An Apple A Day (Wattys2019)

Chapter 15 - Just Consent

Miles

I stand in the mirror in Doc's laboratory and survey the results of his most recent experiment that has lasted over two years. My legs have been elongated, snapped in two at the calf and painstakingly wrenched apart to force me up, three inches taller. This is the first time Doc ever performed the surgery and it was a glowing success - I knew it would be. He wouldn't do anything to harm me, wouldn't attempt anything he didn't think he could pull off.

Doc is so wonderfully thoughtful.

I wince in disgust, wrapping my arms across my torso when I consider how I used to look. So repulsive and boring before Doc turned me into his perfect experiment with all my additions, augments, whatever he calls them. A blank canvas transformed into a beautiful oil painting that could rival the Mona Lisa with Doc's deep scarlet brush strokes - the scars that represent my journey to perfection.

I pad upstairs and out the concealed door into the sitting room where Doc hunched over his desk. He's having his elevenses, absent-mindedly pinging his nails against the teaspoon, causing it to emit a wonderfully musical sound. "Good morning," I greet. Since Doc messed with my vocal chords speaking has become more difficult, uncomfortable and my words are cumbersome. It's the same surgery that was performed on Doc when he was an experiment. But Doc is patient and is considering altering my voice again to make it easier for me.

And more pleasant to hear.

I fiddle with the metal monocle that flips over my right eye; a prototype of electronic optometrical equipment Doc is designing for those with cloudy vision; used to replace an eyepatch and block out harmful light that could damage a healing eye after surgery. So far, I can't complain about the results.

"Miles, can I ask you something?" He looks up at me from the desk. "Do you... I mean... do you like me?"

I stiffen and fight my legs on the urge to run. He knows. He knows how I think about him in the shower and at night and at random points of the day, wen something cute or funny or seemingly innocuous reminds me of him. How much I think about him and how deeply I feel affection for him. Doc always says affection is a weakness, that love exists only in the form of chemical releases and sometimes not even then. That humans are primitive and incapable of that emotion.

I'm Doc's experiment, but I'm not delusional. I know what I am, really. A human person who has desires and morals and feelings and I know what I need. I need Doc, I'm addicted to his presence. When every waking moment I think of him; his touch, his laughter, his jokes and gentle caresses of my cheek to reward me, his experiment, for pleasing him.

"Wh-What do you mean?" I ask nervously, keeping my voice to a monotone despite my alarm. I learned that Doc thinks in voices with distinct emotions and I need to make sure he can tell the difference between his thinking voices and me.

"Whatever," he drops his spoon onto the saucer, loud ringing shattering through the tension in the room. "It doesn't matter,"

"I have been feeling different," I admit vaguely, settling down on the couch just beside him.

"Different how?" He enquires, leaning closely into me, his eyes scamming mine for every tiny microexpression.

"I don't know..." I admit, half-honestly. I slump forward, pressing my fingers into the seats. "It's just l so confusing. It's like I know know what I'm supposed to feel about you, but I don't feel that way, I feel the complete opposite and it seems to wrong. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense,"

"It does," Doc smirks. "I haven't forgotten my own prison of sanity. I understand what you mean. You don't know what you're meant to feel, but that doesn't stop you feeling,"

"Yeah," I agree, and can't help smile a little. This is another of Doc's qualities that's so attractive and intriguing. It draws me to him; his perceptiveness. His empathy that exists even if it's not always obvious.

"The only judgement here is from yourself," he continues. "So just let yourself feel. And tell me what it is. Whether you say you love me or hate me, it's no different, my dear,"

"I feel like I want what happened before to happen again," I blurt it in a long, clunky sentence that doesn't even make sense to me. Doc smiles, immediately throwing his long, thin body atop my own.

I'm pressed into the couch, feeling his hands roam across my clothing, down the front of my torso and wandering between my legs. I gulp down my fears, feeling the ball in my throat swell. "I-"

"Remember our rules, my experiment," Doc whispers breathily into my ear, warm tongue spinning expertly around the lobe. "Don't speak. Don't movr. Don't breath. Keep as still and quiet as possible. Keep perfect, Miles,"

"Can I ask something first?"

"Just one thing," he laughs, but impatience snaps through his voice. He wraps a hand around my high roughly, tightening his grip with each passing millisecond. "Make it quick,"

"Can you teach me how to love you?"

The grip slackens and I feel teeth barely scrape the edges of my inner ear cartilage. "Of course," he whispers. I hear a crack, feel him bite down and blood trickle down the side of my cheek. Then a white hot pain.