Unnatural Instinct: Android

2.

You lift your face at a knock at the door. Who could that be?

Using your wheelchair's joystick, you speed down the hallway.

'I've got it!' your mother shouts, sprinting from her room. She opens the door, standing directly in your way. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, you lean to your left, then your right, but you still can't see a thing. It's almost as though she's blocking you on purpose.

'Package ... just need your signature,' comes a male voice.

'Who's that for?' you ask.

'None of your business,' she snaps as she jots down her signature.

'It's heavy. Do you want me to put it inside?'

'Yes. That would be good, thank you. Just my room over there, please.'

She steps aside to let the delivery man through. You raise your eyebrows. He's got a large rectangular package wrapped in a tonne of plastic which he rolls in on a trolley.

'Mum, what is it?'

'I said it's none of your business!'

You frown, then turn your wheelchair back towards the living room, grumbling under your breath. She's in her room a long time as you watch T.V. You're so bored you could almost scream.

You used to do things.

Then you hear something strange. Muting the volume, you turn your chair, listening. Voices—coming from your mother's room. You frown. It sounds like she's talking to someone and it sounds like a man. Maybe she's using her phone with the speaker on. No. Her phone's on the kitchen bench. You hear a thud, then a curse.

'Mum, are you all right?'

No answer. Shaking your head, you go back to watching T.V.

Finally, she's done with whatever she's doing and her door opens. You turn your chair again, curious and annoyed. Your mother never keeps secrets from you. She's dishevelled and breathless but her eyes are strangely bright.

'What's going on?' you say.

'Like I said, it's none of your business. Can't I have my own life?'

You huff but don't argue.

'Now,' she says, rubbing her hands together. 'Do you need the bathroom?'

After you're done, you hear another knock at the door. 'What is this?' you say. 'Grand Central Station?' You rarely have visitors, except for nurses, who haven't been at your doorstep for two weeks since little Olympia. Apparently, the agency won't supply you any more and so now your mother is the one stuck caring for you.

You bite your cheek at a surge of guilt, then push the feeling away. She only has herself to blame, after all. If only she'd see sense and let you go overseas so you can end it all with dignity. You are an adult and have rights, for God's sakes! You have the right to die just as much as you have the right to live.

It isn't fair.

Rolling into your living room, you straighten yourself in front of the T.V. Dropping your chin into your hand, you blink rapidly against a flood of heat behind your eyes. It happens too frequently. Even after two years.

You will not cry. You will not cry. You will not cry!

Stifling a sob, you look over your shoulder at the sound of a man's voice.

'Who is it?' you say rudely.

Your mother ignores you as she again blocks your view of the front door. He's already inside, though you don't recall hearing the door opening or closing.

'Welcome,' she says, shaking his hand. 'I'm so very glad you're here.'

'I am glad too.'

His speech is sharp and stilted and has an accent. You frown, realising immediately what she's up to. She's managed to snatch up another nurse—and it's a man!

'You've got to be kidding me,' you hiss to yourself. You've told your mother explicitly that you will not have a man caring for you. It's too ... humiliating. You don't want him seeing you naked or touching your bits. But most of all, you don't want to deal with that look in his eyes as he sees your ugliness for the first time. The women are bad enough.

'Come this way,' she says. 'She's over here.'

You turn your chair around furiously. 'Mum, I told you. I don't want—'

You stare. All you can think is what a man like him is doing in a job like this. Shouldn't he be making millions on the catwalk or something? Not wiping people's bums.

Jesus.

He's tall and broad and beneath his simple black clothes you can see he's very muscular. Veins pop out on his arms. His smooth, hard biceps strain the seams in his shirt. And he's so handsome! Where is he from? Japan? His lips are full, his cheekbones high; his eyebrows are like two perfectly straight arrows above a pair of very odd-coloured eyes. They're such a pale blue they're like glass.

You suddenly realise that you're staring and that he's gazing right back at you. Quickly, you drop your face, concealing your burns behind your hair.

You begin to shake as you stare at your lap. 'Mum, I don't want this.' What must he think of you? A hideous husk of a woman not useful for anything, that's what. It's the last thing you want people to think, and particularly someone like him. You can feel his eyes on you. You can feel them travelling over your shrivelled arm and your twisted leg. You can feel them roving over your hair as they try to view your melted face beneath.

'Mum!'

'He's not what you think.'

Warily, you raise your eyes. He's watching you calmly with his remarkable gaze, no pity, no revulsion, no awkwardness. He's just watching you like you're a normal person.

'His name's Hiro,' your mother says with a smile, resting a hand upon his big shoulder. 'He'll be here to take care of you, day and night.'

You raise your eyebrows. 'Day and night?'

She nods. 'He's a live in.'

You look at your mother with narrowed eyes. Something's not right. What is she up to? You turn back to 'Hiro'. 'Are you sure you want to do this? Haven't you heard about me? How cruel and nasty I am?'

He doesn't respond, his eyes fixed on you, though he doesn't seem to be looking at you at all. And you finally realise why someone so beautiful could be stuck with you—he's stupid. Maybe intellectually impaired.

Figures.

You sneer. 'Well? Don't you speak? Or can't you speak?'

'Hiro353 speaks. Hiro353 does not want to do, only needs to do,' he says in his stilted words. Then he reels off your name and birthday, your parents and siblings. He even speaks of your likes and dislikes.

'Once an electrical engineer at Eastern Mechanical Works,' he continues, blinking slowly. 'Drove home on the 18th of May at approximately 10:45pm, fatigued. Day was forecast as raining. Head-on-collision with semi-trailer, eighteen wheeler. Survived with critical injuries. Medically induced coma for three months. Swelling on the brain ...'

'That's enough!' you say quickly. 'I know my own life, thank you very much.'

He closes his mouth, still gazing at you with that blank stare. He's a little disturbing with his strange eyes and peculiar way of conversing. And why is it he hardly blinks?

You look at your mother. 'What the hell is going on?'