secret, it would be them.
Plus Milo was fairly certain Ethel already knew.
“Is something burning?”
“Huh?” Milo jolted to attention, having gotten caught up in virtual birthday plans enough that he hadn’t realized he had Rowan’s dinner on high instead of simmer. “Sorry!” He turned off the burner and quickly moved the pan to a dormant one. The meal tonight was fried rice, so a little extra crisp wouldn’t hurt it.
“Is everything okay, Milo?” Rowan asked as he came up behind him.
“Wonderful!” Milo spun to face Rowan. “Never better. I was…” He hated the idea of lying, especially to Rowan, but it would only be awhitelie. “Listening to music! Yes. I got distracted by absorbing the lyrics. Usually, I just read along while listening, but I felt that diverged too much from how most humans enjoy music.”
Rowan scrutinized Milo for a moment, but then his expression smoothed. “I get that. With some songs, I might have listened to them a hundred times and even sung along to the chorus, and I still couldn’t tell you most of the lyrics. What were you listening to?”
Milo simultaneously had the very human reaction of “deer in headlights” and the benefit of being a bot that allowed him to look up an answer that would make sense for commonly misheard lyrics. “‘Purple Haze’ by Jimi Hendrix!”
“Oh.” Rowan nodded, but a little too slowly, like he was seeing right through Milo.
Was he? Or was that the new sensation Milo had been experiencing all week?
Paranoia.
Milo had been honestly frightened at first when he started to feel it, until he’d looked it up.
What could describe feeling intense, irrational worry without evidence, as if one is constantly being watched, judged, and found out for the lies they are telling?
Analyzing…
The sensation described could best be explained as: delusions, psychosis, or paranoia.
Milo had instantly relaxed—at least for a time. Paranoia, it seemed, did not allow for full relaxation.
Although the sexual kind of “relaxation” helped.
“Dinner is ready! I thought something indulgent for tonight was in order, given it’s finally Friday tomorrow. It’s been such a long week. Which I finally understand!” Milo said as he began to plate a portion of the meal for Rowan. “Technically, a week is always the same length, but time really is relative when you’re alive. It’s strangely both wonderful when you want something to go faster or slower, but also terrible when your preference isn’t followed.”
Rowan chuckled and sat at the kitchen table. “That’s the human condition for you.”
He’d told Milo that he didn’t need to serve him, but Milo had protested that he enjoyed doing so. After all, he had made the meal and appreciated just as much being able to present it to Rowan and watch his reactions when he did a good job.
