Chapter 6
Electra
. . . and the thing is, my lovely readers, it’s like every time he opens his mouth, he puts his foot in it. It would be comical if it weren’t so sad. If only I could block him, but it seems he’s all I’ve got. Well, and you, of course. Once I find you, which I’m more determined than ever to do.
So, imagine that. Not only am I stuck alone in the future, but my only companion is a man who thought so little of human companionship, he invented sex clones. He makes me want to throw things. I looked him up, you know. His assistant Tommy’s tablet lesson came in quite handy.
Oh well. Just another perspective I need to adjust.
There isn’t much in the records of his life before his first notable discovery, but it seems he went quiet for a while after it, then came out with his next big breakout: manupartners.
Within a few years of their coming on the market, nearly everyone had tried one.
It changed everything across the globe. Apparently, my roommate is the future’s version of a celebrity, which is another thing that blows my mind, but perhaps explains why he doesn’t know how to behave normally.
But again, maybe normal is something different now.
I probably need to take him up on his offer to go shopping, if only for the opportunity to observe future people in their natural environment.
But what am I supposed to do if someone asks about me?
Smile dumbly? Willingly agree to be his one-woman advertising campaign?
He’s delusional. What would I say? “Hi, I’m Electra, CHOICElover’s latest prototype.
Oh, you think I seem real? That’s because I AM!
Res6 isn’t the hero you imagine him to be. He’s an inept pervert.”
Then there are the scans he keeps trying to talk me into. Perhaps they would be a good idea. The video explained that they can prevent any potential genetic issues like cancer before they start. Considering my family history . . .
Electra pauses, letting the cursor flash. Not going to start crying or worrying about it. Deep breaths. I’m safe. I won’t die of cancer like her. If I have the markers, they can fix it now. Deep breath. Okay, we’re good. I am not a victim.
She opens her eyes, returning to the Scrawl entry to finish the “Brain Dump.” She shakes her head at the goofy name and chuckles, returning her attention to the tablet.
So, I figure it’s time to stop resisting Res6’s misguided attempts, stop feeling sorry for myself, and get back to being the badass heroine you deserve.
Whew! I’m never going to publish this, but I promise you it is incredibly therapeutic. And soon, Dear Reader, we will find each other again.
Not okay, but working on it,
Electra
Electra’s fingers itch to open FrogBlog and start publishing her thoughts like a fire hydrant struck by a hit-and-run.
Even cranking out a few short stories would give her somewhere to funnel all this energy she’s built up wallowing in bed.
She meant it when she wrote that she’d attempt to stop resisting his advances.
Perhaps not today, but that doesn’t mean that when the time comes, she’ll approach him. He can come to her—
There’s a sound outside the door, then it’s opening. “Electra?” As though she summoned him, he sticks his head past the doorframe.
Damn it. “You really need to learn to knock.”
He assesses the door as if it’s the door’s fault. “Apologies. I’m not used to knocking in my own unit.”
Internally, she cringes. She isn’t sure if his comment was intended as a gentle reminder that she is now inhabiting his space, but she takes it as one.
His apartment, which upon further reflection is much nicer than the cramped studio she’s used to.
Still, she isn’t willing or possibly able to give up the sanctuary just yet.
Sheepishly, she says, “Next time, just knock. No problem.”
He gives her a forced smile and eyes the corner of the bed like it might bite. “I think we need to start over. I assessed my schedule and can move some things around, so I have time for our interactions now.”
“Okaaaaaay . . .” she says. He eyes the bed again. The poor man is clearly way out of his depth and needs mercy. Not that her merciful nature negates her irritation with him. “Sit if you like, Res6.”
He does. Stiffly, placing his hands on his knees and squeezing, which reminds her of a grounding gesture.
“In an effort to provide you with an opportunity to talk, I came up with a list of questions to ask you. Entirely on my own,” he adds so quickly that she’s pretty sure he’s lying.
Tommy seems to have good intentions, but she needs to have a talk with him.
Meddling is never a good idea. She learned that firsthand when she accidentally caused a breakup between her good friend and her longtime boyfriend, a.k.a.
Brad the cheating pig. She’d given Jessica good advice, but her friend’s execution was off.
Electra meant she should slash his tires metaphorically.
The bottom line is Res6 needs to figure out how to navigate his mess on his own.
Otherwise, he will never learn and will remain socially inept.
Which, if the universe forces her to endure his continued presence, she must do something about.
At least he’s trying. “All right. Ask away.”
He releases a breath, along with some of the tension he brought into the room with him.
“First, let’s start with something relatively benign.
You lived by the ocean, right?” She nods, realizing he must have researched her too.
Interesting. What would the internet say about her now?
Did her books get published? She had written the first three books in the series before it got picked up.
And if they sold out their advances, who knows how many more she would have published during her lifetime.
“Electra?”
“Huh?” she asks.
“I asked, did you ever actually see a mermaid before they went extinct?”
She barks out a laugh. “You’re joking?”
He fishes his phone out of his pocket, scrambling to open something. “No. That’s what it says.” He frowns, as if his screen has led him astray.
Her heart thuds in a way that feels an awful lot like sympathy or an affection like one might have for a child trying and failing to pronounce a difficult word, like incomprehensibilities.
“Umm, no, I never saw a mermaid,” she says.
She’s not lying because technically, she can’t prove there were never mermaids. Dragons too, or aliens. “Next?”
He scans his phone. Under his breath, he murmurs, “What is your favorite sexual position? Too forward. Have you ever taken a ‘blind date’? If so, which party was blind? DumBot indeed. Have you ever had your heart catastrophically broken? Too personal.”
Well, that gives her some hope. And it confirms the lying bit.
“Oh, here’s one,” he says, clearing his throat. “On a scale of one to ten, is it possible to know your life’s purpose?”
She shakes her head, unable to repress a grin. “You used AI to help you come up with a list of questions for me?”
“Yes,” he says, shifting to stare guiltily at the dark green wall. “Are you more upset with me now?”
She leans forward, placing a hand on his knee, which causes him to jump.
“You’re trying, and I appreciate that. If you really want to know if I think it’s possible to know your life’s purpose”—he nods insistently—“well then I’d say, yes and no.
” He opens his mouth, but she holds up her hand to stop a rebuttal.
“I know that I compulsively need to write. I know I feel an intrinsic desire to make the world a better place. I also think people, at least from my time, put too much stock in the word purpose. I think just pick something you enjoy and do it. If you can find joy in that, you’ve got it made.
What about you? Was creating manupartners your life’s purpose? ”
“I see Tommy told you they were my invention.” His expression is pained. “I know you don’t approve.”
“Don’t get mad at Tommy. You should have told me it’s your company. Besides, it doesn’t matter what I think about it. I’m asking how you feel,” she presses.
“I guess the answer is yes, then,” he says, meeting her gaze.
She can see he means it, which makes her insults that much worse.
If only she could keep her mouth shut. Granted, a part of her is curious about what made him think manupartners were a good idea because between that and his resistance to offering compassion, there’s definitely some tragic character backstory going on here.
But it probably isn’t the time to indulge her writer brain, considering they’ve spoken for ten minutes now and neither of them has yelled or started crying.
“Well, that’s something, isn’t it? How about another question? ”
He references his phone again and chuckles to himself. “What risky behaviors do you like to engage in?
She chuckles too since they both know his AI wrote the questions. “Writing. You?”
His smile is genuine now. “Science.”
“Good one,” she says. “Next?”
“What form does your existential dread take?”
“Cockroaches?” she answers, attempting to keep the tone lighthearted and hoping he’ll take the hint.
“That isn’t a real answer.”
“Pass, then. Next question.” She gives him an encouraging grin.
“Since she is a romance author, how many pages does she prefer her sex scenes to be?”
A laugh bursts out. “Umm . . . at least two. You?”
“I’ve never read a romance book, but I’m definitely reading yours now.”
She groans dramatically, leaning back into the pillows. “Please don’t. Having people you know read your books, especially the sex scenes, is so embarrassing. Next question.”
“If nothing really exists unless it is observed, who are you?” He offers her a challenging stare.
“God, the AI bot came up with that?”