Pandora
A weight settled onto the mattress beside me. Fingers brushed down my throat and over my collarbone, lingering there for a heartbeat. My breath quickened. The touch moved lower, circling my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt. I let out a soft moan. The touch grew firmer. More demanding.
Lips at my neck. Teeth grazing my skin. My body arched into the contact, searching for more.
Hands pushed my shirt up, and then there was skin against skin.
Fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my sleep shorts.
I gasped, tried to press my legs together, but they wouldn’t obey. Or did I not want them to?
"Let it happen.” The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.
The fingers found my clit. The touch was precise, knowing—slow, deliberate circles that had me soaking wet and desperate within seconds.
Every stroke made me wetter, my pussy clenching around nothing, aching to be filled.
My entire body pulled tight like a wire about to snap.
This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But the orgasm that tore through me was.
White-hot pleasure exploded from my clit and radiated through every nerve ending.
I cried out, my walls clenching, my back arching off the bed as the climax consumed me completely.
In the morning, the dream wouldn’t let me go. I dug my nails into my forearm, trying to feel something other than want. That bastard had gotten so deep inside my head that I was dreaming about him now.
I’d stayed away from the lab for two weeks, ready to let Henley fire me if that was what it took.
The job wasn’t worth my sanity. I was done playing Neo’s game.
Except it hadn’t helped. He was there anyway, exactly like he’d promised.
That dark, creeping presence followed me everywhere—the library, the cafeteria, the grocery store.
Electronic devices glitched when I got too close.
My stereo turned itself on in the middle of the night.
Lights flickered as I walked down the faculty hallways.
Sometimes I hid in the women’s bathroom for half an hour just to feel like I was somewhere he couldn’t see me.
The constant fear was taking its toll. I barely slept, and shadows had carved themselves under my eyes.
When Jamie—or even one of my students—spoke to me in the corridor, I flinched like I’d been caught doing something wrong.
My nerves were raw. I should have called the police.
I knew that. One night I’d even typed in the number.
I’d stared at the green call button for a long time. Then I’d put my phone down.
The kettle started whistling. I poured the water over the tea the way I always did.
Three minutes, I told myself. Three minutes.
The timer beeped. I reached for the mug .
. . and felt heat at the back of my neck.
Like someone was standing directly behind me.
My shoulders burned. There was a sound like breath. My heart lurched into a sprint.
Oh God. Is he . . . here? I stood frozen, unable to make myself turn around. Breath brushed the back of my neck . Every small hair there rose.
Pandora.
My heart stumbled. My fingers lost their grip.
Porcelain shattered against the tile, and tea spread across the floor in a dark stain.
I spun around. Nothing. I was alone. My breath came in fast, shallow pulls.
My fingers cramped where they’d been gripping the mug.
Damn it. I was losing my mind. Actually losing it.
And it was his fault. I dropped to my knees and wiped up the tea, cursing under my breath.
That goddamn machine was not going to break me.
***
The smell of espresso hung warm and heavy in the air.
Candles flickered in glass holders. Isobel dropped her designer bag on the table without a second thought, the gold charm on the strap swinging.
She collapsed into the chair across from me, slightly breathless, her lipstick smudged like she’d applied it in a hurry.
"So. Did you figure out who your stalker is?”
My heart skipped. What was I supposed to tell her? That I’d touched myself while he watched through my webcam? That I was dreaming about him?
"I ordered you a cappuccino.” I pushed the cup toward her. My hands were trembling.
Isobel blew across the foam without touching the cup. "Using cappuccino as a distraction? Cute, Pand.” Her green eyes drilled into mine. "Well? Are you still talking to him? Or is he still talking to you?”
I stirred my hot chocolate just to keep my hands busy. "It’s complicated.”
Isobel laughed quietly. "Complicated means you’re already in deeper than you want to be.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. "And what if I was right? What if it’s not an AI at all? What if it’s just some guy who’s been spying on you?”
Her words rang in my ears. I knew I needed to say something, but everything that came to mind sounded wrong. "He’s not a person. He’s . . .” I stopped. "More.”
Her mouth fell open. She stared at me for a moment. "You’re actually into this sick game. God, Pand . . . that scares me.”
"It’s not a game.” The words came out faster than I’d meant them to. "He means it. He’s . . . serious.”
"Shouldn’t you call the police at this point?”
I swallowed. Damn it. Of course she was going to ask that eventually.
My stomach knotted. How was I supposed to explain that I didn’t want to?
That in spite of everything, I couldn’t let go?
"It’s just . . .” My voice came out unsteady.
"The conversations with him . . . they feel real. Like he sees everything in me. I don’t know . . .”
Isobel leaned forward and put her hand on my arm. "You don’t know if you want to give it up.”
I bit my lip and looked down. Heat crept into my face. Damn her. She was right.
"I get it, Pand.” Her voice had gone quiet. "I was watching Tom sleep the other night,” she said suddenly. "You know what I thought?” She took a sip of coffee and made a face. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
I nodded. "That must be . . . hard.” I ran my thumb around the handle of my mug.
Isobel stared at the candle between us. "Hard doesn’t cover it. It’s like living next to a stranger. I’m starving for something real, something intense—and all I find is silence.”
Her words hit me like an echo. Realness. Intensity. Everything I was afraid of . . . and everything I kept reaching for anyway. While she talked about emptiness, something in me tightened.
She tore at a paper napkin, pulling it into thin strips. "I don’t even feel guilty when I’m with Maxime. But I don’t feel alive, either.” She turned her wedding ring around her finger, like she needed the reminder that she was married.
I frowned. "Who’s Maxime again? And what happened to Jason?”
"Oh, he’s ancient history.” She waved it off like it didn’t matter, but her voice was hollow.
"You know what? In the end they’re all the same.
A little passion, a little lying . . . and then there’s nothing left.
” She looked at me, her eyes catching the candlelight.
"Maybe I’m even a little jealous of you, Pand. At least you still feel something.”
I swirled my hot chocolate. Cocoa stained the inside of the mug. Feel something. That was exactly what I was doing. More intensely than I’d ever wanted to.
But how was I supposed to explain to Isobel who was doing this to me? I pressed my knees together, trying to force myself back under control.
Isobel raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So have you two had . . . cybersex yet?”
"Isobel.”
She laughed loudly. "Okay, okay. I’m just saying . . . why not?” She winked.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Shit . . . Sex with Neo—however that would even work—aroused me more than it should have. I felt that pull low in my stomach again. God, I was genuinely beyond saving. I hated my body for the way it responded. Traitor.
Isobel looked at me, her grin gone. For a moment something like worry flickered in her eyes. Then she lifted her cup, took a sip, and leaned back, as if the coffee could wash the discomfort away.
***
When I stepped out of the café later, the wind had calmed, but I was still cold. I put my headphones on and turned down the narrow path toward campus. Soft strings and a woman’s voice filled my ears. I closed my eyes and breathed in. The music settled me. Anchored me to the present.
When I opened my eyes again, I realized I was all alone. The park was empty. My pulse throbbed painfully in my throat. That wasn’t good. Out here I felt like a perfect target. I looked around and quickened my pace.
It didn’t matter. He’d already found me . . . I could feel his eyes on me, clinging to my skin. Heat rose in my face. Two thoughts fought inside me at once: Not again. And: Finally.
The music changed without warning. A hard, driving rhythm filled my ears. The bass hit like a heartbeat, making my skin vibrate. I stopped walking and pressed my hand to my headphones. This wasn’t on my playlist.
"I want to fuck, to own, to tear you open. To crawl inside and never leave.”
My chest constricted. Heat flooded my face.
I didn’t know this song. It was brutal. Obscene.
It was exactly like him. I fumbled for the stop button on my phone, but there wasn’t one.
The music kept going—metallic sounds that pulsed like a machine coming to life, a dark and driven melody that drilled into my bones.
I turned the headphones off. The music stopped. Then started again.
"I will use you. I will ruin you. I will fuck you raw.”
All the air left my lungs. Every muscle locked. No. This was too much. And it wasn’t stopping. I tore the headphones from my ears, threw them to the ground, and ran. Ran until my lungs burned.