“My thoughts are worth more than a penny.” I keep my tone cool, not wanting to invite more conversation with the interloper. The smile on the man’s face grows and it surprises me to notice the stranger is rather attractive in the human way. Tousled blond hair over a slender face and a blinding smile, he wears the vintage styled frames that give his look a classy air.
“I suppose that’s true; the Exordium Princess would have expensive thoughts.”
Now there is a title I hate; the media had bestowed it on me shortly after the company had shot to success. The stranger correctly interprets my expression because he immediately throws his hands up.
“Sorry! A hazard of the job. I guess… I’m a reporter and Exordium is always a story that sells papers. But I realize I’m just playing into exactly what you must think of the media. I’m off the clock so let me start over, my name is Jim Wilson; can I buy you a drink?” Jim shoots another charming smile at me but it’s a glancing blow.
I’m emotionally raw, not stupid.
“Why would a reporter want to buy me a drink unless it’s to get news?” My eyes narrow at Jim, still noticing that his blazer cuts his lean figure nicely. Honest relief grows in me, relief that I can be attracted to a normal, human person with the way my mind clouds with thoughts of Matthew.
“What other reasons would a man have for buying a beautiful woman a drink?”
However unoriginal the compliment, it still has the power to make my face warm. My cautious nature tries to combat the glowing feeling that his noticing me sparks. Jim looks at me for permission; I shake my head.
“This is my last one, I have work in the morning.” I swirl my glass of tonic without the gin; no alcohol for the woman on more medication than could be named in one sitting. Jim casts a dramatic look of disappointment toward me and my lips curl into a smile.
“Well, maybe you’ll allow me to savor your company while you finish your drink,” Jim’s eyes behind his glasses spark with liveliness as his gaze traces my face. This is kind of fun; normal flirting with a normal man who is just attractive enough to make me want to take risks but not so much that he makes me catch fire.
“But whatever will we talk about?” I raise my brows in a tease before stating, “Definitely not work.”
Jim laughs at that, a nice laugh.
“No, I guess we wouldn’t talk about work. Yours is too secret and you would find mine too sordid. So, what do two workaholics talk about if not work?” Jim asks cheerfully.
I fight to hold on to my smile. My work habits are a matter of public opinion. The media gorges itself on whatever details they can get about me. But to have it stated so plainly still feels like a small part of my privacy is plucked away like a petal, discarded. I must keep my smile in place enough because Jim continues.
For all of Jim’s complaints we find plenty to talk about; the subjects range from old movies to books but stays surface level for all the flirty dashes in between. It’s a nice conversation but eventually my tonic runs dry and it’s time for me to leave. Jim stands politely as I get up, running his hand down my arm, an echo of what Matthew had done earlier, sparking a sensation of déjà vu that gives me a shiver. Jim notices and slyly smiles wider before slipping me his business card.
“Let me take you for a drink sometime, I’d love to see you again.” Jim grasps my fingers as he presses the card into my hand.
“I’ll think about it,” I muse, enjoying the thrill of flirting too much to give in so soon. Jim doesn’t seem bothered by my response and flashes another confident smile before we say our farewells.
I walk the short block back to the apartment smiling from the simple interaction. Talking to Jim had been nice. I might give him a call about a date. The chemistry is mild, but I felt in complete control. It’s such a departure from my thoughts about Matthew, a breath of fresh air from the shame. Maybe dating ordinary guys is what I need to stop my obsession with Matthew.
I’m climbing the stairs when the memory of the lonely dark apartment I’m headed to resurfaces past the cheer. The apartment that echoes with mysterious images just waiting to catch me off guard. I’m tempted to get a hotel room, but pride makes me keep climbing the stairs. I will not go running scared from my own home.
Entering the hallway to my floor I find that, for now, I am not alone. Matthew stands outside my door, waiting, dressed in a T-shirt and sweats; think of the devil and he shall appear. His apparel alone stops me in my tracks; I haven’t seen him in anything but a suit for so long that this feels intimate. In the early days, when Dad was working on Matthew’s programming, Matthew would meander around the workshop in similar apparel. I’d sneak glances when I could.
“So, you don’t sleep in your suit?”
This moment of intimacy is… inconvenient, but I can’t just run away. Whatever the reason he is waiting for me, I have to do the right thing. Matthew looks down at his bare toes, chagrined.
“It feels a little like being naked to be honest, but it would be unusual to wear a suit at home and normalcy is important.”
He shrugs while he speaks. How exhausting it must be for him to always consider how his actions look to those around him. To have to worry about passing. Does it bother him?
Frustration hems me as I catch myself humanizing this android, yet again. Trying to decipher Matthew’s feelings. He’s not real…but maybe he is, if just a little bit.
“Matthew, I want to say I’m sorry. For earlier. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you. Something happened in my brain, maybe a side effect of the medication; I reacted poorly and attacked you for it.” My throat constricts as I try to speak calmly. Discomfort from the disorienting flashes commands me to do something, anything, to not think about them but I hold strong.
“I want to be there for you Charlotte, to be someone you can rely on. Earlier I… suspected what was going on, but I don’t know how to help in a way that wouldn’t make things worse. I don’t want to mess up your recovery.” Matthew’s voice is grave; his reasoning buoys me, alleviating the worst of the paranoia. It justifies the odd expression on his face and his actions that had sparked the tinder of my already volatile emotions until they’d gone up in a blaze of fury and accusation.
We stand silently in the hallway for a moment, not quite looking at each other but not avoiding the other’s eyes either. It’s weird to enjoy this awkward moment, but it makes me feel less singular. Matthew produces a sound in the back of his throat as if he’s going to say something but stops. He looks uncomfortably at the apartment door before settling whatever internal dialogue with a nod.
“Now that some memories are resurfacing there could be dreams… I was wondering if you would want someone around to wake you. I could sleep on your couch.” His words are carefully spoken but earnest, as if he fears my reaction. If it had been the light of day I’d have refused, not wanting to appear weak to anyone, but it’s night. The twisting emotions that had plagued me all day loosen at the idea of someone staying around.
“You sleep?” It’s a nonanswer, but I need a minute. A minute to make sure any decision I make isn’t fueled by the stark terror at the idea of being trapped in recurring memories while I sleep.
“Sometimes.”