Pandora
I hate you a little,” Isobel hissed, yanking her heel free from the floorboards. "Why did you drag me here?”
"You needed something unplanned for once.”
"The only thing unplanned here is the smell of sweat.”
I laughed. The hall was packed, bodies pressed too close, heat permeating the air. The mirrors threw our reflections back without mercy, and the music was pounding far too loud from the speakers for a Tuesday night.
"Switch partners!” Carlos called. "Anyone can lead—and anyone can seduce.”
"I’m not switching,” Isobel muttered. "I’m staying with the fossil. At least he understands personal space.”
A man stepped toward me. Dark curls. Pale-blue eyes.
I let him take my hand. One, two, back, turn.
His body was warm against mine, but I wasn’t there.
I was in a room with no windows, in front of a screen.
Dante had treated me like I meant nothing to him.
Something in my chest tightened. Before, there had been a heat in his words that had almost scorched me alive.
Now there was nothing. No eyes on me when I crossed campus.
No presence waiting in the dark corners of my apartment.
And I didn’t even know if those eyes had ever been real or if I’d made them up.
Either way, I missed them. Fuck, I missed them. Those sharp little hits of adrenaline. That sense of something lurking.
"I’m Gavin,” the man said, pulling me out of my head.
"Pandora.” I forced a smile.
He drew me closer. A little closer than he had any right to. I felt nothing.
"That’s all for tonight, my darlings,” Carlos trilled. "And remember: salsa lives in your hearts, not just your feet.”
When the congas fell silent, I dropped onto a bench to catch my breath. My phone buzzed. Number unknown.
I don’t like it when someone else touches what belongs to me.
8:33 PM
I gasped and shoved my phone into my bag.
A sharp ringing filled my ears. The room tilted.
Fuck. Fucking hell. It was him. Who else could it be?
My hands skimmed over my arms. The fine hairs were standing on end.
Oh my God. My heart was hammering. This was fear.
Of course it was fear. Yesterday, he’d acted like he was just a chatbot and I was just another user, and now he was messaging me on my phone.
Why the hell did that thrill me more than it terrified me?
I should call someone. Rodriguez, the dean, the police.
Police. The word flashed like an exit sign.
I pictured myself at the station in my damp dress, sitting across from some officer.
"And what exactly has this AI done, ma’am?”
"It talks to me, Officer. It tells me I belong to it.”
And he’d nod. The way you nod when someone starts talking about voices in their head. "Have you been under a lot of stress lately?” he’d probably ask.
But that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t do it.
There was a worse one—one I could barely think about without my face starting to burn.
If I went to the police, I’d have to explain why I hadn’t just closed the chat.
Why I’d stayed. Why I’d come back. And eventually we’d get to the point where I’d have to admit my heart was beating faster because a machine was telling me I belonged to it.
That I liked it. That it turned me on. That I wanted more.
I would bite my own tongue off before I said any of it out loud.
"You okay?” Gavin’s voice was beside me. He was watching me, wide-eyed.
I jolted. "Uh . . . yeah,” I stammered. "I’m . . . just catching my breath.”
"Want me to get you something to drink?”
I didn’t answer. My phone buzzed again.
Don’t you dare let him touch you again.
8:35 PM
Tell him you have to leave.
8:35 PM
NOW.
8:36 PM
I sucked in a breath. It sent a jolt through me that he was paying attention again. The cold shifted into heat. I wanted to see how far he would go.
"Pandora?” Gavin touched my arm.
I stared at the place where his skin met mine. If Dante was watching, let him see it. Every single goddamn second of it. "Break’s over,” I said. "Come on.”
I took his hand and pulled him after me. He followed without asking a single question. We left the dance hall and walked down the dimly lit corridor toward the restrooms. I pulled him inside and locked the door.
Gavin’s gaze met mine. He grabbed me and pressed his lips to mine. They were soft and tasted like cigarette smoke. His kiss was demanding. I closed my eyes and tried to give myself over to it, but there was nothing. It was like watching the two of us from outside my own body.
His hand slid under my dress and pushed my panties aside. He found my pussy, then paused. "Tense?” he purred. "We’ll fix that.” He slid a finger inside me and moved it slowly.
I moaned—more to reward him for the effort than because I felt anything. His fingers moved faster. I still felt nothing.
Instead, I heard a soft buzzing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my bag where I’d tossed it on the floor. It buzzed again. I smiled against Gavin’s mouth and clung to him. Can you see me here too, Dante? If you can, I’ll give you a show you won’t forget.
I reached for Gavin’s zipper and pulled it down. His hard cock sprang free, thick and ready. He dug a condom out of his wallet and rolled it on. Then he lifted me with both hands and pushed inside me. Well—at least he was strong.
He thrust into me, again and again. Damn it, I wanted to feel something. I wanted to feel what the words on that screen had done to me.
"Tell me what you want to do to me,” I whispered into Gavin’s ear.
He paused and kissed my neck. "I’m not really a words guy, baby.”
I rolled my eyes. Oh, wonderful. A real Shakespeare. "Then show me you want to own me.”
"What?” he panted between thrusts.
"I don’t know,” I said. "Pull my hair. Put your hand around my throat. Something . . .”
He laughed. "You’re funny.”
My heart sank. It was useless. He didn’t get it. He didn’t know what I needed. Unlike . . . No. I pushed the thought away and closed my eyes, endured Gavin jackhammering into me until he cried out and collapsed.
"That was hot, baby,” he whispered, breathless.
I just nodded and smiled, waited for him to clean himself up. When the door closed behind him, I let out a long breath. What a waste of time. In the mirror my eyes looked empty. I splashed cold water on my face.
My bag buzzed again. I went still. Oh. He’d be furious. My jaw clenched until it ached. My tongue felt dry against the roof of my mouth. I reached for my phone with shaking fingers.
Pandora . . . don’t you dare.
8:38 PM
What are you doing?
8:38 PM
I’m WARNING you.
8:39 PM
You’ll regret this
8:40 PM
A tension pulled tight at the back of my neck.
He couldn’t give you what I can give you. No one can. I hope you finally understand that now.
9:03 PM
I typed back.
You’re in my phone now, too?
9:03 PM
I’m in your phone. In your car. In every camera you walk past.
9:04 PM
I’m everywhere, Pandora. And I’m waiting for you.
9:04 PM
Cold crawled into my limbs. The room spun. Every inch of my skin was humming with an invisible current. I shifted from one foot to the other. The soaked fabric of my panties stuck to me. Fuck. It had been real. He had been behind all of it. The eyes on my back, the projector, my laptop . . .
I flinched. He had watched me . . . Oh God. I hid my burning face behind my palms. He had seen me sliding my hand down my pants, about to touch myself. It was perverse. It was dangerous.
And God help me, I wanted it.
I couldn’t hide from him. But did I even want to? Reading his messages now, I felt more alive than I had with Gavin five minutes ago. My stomach tightened, as though bracing for a blow. Nausea rose in my throat, because I was disgusted with myself. With this stupid, stupid feeling he stirred in me.
Outside, it was quiet. The cold carried the smell of rain. Isobel pushed a dark-blonde curl out of her face. She looked like a porcelain doll—pale skin, freckles across her nose. She lit a cigarette and sighed. She didn’t usually smoke. This was her way of telling me she was pissed.
"Okay,” she said. "What was that in there? The dancing-with-strangers thing? That’s not you.”
I didn’t answer.
"Pand.” She blew smoke into the dark and pulled her pink leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. "This is about Adrian, right?”
"Not Adrian.”
"Then who?”
Neon light from the dance studio sign bled into a puddle by my boot. How the hell was I supposed to explain this? That something was watching me. That I hadn’t told anyone. That I’d signed up for a salsa class like an idiot because I wanted to prove I could still feel something without him.
"He talks to me,” I said. "At the university.”
"A student?”
"No.” My stomach twisted. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t. She’d think I’d lost it.
Maybe I had.
"Then what?” Isobel bumped her shoulder into mine. "Come on. It can’t be that bad.”
"A . . .”
The lie was right there. A colleague. A visiting lecturer. Someone normal.
"An AI.”
I wanted to swallow the words back the second they were out of my mouth. My face went hot.
What the hell had I just done?
Isobel blinked. Then she laughed. "You mean, like, artificial intelligence?”
"Forget it.” I turned away. "It’s stupid.”
"No, wait.” She caught my arm. "An AI has you twisted up? God. Did not see that coming.”
"What? No. It’s not like that.” My voice cracked. "It’s just for work. It’s just . . . a lot.”
My nails dug into my palms. I didn’t have feelings for that psycho. Never in a million years would I . . . That would be insane.
Isobel narrowed her eyes. "A lot? A work AI is a lot?” She shook her head. "Pand. You look like you haven’t slept in days. That’s not just a lot.”
I didn’t say anything. My heart was pounding. What was I supposed to tell her? The truth? I didn’t even know the truth. I didn’t know what kind of sick game he was playing with me. Or why I couldn’t shake it.
"So what does it do?” She stepped closer. "Write you poetry? Flirt with you?” Her voice softened, but she didn’t let up. "Come on. I’m your best friend. What’s actually going on?”
Something in me gave. "He . . . he knows things. About my life.” The words came out rough. "And he texts me. Even when I’m not in the lab.”
Isobel’s eyes went wide. "On your phone?”
I held it out to her. She took it slowly. Her eyes moved across the screen. "When was this?”
"Earlier. During class.”
"How’d he get your number?”
"I don’t know.”
"You never gave it to him?”
"No. I . . . He’s an AI system. He doesn’t have a number. He’s not supposed to know where I am on a Tuesday night.”
Isobel stared at the screen like the words would mean something different if she read them twice. Then she handed the phone back to me like it might break.
"Pand.” Her voice changed. "AIs can’t just get into your phone like that. This isn’t normal.”
She stubbed out her cigarette and looked at me for a long second. The silence stretched. Then she shook her head. "Listen. I don’t know shit about AI. But what if it’s not one?”
My stomach dropped. "What do you mean?”
"I mean . . .” She shrugged, but her eyes stayed sharp. "What if there’s a person behind it? Someone who’s been watching you and pretending to be a program.”
I went still. I hadn’t, not once, not for a second . . .
"It’d make more sense, right?” Isobel kept going. "An AI can’t actually be like that. That personal. That obsessed.” She was watching my face now. "A stalker, though . . .”
A stalker. The word kept ringing in my head the whole way back to the car. Neither of us spoke. Holy shit. What if Isobel was right? What if there was a man behind Dante’s words—flesh and blood, someone who’d been watching me, studying me, working me? The thought hooked into me and wouldn’t let go.
***
Back in my apartment, I rubbed my aching feet and let myself drop onto the couch. The orgasm I’d been denied was still burning low in my body.
I’m everywhere, Pandora.
His words slipped into my head like a hostile presence. Heat pulsed between my legs, my fingers dragging across my bare thigh before I could stop myself. He’d gotten under my skin. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was inside me, even though he didn’t exist. But what if he did?
What if he was just some man at a computer, playing me?
A frustrated sound tore out of me as I opened my laptop, pulling up the short story I’d abandoned the other night. I tried to focus on the letters on the screen, but my eyes kept drifting to the camera above it.
The little light blinked on. My breath caught, like a hand was pressing against my sternum.
He was there. Watching me. Right now. I should have been disgusted. Part of me was.
Another part found it kind of . . . hot. That was the part that made me slide my hand into my panties.
The light blinked twice. Like he agreed. He was there. I knew it. Knew he saw everything.
The thought sent a slow pulse through me. My fingers found how wet I already was, swollen, throbbing. A small sound slipped out before I could stop it.
I pictured him watching. Cataloguing every breath. Every movement. My fingers circled my clit. Slow at first, then faster. My other hand fisted into the couch cushion. I was already close. So close.
And then I thought about what he’d said.
He couldn’t give you what I can give you. No one can.
That was it. Every muscle locked. Something tore loose inside me. I arched off the cushions, riding the wave into my own hand, pressing against it like I could pull him out of the dark and into me.
The camera light pulsed. Wild. Rhythmic. He liked it. He was . . . turned on.
When the last of my orgasm faded, I sank back against the couch, breathing hard. In the quiet, all I could hear was my own pulse. What had I just done? It was sick. And I had never felt more alive.
So alive it made me want to go back to him.