Unnatural Instinct: Android

4.

You try your best to scramble away but you're not quick enough.

You scream as he seizes you around the waist and turns you on your back again. You manage to punch him in the jaw but he hardly notices, not pausing in his task or even turning his head. It hurts you like hell, though. Grimacing, you press your knuckles to your mouth, which gives him time to yank down your pants.

'Stop!' You kick at his chest with a hard thump, but again he doesn't notice it. He barely blinks. He doesn't break out into a sweat (of course). There's no impatience or frustration. He's like a machine.

The irony could almost make you laugh if you weren't so damn scared and angry.

You only resist a little as he begins unbuttoning your shirt, preferring to throw insults instead of fists that'll do nothing but only hurt you. You say every nasty thing you can think of. You curse and sneer and tease. 'Call yourself a man?' You laugh. 'Bet you don't even have a dick.'

'What kind of life is this? How pathetic. You're pathetic.'

'What are you? Just a dog on a leash!'

No response, his eyes fastened onto your shirt. He's unbuttoned it so quickly that the exposure of your breasts startles you. You throw an arm across your chest. 'Hey!'

Without a word, he picks up the tube of cream and squirts it into his palm, then rubs his hands together. 'Application underway,' he says.

You seize his right arm and dig your nails into his skin, but all he does is use his left hand instead, massaging the cream into your shoulder and the outer side of your arm which got the full brunt of the fire. Gritting your teeth, you dig your nails in harder. Again, it does nothing. If anything, it seems to make him more determined.

Next he turns to your partially seared breast. You gasp and jerk back. 'I can do it myself, thank you very much!'

He pauses, then hands you the tube. You pretend you're about to squirt the cream onto your breast before throwing it hard in his face instead. He doesn't flinch but simply gazes at you with his glassy eyes. You scowl. Anybody alive would have been pretty badly hurt. It's a big bottle.

He doesn't speak. Again, there's no anger or frustration or impatience; he simply pushes you flat onto the bed to continue with his 'application'.

Your nipple hardens under his touch, and it embarrasses you. You try to turn away but he presses his hand hard into your shoulder so you can't move. Your hip is next, followed by your thigh. You gasp again as he gets a little too close to your crotch.

Finally, he's done with your body. Next, it's your face. He squirts the contents of a second, smaller tube into his hand before leaning over to the brush the hair out of the way. You stare up at him, your breasts exposed, naked and vulnerable. He looks down at you in return and he's the first 'person' to do so without expression. He's the first person who doesn't turn awkwardly away or who isn't trying to hide his pity or disgust. It's a strange thing.

An unnerving thing—to look someone in the eye. Even your mother has trouble holding your gaze. You watch him mutely as he gently massages the cream into your cheek before moving onto your ear and the side of your neck. It's so quiet in your room. All you can hear is a bird chirping outside and the pounding of your heart.

He's no longer holding you down and you no longer bother to resist. Why would you? You would never admit it out loud but it's so nice to be touched. All the nurses you've encountered have been quick and efficient and used gloves for everything—which is fair enough—but it still makes you feel like you're less than human, like you're just a job to be done.

Hiro, though also efficient, is slow and methodical and careful. It's ironic to think that a robot could take such care. Only your mother touches you in such a way—though not so much recently.

You hadn't realised how much you missed it.

Despite yourself, a tear trickles down your cheek.

Hiro pauses, then pulls back, his perfect forehead creased in concern. 'Hiro353 has caused you pain.'

'No.' You swallow a swell of tears. 'No.'

He cocks his head, his forehead still furrowed. Leaning towards you again, he gently brushes the tear away with his finger and looks at it. It's such an unexpectedly intimate action that it makes your throat ache. He frowns at you.

You force a wobbly smile. 'Truly. I'm just— it's just—' how do you explain yourself to a robot? '—leakage.'

'Leakage,' he repeats. He stares at his finger some more before finally nodding and putting away the tubes of cream. From there, he waits, sitting on your bed and watching as the cream quickly dries. Strangely, it doesn't make you feel as awkward as it should, like it would with a real man.

It's almost as though you can trust him. He seems so innocent and loyal, like a child or a dog. You don't wonder what nasty things he might be thinking or what horrible things he might tell his family about you when he gets home, because he has no family and he has no mind of his own.

Finally, after a minute or so, he helps you pull your pants back up and begins rebuttoning your shirt. The back of his hand accidentally brushes against your breast.

You watch him closely. 'It doesn't embarrass you, touching a woman's body?'

'Hiro353 is commissioned for private medical use. Client's body is a system of blood, bone and tissue, which Hiro353 assists and maintains within designated parameters.'

Once he's finished with your buttons, you sit up. 'What do you mean "designated parameters"?'

'Hiro353 is commissioned for private medical use—'

'I know. I know,' you snap. You look deep into his glassy gaze. He looks back expressionlessly with that slow, unnatural way of blinking.

'You can't touch me like that and not feel anything,' you say almost desperately.

'Hiro353 is commissioned for—'

'Enough.' You sigh, falling back into your pillows. 'What are we going to do, now that you've broken my chair?' You nod at the now very expensive, very useless machine. The controls are hanging out by the wires.

He turns to look at it, then turns back. 'Motorised chair Riosk A50—inappropriate for client's needs.'

'That might be your opinion but I still need to get around.' Your jaw hardens. 'I won't stay in this bed forever, and I won't crawl along the floor like a beast.'

He raises his eyebrows and it's such a humanlike expression that it catches you by surprise.

'Destination?' he says.

'The-the living room. I want to watch T.V.' Pursing your lips, you look away, gazing through the window. You don't want him to see your tearful fury. 'There's nothing else to do around here.'

Abruptly, he stands, and in one fluid movement, sweeps you up into his arms.