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"Female"

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       Enid was sweating. Despite the thin material of her off-white coat and the cold wind that washed in through the doors, she was damp and sticky. Her mouth was dry, too, and her artificial heart a jackhammer in her chest. She desperately wanted relief, wishing she could lean against the cool burgundy leather chair that Adam was currently occupied in. She knew he would swat her away, though, with a stern scolding that would surely become a much louder yell behind closed doors.

        The dread formed earlier that morning. She was preparing Adam’s clothes for the day when he alerted her to dinner at Marilyn’s–the new upscale restaurant by the waterfront. It was twenty-two stories and outrageously expensive. No doubt they’d be dining on the top floor, reserved for exclusive clientele.

       “Is this a special occasion, love?” Enid asked. She silently hoped she wasn’t forgetting an important date. She could be such a dolt sometimes.

       “Nothing out of the ordinary.” Adam replied casually. “Just another meeting with Mr. Fulbright.”

       Instantly, she was uneasy.

       Meetings with Mr. Fulbright were common. He was a donor for Adam’s latest project. The biggest donor, in fact, and it was of the utmost importance that Adam maintained a relationship. Which meant dinners and galas and golfing and everything in between, but it wasn’t even Mr. Fulbright that gave her discomfort. He was, of course, a foul man. Bad manners, worse eating habits, and an ugly, long face that always had an uneven shave. No, Enid was acclimated to foul men. It was her purpose to cater to men, afterall. So it wasn’t Mr. Fulbright but the female he always brought alongside him–Naomi, she was designated.

       And there she was, right on cue. The attendants opened the doors and in came Mr. Fulbright with Naomi.

       Her heels clicked unevenly on the tiled floor, her steps erratic and uncoordinated. She was abnormally tall, limbs lanky like a teenage boy in puberty, and so skinny the outline of her ribs were visible. It wasn’t just her physical appearance either–Enid had seen plenty of females that fit that description–but with the added combination of her stiff mannerisms, the eerie, unwavering smile that was plastered on her face, and the simple fact that in all these meetings Enid had never once heard the other female’s voice.

       Adam and Mr. Fulbright greeted one another and it wasn’t long before they signaled an attendant to escort them to the elevator. Inside, the men conversed amongst themselves, leaving the females in silence. Enid glanced at Naomi in the sleek, mirrored walls, the strange female still wearing the same expression as she stared ahead blankly. It was as if she didn’t register the scary sight before her. Just when the elevator stopped humming, signifying they’ve reached the top floor, Enid swore she saw Naomi’s gaze flicker towards her, but the doors slid open and it was too late to confirm. Instead, she was met by the distracting view of the grand restaurant before her:

       The room was drowning in amber. A warm, hazy glow on all things, from the marble white tables to the crystalline chandeliers, the dark wooden trim of the triple bay windows that framed the waterfront view, the paisley drapes, and Enid’s off-white dress as she slid off her coat.

The dress was slim, hugging her body in all the right places. She was thin, short, and had just enough body fat clinging to her hips. Perfect for clutching. Her chest though, left something to be desired. Adam never dressed her in outfits that highlighted her cleavage–what was the point of showing off something she didn’t have, he pointed out often–but he did like outfits that showed off the expansive, smooth skin of her back. The dress she wore now was exactly that. Low enough it rode just above her bottom, but clung to her front conservatively. He liked this style best. Liked guiding her with a hand on bare, near-real flesh. Liked being able to see what was his.

       Truthfully, Enid wasn’t much of a fan of her dress. She couldn't deny its objective beauty. The way it brought out her best features and gleamed with the wealth of her man, but she was susceptible to the cold. Her synthetic skin grew bumpy and the hairs on her neck stood up every time her back was exposed. She didn’t complain though. She never did. Just put on her best smile and let the gooseflesh rise. It was getting continually harder to ignore her discomfort tonight, though, with Naomi’s looming presence.

       Dinner dragged on. As was usual for these types of things, the men spoke and the females stayed silent. The mechanical push and pull of her arms as she ate her meal. Laughing at all the right moments and agreeing politely when necessary. She let her mind drift, attempting to focus on anything that wasn’t Naomi, but then Adam’s own voice cut through the nonsense that flitted around in her head. He laughed as his hand settled on the back of her shoulder in a possessive gesture. “Right, darling?”

       “Of course,” was Enid’s practiced, automated response. Her lips quirked up into a thin, toothless smile, hyperaware of the red she’d been drinking. She briefly met the eyes of Mr. Fulbright to sell the idea she’d been paying attention before returning her downcast gaze to her half-eaten plate. She had to watch her portions. Had to maintain the size Adam preferred.

Then, Adam’s hand slipped up her shoulder and he gripped, just on the cusp of not soft but not quite hurtful. Ah, that was her assigned cue. She was being rude. Of course. Her mistake.

       She corrected herself, putting her chin up and watching Mr. Fulbright as food and drink dribbled down his chin and stained his dress shirt between words. Adam’s hand dropped. She was behaving again. Good. Good. She should concentrate less on Naomi and more on pleasing Adam, she chided herself silently. That was her purpose.

       The task continued to prove difficult as the evening marched onwards. The more she avoided looking at Naomi, the more she noticed her. Enid’s mind kept circling to why Mr. Fulbright had brought Naomi along. Why didn’t he have her repaired before such an intimate dinner? After so many of these dinners and galas and after-parties? Naomi was easily the least life-like of any female Enid ever encountered, as if she were an early model. Enid wished she could ask. It was forbidden for females to comment on the condition of other females. She couldn’t even ask Adam privately. At least it reminded her how grateful she was for Adam. He was a good man. He took lovely care of her. Not at all like those horror stories of men mistreating their females, allowing them to fall into such disrepair that they lost their minds. Something with the prolonged disuse that broke down females’s ability to comprehend and communicate language effectively. She wasn’t assigned a high intelligence so she couldn’t be sure of the specifics.

           At long last, Mr. Fulbright stood from the table, effectively ending dinner. He started to take out his wallet when Adam stopped him. “I’ve got it, Peter. Really.” The two men fiddled with their wallets back and forth before shaking hands, Enid hovering at Adam’s side while Naomi remained stationary in her seat until Mr. Fulbright snapped gruffly.

          “Up, female! Do I have to tell you to breathe, too? Jesus Christ.” Mr. Fulbright muttered something crass and gave his attention back to Adam, the two resuming their farewells. It was then Enid finally met Naomi’s eyes. They were glossy and pinkish, as if she were to burst into tears at any moment, but her smile remained.

        Naomi then stood in a motion so quick she seemed to misplace her foot, slipping but catching herself in the nick of time. Mr. Fulbright made no move to help, only grumbling as he noticed a lock of hair falling out of place. Through gritted teeth he muttered at her. “Why don’t you powder your nose? Let the men be for a moment.” He waved his hand dismissively, keeping his attention on Adam. Naomi gave no verbal or physical reaction but grabbed onto Enid’s arm in an attempt to guide them to the restroom. Enid met the eyes of Adam, who nodded his approval. She felt an uncomfortable twist inside her. She didn’t want to go anywhere with Naomi. But there was no way for her to voice it, Naomi already whisking her away.

            Naomi pushed the restroom door open, and before Enid could even understand what was happening, her bare back was slammed up against the sleek, black surface of a stall. Her aversion to low temperature was forgotten though, all of her sensors and systems warning her of danger. Females weren’t meant to be violent, but it seemed the ability couldn’t be fully deleted. Simply coded in a way that any and all improbable violent outbursts were redirected to be towards other females. People could not be hurt. Men could not be hurt. Only females.

            Naomi dug her manicured nails into Enid’s synthetic skin, causing an unpleasant piercing. Pain, she registered it as. Enid could only stare dumbfounded at the pinkish, teary eyes, and then as Naomi’s mouth moved for the first time in her presence. It took a few moments for sound–for voice–to emit. It was high and nasally. Despite the danger and fear, she couldn't help but to think what an odd choice. Not something she expected of Mr. Fulbright’s tastes.

            Naomi proved unintelligible though. Broken whispers of butchered words. It was almost like a growl, a constant, uneven stream of rrrrrrrrrrrel, rrrrrrrrrrrel. Enid could only shake her head in response. Her ability to reject was low. Naomi wouldn’t stop though.

            It was then the door clicked and Naomi moved unnaturally fast. She pushed the both of them into the stall, hand clamped tight over Enid’s mouth.

            “Nnn. Nnuh.” Enid could understand that utterance. She remained silent as another female went about her business. Steady click click click of her stilettos.

            It was here in the confined space of the stall that Enid took notice of the finer details of Naomi. The way her skin was smooth like none other. She’d never encountered this type of upgrade, but she’d heard of them. They way the skin was less realistic and more plastic-like, it moved less, wrinkled less, was sleek, like the feel of a doll. There were no hairs either, not even the barely visible wisps that covered Enid’s own arms.

            Naomi raised her hand and rested on the front of her dress, atop her breast where her heart was. She pressed hard into Enid, sending the warm fluids inside her twisting about. Naomi used her other hand to grip Enid’s wrist, squeezing hard enough to whiten the skin and cause the blue circuits to bulge out. Enid felt the rumble of her heart, the automated pulse quicken, stimulating her fear response. Then, Naomi dug crescents into the skin, pressing and pressing and pressing until blood began to well up. It wouldn’t harm her, Enid knew, the amount of blood in her body minimal compared to that of a man. Only for realistic effect. Regardless, she felt the sting of pain. Then Naomi lifted her head and pressed a finger to Enid’s lips and she tasted the metallic red.

The door swung open and shut and the click of the stilettos fell away. Rrrrrrrrrel. Naomi croaked one more time. She raised her hand from her breast to atop Enid’s cheek, clutching, forcing their eyes to meet. Their noses brushed, their breaths mingled. Rrrrrrrrrrrel Naomi pleaded.

            “Please.” Enid finally spoke. “Stop.”

            Naomi took this as a command. Her pupils grew and she went lax, releasing Enid. She stopped back and after a beat, Enid exited the stall. She washed herself up at the sink, keeping her eyes on Naomi in the background against the stall. The blood spilled down the faucet, running red, red, red, and pink, and finally clear. Enid left the bathroom, never once glancing behind her.

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**********

           

        Days passed. Enid couldn’t stop thinking about Naomi. About the nasally croak and dead eyes. The way her pulse had quickened and never had she felt more real. More alive. She couldn’t stand it. How uncomfortable it made her. She wanted to fall back into her blissful ignorance of other females.

           She was always glancing down at her wrists, the thin blue lines that ran through her body. And the rrrrrrrrrrrrrel. A constant sound in the back of her mind. Like a distant clock, tick tick ticking away. It was quiet enough to ignore. At least for a while. Until one afternoon after her encounter with Naomi.

           Adam was in a good mood. It was rare for him to be this light. This joyful. He hummed quietly under his breath as he diced tomatoes into careful triangles. The window was open, too. Outside the sky a delicate orange and pink, cloudless. There was a breeze that caused Enid to shiver, but she wouldn’t dare disturb Adam’s mood with something as simple as her feelings.

She was pouring him a glass at the table when she bumped her leg, spilling the water and jerking the table. Adam slipped and cut himself. Blood welled from the cut just as it did in the restaurant restroom. She found herself entranced. Staring at the red that dripped from his finger.

            “For fuck’s sake, Enid!” Adam’s voice cut clear through her trance, slamming Enid into gear. She moved quickly, gathering bandages and antiseptic. She cleaned Adam’s wound, silent and dutiful. Her hands shaking ever so slightly, though he barely noticed, continuing his eye rolling and grumbling.

            Once the finger was wrapped cleanly, Adam dismissed himself saying he would order takeout. He didn’t need to say that Enid would clean up what would have been dinner, in addition to the blood and wrappings from his wound.

            She wiped at the blood on the counter, on the knife, studied the way it stained the whorl pattern on her fingers. Entranced again, she lifted her finger to her lips just as Naomi did in the restroom. She pressed gently into her mouth, tasting the same strong, iron.

            Rrrrrrrrrel.

            Her pulse quickened. Perspirant gathered under her arms and down her temple.

            Rrrrrrrrel.

            She could almost feel the hot air of Naomi’s breath against her. There was that unpleasant twist in her core once again.

            The food arrived at the door and Enid began to serve Adam, allowing herself to banish the thoughts of Naomi and the tang on her tongue.

 

**********

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            More days passed. Enid continued her routine of serving Adam, prepping his clothes for the day, and caring for the house. It was a late evening this time, when the dreadful reminder of Naomi returned.

            Enid was carrying a drink and bowl of chips to Adam where he watched a sports game on the television. His attention was entirely devoted to the screen, men in colorful jerseys rushing passed. She leaned to set down the tray as something occurred on screen, Adam rushing to his feet to yell excitedly. There was yet another collision, the bowl spilling chips and the pilsner glass shattering upon impact with the floor. Adam swore and Enid dropped to the floor, already picking up the pieces of glass drenched in foul alcohol.

          “Females. You can’t do anything right. Clean this up. You’re done for the night, now.” Enid nodded silently. It wasn’t a gracious act but a sign of his disappointment. She was essentially exiled for the night, only to clean and then disappear until morning.

           Once Adam was in the next room, she began to gather the shards into the palm of her hand. In her haste to dispose of them, she was nicked. Blood welled and she rushed to the kitchen sink, but she hesitated before putting her palm under the water. She dipped a finger into the open wound, lifted it to her mouth, and tasted iron once more. The same as the restaurant. The same as Adam’s.

          Rrrrrrrrel.

Then she watched the red go down the drain, and carried on.

She finished cleaning and prepared for bed. For the sake of Adam’s bad mood, she dressed in his favorite chemise, off-white and glittering. She laid next to him, obedient as ever.

          Rrrrrrrrel.

           It grew louder in her mind as she laid in the dark. The taste of blood strong on her lips, even still. The way her artificial blood tasted the same as Adam’s.

Enid lifted herself from the bed, careful of Adam’s sleeping form. She crept into the bathroom. The tiled floor cold on her bare feet. She went up to the mirror. Studied her face. Her body.  Her gooseflesh had risen across her bare arms and shoulders, the chemise thin and silky on her body. The light hairs that dusted the skin above her lips. The uneven clustering freckles on one side of her nose. The blue circuits that ran down her neck in uneven lines. Enid lifted her shirt.

            Rrrrrrrrel.

            The circuits coursed down. Thick and blue on her breasts. The two moles beside her left areola. She was imperfect. Why was she imperfect?

            She felt her throat squeeze. It was harder to breathe. She didn’t need to breathe, still, she panicked. Why couldn’t she breathe?

            Rrrrrrrrel.

            Tears sprung to her eyes. Her skin reddened. She could feel the thump thump in her neck. In her chest. In her breasts and the tips of her fingers. Why was this happening? She wasn’t alive. She wasn’t…

           Rrrrrrrrel.

           Real. She wasn’t real.

           Enid ripped open the cabinet beside her, rifling through until she found Adam’s spare razors. She wasted no time. She dug the razor into her wrist. Parallel alongside the lines of circuits. Of… of veins. The red welled just as it did in the restroom. Just as it did in the kitchen. She pressed her mouth to her own wrist, tasting. Yes. Yes, still the same as Adam’s. Same rich texture. She continued to dig.

           Once she made an opening large enough, the blood never ceasing, she stuck her fingers into the wound. She felt the thin, silky veins. Reminded her of worms in the mud and rain.

She could feel the pulse of her blood and heart rate. Not just in her wrist but in the fingers that held them. She ripped at them. Bit into them. Pulled them out no matter how much the pain stung at her. She had to know.

            Enid let out an ugly cry. One that always made Adam angry. The disgusting sound of her throat croaking, snot pushing out of her nose. She slid down the wall and onto the cold floor. Despite the pain, the red oozing out and stained all over her white chemise–oh, Adam will have to replace it, he won’t like that either–she shivered at the feel of the cold tiles.

Yes. Yes, it was true. She was…

            Rrrrrrrrel.