know
whether to provide you with a fast healing cream should you be bruised.”
A perfectly
reasonable explanation. In a very fucked up world. “I guess I’m normal on the
bruise scale.”
She makes a note.
The rest of her questions are as mundane as a thorough scrutiny of my sexual
history can be. When she asks me to, I undress and hop onto a bed behind the
screen for an internal examination.
Fionnella returns
after my blood has been drawn and we leave Dr. Allen’s area to return to hers.
She hands me a brand new phone. It’s sleek and expensive looking.
“The boss wants
you to keep this on at all times.” Her gaze catches and holds mine. “It’s
untraceable and it’s got my number programmed in there. From now on, you call
me when you have work specific questions.”
I look down at
the phone. “Does that mean I won’t be talking to the…boss again until…”
“Yes.”
Something inside
me tightens a touch. “And when will that be?”
“Depending on how
your diet and exercise goes, a week to ten days.”
The knot tightens
harder. I mentally frown at it. “Right. Okay.”
“I need to know
your work schedule, then you’re free to go.”
I tell her and
she frowns. “I was told your time would be more flexible than this. We have a
lot of ground to cover.”
In the grand
scheme of my fucked up existence, I choose not to take offence. “I have to
work.” I don’t elaborate.
She meets my gaze
again and nods after a minute. “Okay.” She does the let-me-escort-you-out
gesture.
Just before we
reach the front door of the apartment, I remember my backpack.
“I need to get my
stuff from the camera room.”
She nods and
returns to the large, empty living room. Having been here twice, I know where
the interview room is without direction. I enter, grab my bag from the floor
and straighten. The camera has a red light on, as if it’s still active.
I hesitate, then
walk closer.
I’m not sure what
compels me, but something inside wants to hear that voice one more time. I bend
forward, stare into the lens. I open my mouth but can’t think of any words to
say that won’t make me feel like a complete idiot talking into a camera.
After a minute, I
straighten. But I still can’t leave the room.
“Lucky.”
I jump out of my
skin at the voice I’ve been recalling in my head. “You’re still there?”
He doesn’t
respond. Irritation and embarrassment duel inside me. Of course he’s there.
When my fingers protest in pain, I look down and realize I have a death grip on
my brand new phone.
I wave it at the
camera. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
I should leave.
My business here is done for now. Time to return to my hellhole.
“Did you want me,
Lucky?” he asks, that robotic voice weirdly spellbinding.
I wrack my brain,
dig out what I wanted to say to him before.
“Yes, I’ve
thought about it…a name for you.”
“Yes?”
How could a
mechanical voice be so smooth, so sexy?
“Q. I’d like to call you
Q.”
He doesn’t answer
immediately. I begin to feel like an ass.
“Q. Are you
sure?”
I shrug. “Not
really, but it’s the only one I can think of that’s not pretentious or absurd.
If you’re not okay with it—”
I may be
imagining it, but I hear faint amusement in his voice as he replies, “Say it
again.”
Yes, definitely
ass territory. A knot of embarrassment forms in my throat. “Q.”
“Thank you,
Lucky. Q works very well for me. Bravo.”
Bravo ? I’m not sure exactly what that means, but
I can’t ignore the tiny pulse of something heady that moves inside me. “Okay.”
“Goodbye, Lucky.”
The finality of
it is a command I heed. The light on the camera blinks off.
I leave.
7
ACTION
I put my tweaked
plans into motion first thing on Tuesday morning. Axel, my business partner,
and the guy who strays within a whisker of what I term a friend, doesn’t blink
when I make the request. This is why our dynamic works. We’ve made
whether to provide you with a fast healing cream should you be bruised.”
A perfectly
reasonable explanation. In a very fucked up world. “I guess I’m normal on the
bruise scale.”
She makes a note.
The rest of her questions are as mundane as a thorough scrutiny of my sexual
history can be. When she asks me to, I undress and hop onto a bed behind the
screen for an internal examination.
Fionnella returns
after my blood has been drawn and we leave Dr. Allen’s area to return to hers.
She hands me a brand new phone. It’s sleek and expensive looking.
“The boss wants
you to keep this on at all times.” Her gaze catches and holds mine. “It’s
untraceable and it’s got my number programmed in there. From now on, you call
me when you have work specific questions.”
I look down at
the phone. “Does that mean I won’t be talking to the…boss again until…”
“Yes.”
Something inside
me tightens a touch. “And when will that be?”
“Depending on how
your diet and exercise goes, a week to ten days.”
The knot tightens
harder. I mentally frown at it. “Right. Okay.”
“I need to know
your work schedule, then you’re free to go.”
I tell her and
she frowns. “I was told your time would be more flexible than this. We have a
lot of ground to cover.”
In the grand
scheme of my fucked up existence, I choose not to take offence. “I have to
work.” I don’t elaborate.
She meets my gaze
again and nods after a minute. “Okay.” She does the let-me-escort-you-out
gesture.
Just before we
reach the front door of the apartment, I remember my backpack.
“I need to get my
stuff from the camera room.”
She nods and
returns to the large, empty living room. Having been here twice, I know where
the interview room is without direction. I enter, grab my bag from the floor
and straighten. The camera has a red light on, as if it’s still active.
I hesitate, then
walk closer.
I’m not sure what
compels me, but something inside wants to hear that voice one more time. I bend
forward, stare into the lens. I open my mouth but can’t think of any words to
say that won’t make me feel like a complete idiot talking into a camera.
After a minute, I
straighten. But I still can’t leave the room.
“Lucky.”
I jump out of my
skin at the voice I’ve been recalling in my head. “You’re still there?”
He doesn’t
respond. Irritation and embarrassment duel inside me. Of course he’s there.
When my fingers protest in pain, I look down and realize I have a death grip on
my brand new phone.
I wave it at the
camera. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome.”
I should leave.
My business here is done for now. Time to return to my hellhole.
“Did you want me,
Lucky?” he asks, that robotic voice weirdly spellbinding.
I wrack my brain,
dig out what I wanted to say to him before.
“Yes, I’ve
thought about it…a name for you.”
“Yes?”
How could a
mechanical voice be so smooth, so sexy?
“Q. I’d like to call you
Q.”
He doesn’t answer
immediately. I begin to feel like an ass.
“Q. Are you
sure?”
I shrug. “Not
really, but it’s the only one I can think of that’s not pretentious or absurd.
If you’re not okay with it—”
I may be
imagining it, but I hear faint amusement in his voice as he replies, “Say it
again.”
Yes, definitely
ass territory. A knot of embarrassment forms in my throat. “Q.”
“Thank you,
Lucky. Q works very well for me. Bravo.”
Bravo ? I’m not sure exactly what that means, but
I can’t ignore the tiny pulse of something heady that moves inside me. “Okay.”
“Goodbye, Lucky.”
The finality of
it is a command I heed. The light on the camera blinks off.
I leave.
7
ACTION
I put my tweaked
plans into motion first thing on Tuesday morning. Axel, my business partner,
and the guy who strays within a whisker of what I term a friend, doesn’t blink
when I make the request. This is why our dynamic works. We’ve made
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