December 20, 2390, Day 7.
Five of the remaining twelve days have passed since the night James found out about what she now mentally refers to as her BIG LIE. The accusation thoroughly stung. So she did a little research, intending to build a case that would prove James wrong. Much to her misfortune, he wasn’t.
She even consulted the Respectful and Considerate Conduct Course online manual, which listed over twenty acceptable lies, such as telling one of your FRIENDS their new eye color worked with their skin tone to spare their feelings. Or yes, you absolutely want to eat at Say Yes to Noodles again, to avoid conflict. Despite herbest efforts, she failed to classify the misleading information she gave James regarding her ability to pay his lease in any of the categories.
K8 lied.
She isn’t sure ifangryis the exact word to describe how he’s been ever since. Exasperated. Resentful. Incensed. Worried. Disappointed. If there is a single word that combined those five, that would be it. It floats in the air between them as they share space and meals on opposite sides of the room in silence.
He is leaning against the counter, calmly, without saying a word, but the glint in his eye is aggressive. He’s stewing over something, and the particle panes, which he’s set to what she can only describe as a haunted forest, mirror his mood.
She isn’t sure if it’s the ongoing tension between them or whatever he and Oro1 did earlier in the day that has set him off. He’s been staring at her for the better part of an hour while she’s been intently focused on her 3key, which makes her feel like it’s her. Does this mean he’s ready to talk about it? This is worse than any scolding she might receive.
She should never have lied to him about having the funds. It left her with a funny, nervous sensation in her stomach. She’s spent hours trying to remember if she ever told an outright lie before. Perhaps in her youth. All children lie. But to lie to him—it makes the air between them thick with distrust. She had wanted him to learn to lean on her, a decision that blew up in her face.
Bravely, she lifts her head to stare back. Her instincts fire,Look away!She’s already committed, though. Might as well double down. “I told you I have it handled,” she says.By selling my things so I can make the payment in the nick of timeis implied.Like a hero,she can almost convince herself. If she can make it true, will it still be a lie?
She only needs to sell a few more things. Ten, in fact. Then he’ll have another week.
Suddenly, it occurs to her that this is precisely why people have manupartners. A manupartner wouldn’t be looking at her like James is now. A manupartner would be asking her what she would like to do next. Could he ease her discomfort somehow? Order food? Get her a drink? Bring her to orgasm? Turn themself in?
A manupartner would happily march back into the recycle station to get decommissioned to avoid her discomfort, like Yansy and Purpl, and all the others. But not her manupartner. Hers is real. As in really real. He’s a man with feelings, and memories, and substance. And abdominal muscles that flex just so as he prowls across the room. And those eyes that seem to see right into her. And that tongue and those fingers. Decommissioning is not an option.
She’s not exactly resentful toward James and the awful feeling he’s bathing her unit with because Zorg knows she asked for this. But . . . his eyes narrow at her as if he doesn’t believe a word she says. This is . . .uncomfortable.
“You lied to me,” he says, stalking toward her. “And you’ve yet to address it. I’ve given you plenty of time.”
She rolls the chair backward on instinct, but he reaches for the chair’s arms and spins her to face him. He’s so intimidating as he leans down into her space. She can imagine it must have been the same in his former life.Whyhe would have been successful. And to have all that brooding attention on her. She feels lightheaded with the intensity of it.
“James,” she pleads. The proximity of him, the heat she feels radiating off his body—her fingers reach out as if they’re out of her control. Maybe if she brushes her fingertips across his clenched jaw—
“Are you done denying it?” He smirks, and it’s like the nick of a razor. Quick and sharp. It stings. She jerks her hand back to her chest like she’s been cut.
She wasn’t denying it, exactly. It only took her a little while to come to terms with it. Lying may not have been the best choice, but she’s made the calculation. “I told you, I have it handled, and I will.” She reaches for her device and wiggles it in his face. “I’ve almost got everything sold.” For half of what she’d wanted, but no problem. She’ll fish out a few of the items she put back in her closet and list them. In a few days, she’ll have enough, then she’ll make the payment. Then he’ll be safe for a bit longer. Seven days, to be precise.
James stands straight, running his hand through his hair. The action makes her want to wrap her arms around him to reassure him. But she must hold her ground. She doesn’t need him to solve thishuge problemminor problem of theirs for her. Plus, he probably wouldn’t let her near him, anyway.
“K8, we have to establish a few ground rules, okay? You can’t lie to me. Honesty is everything in a—” He catches himself.
What was he going to say? In a relationship? His promises and a vision of a future with him flash through her mind. Before her lie and the frozen accounts, she was tragically close to getting everything she wanted. Perhaps if she were to acquiesce this one point . . .
She lifts her chin. “I understand.”
Her desk chair catches her as she slumps back into it. Thank Zephyr this is over. Their first fight. Though terribly uncomfortable, it went well. Now she’s exhausted. Sleep, then list more items. With that resolved, she rises and paces past him. Before she can make it to the sanctuary of her bedroom, intending to forget this awful feeling, his hand wraps around her arm. She squeaks as he draws her toward him.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He lowers his face so she can see the individual hairs that make up his stubble.
Oh, of course. What was she thinking? Now that they’re in—dare she say—a relationship, he expects a goodnight kiss. How nice. She reachesup on the tips of her toes, pursing her lips. Her eyes slip closed, and she waits for the firm press of his lips.
He gives her arm a gentle shake and her lids snap open. He’s glowering down at her. “Are you mad?”
She blinks. “Of course not. Our conflict is resolved. I thought you wanted—”
“An apology.”
“An apology?” she squeaks.
“Yes, K8. The gesture one offers when they’ve wronged someone. Remember before, when I offered you one?” His expression is a little angry, but at least he’s grinning. Is he enjoying making her squirm?
