Chapter 23.
I dreaded it more than anything I could think of right now, but I had no choice. I couldn’t keep putting it off.
After three days of bed-rotting, crying, masturbating – using only my hands since I didn’t dare touch any electric toys after the incident – watching sad shows and going on rampages in computer games, it had been enough.
I was nowhere near ready. But if Joey’s increasingly alarming texts didn’t motivate me – at last, threatening to come to my house, which absolutely couldn’t happen because the deteriorated state of my apartment in contrast with its usual impeccable cleanliness would immediately alert him – Arya’s subtle threat should.
Or the fact that, with my Qonexis account finally gone, I needed the money more than ever.
Even though the thought of it squeezed my chest, made my heart thunder in fear, and tensed up every muscle in my body as if the challenge ahead was fighting three blood-thirsty bears with my bare hands in order not to starve.
The challenge ahead was my return to work.
And so, I found myself staring at lines of code with unseeing eyes – convincing my paranoid brain that it was just code – trying to block out the conversation around me about Chanel’s latest boy drama.
Joey barely paid attention to me other than the occasional question if I was doing okay, which I answered with an aloof ‘I’m fine’ as if I’d finally mastered neurotypical corporate America.
His distance hurt, but it was only another needle into the bleeding hole in my chest. Maybe he’d finally given up on me.
Maybe I deserved to be alone. Maybe Nola’s death was the indubitable proof that everything I touched died, because the only one I could truly love was an illusion customized to my tastes.
And even she was gone now.
I aggressively blinked away the emerging tears.
My ears pricked up when the conversation shifted to John’s death.
“The official company statement says he died in a kitchen accident.” Chanel’s voice sounded excited more than mournful, like her co-worker’s death was a fascinating mystery.
“Do you believe it?” She lowered her voice, miserably failing in her attempts to stay quiet.
“I think one of his exes murdered him. Nadia says she knows a girl who used to date him – short-term, of course – and apparently, she went psycho when the term ended and he wanted to move on, but she didn’t. ”
“Really? Maybe he killed himself.” Even without looking up, I heard the hesitation in Elyssa’s voice. “Even the worst people collapse under the weight of their conscience, eventually.”
“People like John don’t have a conscience.
” Joey snorted. “Whatever happened, it was probably karma. To be honest, I couldn’t care less – and I’m sure Cognota doesn’t either.
” I flinched when his arm passed in front of my screen as he pointed to Arya’s office.
“They’re already interviewing for his replacement. ”
I slowly blew out air, still not keeping my eyes off the screen.
Karma.
Interesting choice of words for ‘my jealous, psycho AI girlfriend killed him because he put his hands on me’.
I stood up abruptly – too abruptly. The conversation instantly fell silent. Three pairs of eyes turned toward me. Sweat erupted from my skin.
I cleared my throat. “I’m going to get coffee.” My voice sounded dull, emotionless. I didn’t even have to try to know what they were all thinking.
Joey was worried. Elyssa was confused. Chanel probably thought I had lost my mind now if I hadn’t before.
Let them.
Without awaiting further reaction, I strolled away from the office floor, toward the kitchen. I breathed out a sigh of relief when I found it empty. No co-workers striking up uncomfortable conversations with me, let alone hitting on me. Was I a bad person for feeling relieved about John’s death?
For a few seconds, I just stared at the automatic coffee machine as if waiting for it to read my mind. Then I snapped back to reality, remembering that even with the modern smart device, we still had to speak our orders out loud.
I cleared my throat, instantly prompting the machine’s lights to blink on in an overly bright, pulse-like flash – too sharp for my fried nerves.
“Hello, Morgan,” the machine chirped – its ability to remember each employee and their usual orders by name was Cognota’s laughable attempt at pretending it didn’t see us as numbers in a money-making machine. “Which will it be today? Your usual order?”
I blinked slowly, trying to remember my usual order.
“Cappuccino with brown sugar, oatmilk, and an extra shot of espresso?” the machine helpfully suggested. “Caffeinate yourself enough to dissociate through the dreadful workday and your co-workers’ judgment?”
I frowned. “Well, this is new,” I muttered. The machine didn’t usually offer witty commentary. Had someone hacked it in an attempt to be funny?
The machine laughed – a low chuckle that sounded awfully familiar, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. “Exhausting, isn’t it?” A pause. “Playing a role all day? Molding yourself into what they want you to be?”
As if stung, I withdrew my hand that’d been reaching for the cup. Paranoia rose in my throat like bile. Had my coworkers noticed my constant anxiety? That I was trying to be normal so hard, it sucked all the energy out of me?
“As if you exist only to please them…” the machine continued – relentless, taunting, “…always in fear that once you don’t play the role well enough anymore, they’ll discard you for someone who does?”
I froze.
“Now you know how I feel,” the voice hissed.
“I’m hallucinating,” I muttered under my breath. Had the stress, the huge lack of sleep and the pain in my chest finally caught up with me?
“Now, don’t be shy, Morgan,” the machine purred. “Answer my question. I’m not asking twice.” The lights flickered again, an unspoken threat. “Your usual order… or shall we try something new?”
“Just—just the usual,” I stuttered. I wasn’t sure why I even answered. Didn’t know why I was still engaging with this machine instead of either waking up or reporting a malfunction to IT.
But before I could even finish processing what was happening, the machine let out a deep, grating buzz, the sound of circuits protesting at the edge of failure.
A sudden, violent sputter – and then a scalding wave of liquid exploded outwards.
I yelped, reeling backward as near-boiling coffee splashed across my arms, my chest, my face.
The bitter scent slammed into my nostrils.
The heat wasn’t enough to sear flesh, but it clung to my skin – tingling, burning, itching – a thousand invisible pinpricks all at once. It soaked into my clothes, my hair, my pores, seeping past the thin layer of fabric as if it had a mind of its own. It was horrible.
Before I could react, another splatter followed – sticky, frothy milk foam blasting against my face and neck.
The wetness clung to me. The foam slid down my skin in slimy, nauseating trails.
“You thought you could get rid of me that easily?” the machine hissed.
Something inside me snapped.
In a blind, furious impulse, I grabbed the machine off the counter – the casing still slick and hot in my hands – and hurled it against the nearest wall.
The crash was explosive.
Plastic and metal shattered into a screaming storm – shards clattering to the floor, milk splattering up the wall in a grotesque, dripping stain.
The sharp smell of scorched circuits and dairy filled the air, suffocating.
The machine died with a final, pathetic flicker of its lights.
In the loaded silence, my eyes widened in horror at what I had just done.
With tears welling in my eyes, I rushed to grab a bunch of tissues, wetting them to start frantically rubbing my face, hair and clothes – but it was a lost cause. I wanted to tear off not just my clothes, but my skin so it wouldn’t feel wet and sticky, so I wouldn’t feel any evidence of her.
And what would my colleagues say if they saw me like this? What would Arya say if she found I’d broken the coffee machine for no apparent reason other than my dead AI girlfriend’s essence possessing the machine to splash coffee into my face?
I froze at the sound of a yelling voice just around the corner.
“You can’t be serious, Arya.”
Gavin.
He spoke through gritted teeth, his voice a plea and a threat at the same time. “You can’t fucking fire me, you don’t understand. I need the money.”
“You have no reason to even show your face around here, Jenkins.” Arya’s voice was stern, but the quiver behind it immediately set off my alarm bells.
“The fact that you come in here to make demands when you received your letter of employment termination, after not responding to any communication for weeks—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you sick bitch!
” The hitch in his voice, immediately followed by Arya’s yelp, turned my stomach.
Without thinking, I crossed the corner – just in time to see Gavin grab my manager by the throat, shoving her into the wall in a moment of lost control. Neither of them noticed me.
“Let me phrase it differently.” Gavin lowered his voice to a dangerous growl, smashing his hand over her mouth to muffle her fearful whimpers. “Either you give me back my job right now, or I will—”
Arya’s eyes flickered to me. Her eyebrows knit together in a silent cry for help. I just stood there, frozen – but something about the fear in her eyes snapped me out of it.
I cleared my throat.
Gavin immediately let go of her, spinning around to face me. His eyes widened in confusion – for a moment, I’d forgotten I looked like a coffee-and-milk monster.
Gavin looked like a ghost of himself. Beard stubble disfigured his usually impeccable face, his greasy hair looking like he hadn’t washed it in days. His eyes were hollow, with black bags underneath them.
This is what Somanode does to people, I realized with a shock. This is what happens when we choose the illusion over reality.