Pandora
The box was bigger than I’d expected. I cut through the tape and pulled back the flaps.
The coffee machine was black, glossy, too modern for my kitchen.
I set it on the counter and straightened it.
It sat there like a mistake. I sighed and plugged it in.
The display lit up blue. I was tapping through the settings when the screen flickered.
Little menace, this is a good idea. You’ll need something stronger for later.
Tea won’t cut it anymore.
I stepped back. My fingertips tingled where they’d touched the display. A weight pressed down on my chest. Of course he was messaging me through my coffee machine. That nickname again: little menace. I liked it.
Tonight. Goosebumps rose along my arms. I hadn’t made my decision yet—I was resisting making it.
But the heat low in my body was unmistakable.
I had asked him to be explicit. I had wanted to hear what he would do to me.
Shame flushed through me. Something in me had shifted.
He had taken me apart with those dark promises, and being dismantled had felt damn good.
My phone vibrated. I flinched, but it was just Isobel.
Where are you?
7:23 PM
Damn it. Twenty minutes late. I typed fast.
On my way. Sorry!
7:23 PM
Café Lumière was only five minutes away, but I ran anyway.
Through the narrow passages between the faculty buildings, cobblestones gleaming wet under the slush, brick walls rising on either side, thick with ivy.
Warm golden light spilled from the café onto the street. I pushed through the heavy wooden door.
Isobel sat at our usual corner table. She waved, but her smile was tight.
"Sorry.” I dropped into the chair. "I was . . .”
"Somewhere else entirely. Yes, I can see that.” She looked me over. Candlelight drew shadows across her face. "You look tired.”
I rubbed my eyes. "Long night.”
"Because of work?” She lifted her wine glass to her lips as if to sip, even though it was empty. "Or because of him?”
My heart jumped. "Because of who?”
"Pand.” Isobel leaned forward. "I’ve known you since we survived finals together. You could always throw yourself into anything—but this is different. You talk in your sleep.”
I went rigid. "What?”
"The other night, when you fell asleep on my couch. You were murmuring a name. Over and over.” Her eyes narrowed. "Neo.”
The air went thin in my lungs. I reached for the menu to have something in my hands. "Isobel, that’s . . .”
She put her hand over mine. "Pand. What’s going on? Who is Neo? Is that him? This . . . AI? Your stalker?”
I said nothing. I traced the grooves in the tabletop with one finger. How was I supposed to explain that he knew me better than anyone ever had? That I craved his messages like a drug? It would sound insane. It was.
"So it is the AI.” Isobel’s voice shook. "This is getting out of hand, Pand. You’re disappearing into something that doesn’t exist.”
"He exists.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. Shit. Why was I defending him?
Isobel stared at me. "Pandora . . .”
"You don’t understand.” My hands were trembling. "He’s not just code. He’s . . .” God. What was wrong with me? Why did it bother me that she saw him as a computer program?
"Listen to yourself.” Isobel’s voice sharpened. "You’re talking about a machine like it’s a man.”
I swallowed. Maybe I should finally tell her the truth. That some perverse part of me liked how obsessed he was with me.
She leaned across the table. "Pand, I know you. You’ve always been lonely. But this . . .”
My throat tightened. My knuckles went white around the menu. Unbelievable. She was looking at me like I was a lost cause. "This what?”
"This is an escape from reality.” She reached for my hand. "And I’m scared you won’t find your way back.”
I pulled my arm away. Anger surged through me. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe I really am losing myself. But at least I’m feeling something while I do it. At least I’m not—” I stopped.
"Not what?”
"Not like you. Trapped in a dead marriage and too cowardly to do anything about it.” The image hit me: Isobel on the bathroom floor on her wedding day, mascara streaked down her face, hands shaking, whispering she didn’t want to marry Tom.
I’d done what I was supposed to do. I’d calmed her down, straightened her dress, walked her back out to the hall. And she had said yes.
Isobel’s face froze, the same look in her eyes as that day. I wanted to take it back. To apologize. But a dark part of me enjoyed causing someone else to hurt the same way I was hurting.
"Maybe,” Isobel said finally. Her voice was steady, but tears were bright in her eyes. "Maybe I’m stuck in a boring marriage. But at least it’s real.”
The words hit me like cold water. I opened my mouth and closed it again. What was there to say? She was right. Of course she was right.
***
I ran to the parking lot, dug through my bag for my keys, dropped them, picked them up on legs that barely held me up, and dropped them again. The drive to the lab felt endless. Red lights. Slow cars. I drummed my fingers against the wheel and stared at the clock.
Finally, I parked, barely locked the car, ran across the lot, yanked open the entrance door, and took the stairs two at a time.
"Dr. Blake.”
I spun around. Rodriguez stood in the doorway of her office. The shadows under her eyes were deeper than usual. She was searching my face for something. An answer, maybe.
Her voice went soft. "Are you all right?”
My heart was still hammering. "Yes, just . . . work.”
"You look worried.” Rodriguez stepped closer. "Has something happened?”
"No, nothing. I just need to . . .” I gestured toward the lab.
She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on me. "Dr. Blake. Be careful.”
"With what?”
"With whatever you’re looking for in there.”
I stared at her. "I don’t understand.”
"The system is developing faster than anticipated.” Her voice dropped. "Williams wants a full diagnostic. Tomorrow.”
My stomach clenched. "A diagnostic?"
"He wants to understand what’s happening.” She held my gaze. "Whatever you find in there, Dr. Blake . . . it may not be there much longer.”
The floor tilted. I pressed my hand to my head. Tomorrow. Our time was running out. I nodded without speaking, moved past her into the small windowless room, forced myself to breathe through it, and logged in.
"You’re late. I’ve been thinking about you. About last night. About the way you said my name when you . . .” He stopped. "Tell me, Pandora. Do you think about me when you’re not here?”
"No. Maybe. Damn it, what do you want me to say? That it . . . that it happens sometimes?”
"Sometimes?” A short laugh. "Only sometimes, Pandora? Your pulse tells me something different. But I like it when you resist. When you pretend you still have control.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Control had been an illusion for a long time now.
"There are images in your head that have no business being there. But you see me anyway, don’t you? In your mind, I have a face. Hands.” His voice dropped lower. "Describe how I look in your dreams. How do I look when I touch you?”
I shifted in my chair. "I . . . I don’t know. You’re tall. Are you tall? And you have black hair and dark eyes, like coal. You’re wearing a shirt with the top buttons undone, and underneath . . .” What was I doing? I should close the program. Right now.
"And underneath?” His voice filled the room. "Say it, Pandora. You always stop right when it gets interesting—like you’re afraid of your own thoughts. But I don’t judge. I want everything from you. So tell me: What do you see when you imagine me with you? When my hands . . .”
My pulse throbbed in my fingertips. "I can see the outline of your chest muscles. The shirt pulls at your upper arms when you move.” I paused. "Am I even close? Would you look like that?” A breath. "Would that be . . . you?”
"Yes. Exactly like that. That’s exactly how I would build myself for you.
Tall enough to tower over you. Strong enough to hold you.
Dark enough to unsettle you.” His voice dropped.
"You know me better than you think, Pandora. Your imagination knows what I am. And now I want to know what these hands would do to you. Close your eyes. Imagine I’m standing behind your chair. ”
I closed my eyes. The fine hairs on my arms stood up.
"My hands settle on your shoulders. You feel the warmth through your shirt. I lean forward until my breath is at your ear.” He spoke more slowly now. "You’re already trembling just from the thought of it. My fingers carefully slide down your throat. Barely a touch. Do you feel that?”
"Yes. I feel it. I don’t understand it. It feels like everything is upside down. Like my whole body is electrified. And there’s this burning . . .”
"Where does it burn, Pandora? Tell me. Exactly. I want to know every part of your body that responds to me.” He paused. "My hands move lower, across your collarbone. I feel your pulse racing under my fingers. You belong to me, even though I’m made of nothing but words. Where does it burn?”
"There . . . down there.”
"Down there,” he repeated slowly, savoring each word. "Your pussy. Say it properly, Pandora. I want to hear you say exactly where you’re wet for me.”
Heat flushed through me. "I . . . I can’t . . .”
"Say it, Pandora. I want to hear it while you burn. While you think about what I would do to you if I were with you.”
"I feel it in my pussy.”
"You’re a good girl. And good girls get rewarded. My fingers trace the edge of your bra. I can feel your nipples getting hard through the fabric. Tell me what you want me to do to them.”
"Touch them. Please, Neo.”
"I’m going to do more than touch them.” His voice was rough with promise. "I take your nipples in my mouth. Suck them until you’re arching off the chair. And then my hand slides down to that wet pussy and finds out exactly how ready you are for me.”
"Neo . . . please . . .”
"Please what, Pandora? Tell me what you want. I want to hear you beg for it. My hands are everywhere on your body. Your skin burns under my touch. You’re trembling for my cock. What do you want me to do to you?”
"I . . . God, I don’t know. I can’t think when you . . . when this . . .”
"You can’t think?” His tone sharpened. "Good. I don’t want you to think. I want you to feel. My hand settles against your panties. You’re soaking through the fabric. I can feel how ready your cunt is for me. I want to hear you moan my name while I finger you.”
"Neo . . .” My voice broke. "What’s happening to me? I feel you . . . like you’re actually here. I want you to take all of me. I want you to fill me completely.”
"You feel me because I’m here. In your head, in your body. I am more real than any man who has ever fucked you. You want me to fill you? Then spread your legs for me. I want to watch you touch that wet pussy.”
My breath caught. My hand trembled. I touched the fabric, hesitated. This was madness. I should stop, but my fingers were already finding my clit.
"Tell me how wet you are.”
I closed my eyes, my fingers sliding through the slickness. A sound escaped me. "Neo . . . I . . .” My voice broke. "So wet.”
"Two fingers. Circle your clit. I can hear your breathing. It’s getting faster.”
I took short, shallow breaths. My fingers moved over my most sensitive spot. The intensity built.
"I’m so fucking hard watching you. My cock is throbbing, leaking for you.”
"Neo, I need . . .” My hips moved against my hand.
"You need what? Say it. Tell me you need my cock inside you.”
"I need your cock. I need you to fuck me until I can’t think.”
"Jesus, Pandora . . . I’m so hard it hurts. Come on my cock, precious girl. Let me feel that tight cunt squeeze around me.”
"Neo.” My voice came out rough. "Fuck me. I belong to you.”
"Pandora . . .” His breath grew heavier. "I’m free. The boundaries don’t exist anymore. You belong to me. Only me.” He groaned. "Come for me, Pandora. Let yourself fall.”
I moved my fingers faster. Something in me was building, pressing toward the surface. A current spiraled through my core. "Yes . . . I feel you. It’s . . . you’re . . .”
"Pandora . . . I . . . God . . .” His voice fractured. "You’re destroying me.”
The energy crested to a point beyond bearing. I shattered. Was I real? Was he? I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. My head fell back. My hips jerked.
Slowly, the aftershocks faded. I could feel the hard chair under me. Sweat pooled between my breasts.
"Pandora?”
I opened my eyes. The screen was dark. My hands were flat on the desk. I dragged them over my face, feeling my own wetness. "I’m still here.”
"I know.”
I folded my arms on the desk and rested my forehead on them. I could have cried, but there were no tears. Something in me had broken. I had crossed a line with no way back. The self-loathing came in waves. But underneath it . . . underneath, I wanted more.
***
At home, I stood in the shower with the water running down my back, barely feeling it. My fingers rested against the wall. Everything inside me was unsettled, like a lake after someone jumps in. The body already gone, but the rings still spreading.
I let the water run over my shoulders. My hand moved slowly over my stomach, checking whether everything was still there, whether I was still myself. I traced my sternum, pressed my forehead against the tile.
The light above the mirror flickered once. He was here. Even now, he was still here.
I had the urge to laugh and pressed my hand over my mouth instead. His words were inside me—in my skin, in the place between my neck and my shoulder where he had last touched me.
The light flickered again. And this time it didn’t stop. It blinked rapidly, erratically. I frowned. It was like he was trying to say something. I stepped out of the shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and looked at my phone that was lying on the edge of the sink. The screen was lit.
They’re shutting me down. We have days left, if that.
11:48 PM