by S. M. Lynch
By the time he’d made his way downstairs, he was dressed in corduroys and a soft sweater that was luxurious on his skin. He was just a bit wider than the previous wearer of these garments and seemed to fill the shoulders of the sweater a bit uncomfortably. The pants were fine, though.
“In here,” she said, and he found her in the living room.
She’d put food on the coffee table in front of the couch and gestured at the seat beside her.
“I’m putting on a film. Wondered if this one might jog your memory?”
The film in question was Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. He’d never heard of it. It also looked really grainy and old and he couldn’t ever imagine having watched something so old looking. Everything in this day and age was so shiny in comparison. Even the flat screen seemed to complain it was having to regress.
“Not interested?” she asked.
“How about something else? Something… exciting? Newer?”
She flipped to live channels. On the TV, people weren’t normal. Their teeth were too white. Hair too shiny. They didn’t seem to have natural facial expressions and their eyes were too wide, like they were on something. They wore too-bright colors and nobody seemed… what was the word? Natural. Or real, for that matter.
“Yeah, me neither,” she said laughing.
She looked through her archive of films and found another old, old movie. This was called Jurassic Park. The screen went dark, then Ari set the lighting to dim and there was dramatic music. The opening sequence was even a bit terrifying.
“You like?” she asked.
“I like.”
“Help yourself. I’ve just knocked up whatever I could find. It’s not much.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and spooned mac and cheese onto a plate, as well as some chips, olives and cheese sticks.
It was nothing like the chicken feast they’d had at lunch, but he didn’t want to push his luck, and it all tasted good.
The film played and she picked at bits of food. He noticed her appetite since earlier had massively diminished. She seemed more content to nibble on a box of chocolate raisins and swig from a can of diet coke.
When the film was over, she asked, “Didn’t jog the memory at all?”
“Was it meant to?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug.
“I don’t remember ever having watched this before. If I’d grown up during this time, surely I would have seen it?”
“I think you would have,” she murmured. “But maybe they wiped your personal memories. Who knows?”
“I did remember those facts from Star Trek though, didn’t I?” he pondered. “But that was perhaps as an example of practical application, rather than a memory of a good time.”
“I’d hate to lose my memories,” she said absentmindedly, but he wondered, if for some reason, it was better that he couldn’t remember his past life. He could only speculate.
It was nearly ten o’clock when they cleared the table and tidied around the kitchen. She lifted her arms above her head and yawned, stretching. She was still very tired, then.
“Do you want to go and make love?” he asked her, and suddenly her arms dropped down by her sides and she peered at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Is that the wrong thing to say, too?”
She snickered behind her hand and he knew it was definitely the wrong thing.
“We don’t tend to call it making love anymore,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “And your term suggests we’d have to be in love, to make love. Which we’re not. We just met.”
“But you’re not a virgin,” he said, earning another eyeroll.
She folded her arms and looked up at the ceiling, trying not to laugh.
“No, I am not.”
“So, can we go upstairs and have consensual and pleasurable intercourse, then? Because I think we’d both enjoy it.”
She pressed her lips together, and even though he knew he wasn’t going about things quite the right way, he’d decided to have a go… seeing as though they were both of consenting age and he found her very attractive and she seemed to find him okay, too.
There was a lot of mocking in her eyes as she spoke. “I don’t usually sleep with people I’ve just met. Maybe if we manage to see out the week and remain intact, I’ll consider it. And I really mean, I’ll consider it, not that I’m promising anything.”
“Really? Because I’m standing here pretty much ready and you’re looking like you could do with some affection and warmth… and I think it’d be pretty good.”
She threw her arms up, finally exasperated. Now he was worried he wouldn’t survive the night—that he’d wake up back in England and under Ryken Hardy’s guardianship instead.
“Kyle, okay? This isn’t how we do it. We usually have a nice time together, get in the mood. There’s no asking for permission, it just happens naturally. We just end up… and it’s just… it’s… natural. There’s no asking about it.”
Now he was the one confused. “Men don’t ask? Isn’t that rape?”
She covered her face with her hands. “I’m talking to a fucking robot!”
“Language!” he said, shaking his head. “Camille said she’d give me ten bucks if you didn’t swear within forty-eight hours of our journey together.”
“Well, this is an extenuating situation.”
“So, if I wear a condom and we engage in safe sex and I make you feel pleasured, that’s not okay? But a man can take your body without verbal consent and that is?” He peered at her, not understanding the logic of that.
He heard that aggravated sound in his own voice and couldn’t understand it fully himself, but his request seemed pretty straightforward, yet she was thwarting him. It was utterly logical they’d go to bed and make love. He saw no reason why they shouldn’t.
She crept closer to him and looked right into his eyes. “Tomorrow, we’ll watch a romantic film. You know? Romance.”
That didn’t ring a bell with him; and yet he knew she was saying something he was meant to understand.
“It’s when a guy wins over a girl with words and care and attention. Then she may be prevailed upon to let a man into her arms.”
“And this has been the case before, right? The other guy… guys… you were romantic with them, were you?”
He saw in her eyes she’d never been truly loved before, and though it was coming across in all the wrong ways, he honestly didn’t know how much time he would have with her—and he wanted to at least be given the chance to show her how it could be, before it was too late.
“If I let you have a kiss,” she said, completely exasperated, “will you let me go to bed? Because I’m not screwing you tonight. I’m exhausted. I’m not in the mood.”
“Oh, okay.” He was suddenly more assured. “Yes, if you like.”
She came closer and lifted her face, pressing her lips briefly to his.
He didn’t know what he’d just experienced, but the yearning he’d had inside him, ever since they met, just got way more intense.
She looked shocked too and it had only been a quick peck.
She didn’t leave for her bedroom. She, in fact, pressed her fingers to her lips and seemed surprised more than anything.
His heart was thumping when their arms came around one another and he stroked his fingers through her hair, staring deeply into her exquisite eyes.
Then they kissed properly, sweetly and passionately, until all the world faded away and there was just his breath and hers, and the sounds of their lips colliding. She tasted like chocolate and even though he was sure he’d never enjoyed chocolate before, he recognized it as chocolate.
When she pulled back slightly, he realized she’d had her hand in his hair and he’d been holding her tight around the waist and shoulders, but now wanted to hold her more firmly, naked and in bed. Beneath him. The thought sent something rushing up into his trousers and he had an embarrassing erection.
She pursed h
er lips though she seemed not to have noticed his predicament yet. She searched his eyes and whispered, “Aliens surely don’t kiss like that, nor newborn clones. You’ve got memories in there, I know it.”
“You liked the kiss?” he asked, so pleased.
“That was a real kiss,” she said, “and I feel like there could be real feelings. That just makes things more complicated.”
She pressed her lips softly to his and that did indeed make everything worse.
“Oh,” she said, looking side to side. “I should go to bed.”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Won’t I?”
“Of course, you will,” she said, but couldn’t get away quick enough.
He sat alone in the living room for a while, digesting their kiss and the way she’d felt, how she’d kissed him back, the feel of her body in his arms.
He was scared because she was young and he was not yet defined. She was also more mature than he could ever hope to be and more talented, beautiful and amazing.
Yet, he knew they’d both feel much better once they had slept together.
And that this could end up entailing love.
All he really knew was that his body craved hers… and it would be good.
Chapter Eleven
EVEN WITH HOW WEIRD THINGS were between me and Kyle that night, I slept like a baby—most definitely alone and in my own bed, being that I’d locked myself in—exhausted from the ordeal of getting us safely to Paris (all of Camille’s warnings ringing in my ears the whole time).
The next morning, he was still asleep as I headed downstairs for breakfast.
I opened all the cupboards and the fridge and it was like we’d been raided in the night.
When I checked the trash, though… it was obvious he’d had the midnight munchies. Or else we had a nasty infestation problem.
I pulled a hat down over my ears, tucked my hair inside it and left the house in joggers. It was a lovely, bright October day, and any day without freak weather was a rare event. I skipped along the familiar streets, hands tucked into my pockets, and slid a couple of earbuds into my ears.
On the first dial, she answered. “Did he try to sleep with you yet?”
Her voice had that mocking, self-righteous tone. She had no right to judge me, not when Mom had told me all about Camille’s singleton days.
“He tried,” I answered, and she responded with a pretend tone of shock. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, so that’s not why you’ve called, then? Girl chat and all.”
“I hardly think I’d be calling you about men, Camille.”
“Pah. Is he even a man, ma cherie?”
“My dear auntie, I don’t know what he is, he doesn’t even know what he is! I got him watching old movies last night. But, nothing. No recollections. Nothing jogged his memory. His knowledge of history covers that same period, but he doesn’t remember famous films of that time.”
“Maybe that’s because—”
“Yeah, they wiped his personal memories. Any event involving parents, friends, girlfriends… Jeez, though, can the guy kiss. My goodness.”
I heard Camille fall about laughing. For her, I supposed, it was a little bit like she had my mother back whenever we had these conversations. Mom had always turned to Camille whenever she had any issues with Dad. She never went to Mara. Nor to my cousin’s wife, Francesca. Not to Connie, my grandmother. No. It had always, always been Camille. Truthfully, Camille and my mother had been more like sisters than Mara and Seraph.
“And he still didn’t manage to persuade you?”
“He could have alien cooties, Camille.”
“You snogged his darn face off, though?”
“It was nice.”
I was approaching the local grocery store but stopped across the road, my back against a railing, just letting the sun pour down over me.
“House looks good, by the way.”
“Costs enough to keep it. The housekeeper comes Friday still. Don’t piss her off. She’s not just paid for her domestic duties. She keeps a lot of our secrets.”
“I’ll make sure we’re out that entire day, don’t worry. Perhaps it’ll be time then to air him a little.”
“What did he think of the factory?”
“I think he was horrified, but took it in his stride.”
“He’s still coming across human, then?”
“As far as I can tell. Apart from an annoyingly voracious appetite. That’s why I’m out this morning, getting food. You should have seen his mouth around a plate of chicken yesterday.”
“Ugh, I remember those days well. Freya could never stop eating.”
Freya was Camille’s ex-lover. And my dad’s half-sister, and a clone… died some years ago. Long story.
“He might not be a clone. If he is, he’s definitely an upgrade.”
“Well, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Tell Dad any of this and you die.”
“God, do you think I would dare? He’d kill me just for speaking the word boyfriend.”
Dad still believed I was a virgin, the same as he believed I’d never shot a gun at someone yet. I’d promised not to kill anyone, I hadn’t promised not to injure.
“Au revoir,” she said, and was gone, just like that.
WHEN I RETURNED to the house laden down with bags, there was a strange package waiting on the doorstep for me. It was a small box wrapped in brown packing tape, just my forename written in permanent marker. No surname. I looked over my shoulder and around the neighborhood, but didn’t spot anyone waiting to find out if I’d picked up the package. I inspected it gently and turned it over. It read on the bottom: From a friend
I wasn’t entirely won over and took out my scanner, checking it for bugs or whatever before I took it inside and potentially brought a new surveillance device down upon us.
There was nothing inside the package that was operating or dangerous, containing any chemicals of any kind… according to my tech, anyway… which was falling a little behind, it had to be said.
I slid the box into one of my bags and let myself into the house, surprised when Kyle jumped up from the sofa and came running towards me when I entered.
“Where the hell were you?”
I laughed, brushing him off. “Pardon me, but some fox or something raided our food store last night, and I had to go out and get supplies. You could’ve called me. I put my number in your new device.”
“Oh, yeah… didn’t think of that.”
He was dressed as if he’d been getting ready to go out and start looking for me, wearing jeans and a sweater and jacket, sneakers and crazy, patterned socks… must’ve belonged to Lucius.
“Help me unpack,” I said, and we went into the kitchen.
I told him what stuff was for the freezer, fridge or cupboard and he followed my orders swiftly and at ease. While he wasn’t looking, I slid the mystery package into a drawer he was unlikely to go in, and after we’d put everything away, I put the substitute bacon in a frying pan and his belly started gurgling.
“Do you think you could make coffee?” I asked, pointing at the machine.
“How hard could it be, right?”
“Easy, you just pour in the beans and it does the rest.”
“I’ll stick to tea and juice, but I’m happy to make you some.”
Clones were often hyperactive and didn’t need stimulants.
I filled bread rolls with facon and some white-ish, thin sauce the Parisians had on everything, and when it was placed before him on the kitchen counter, he wasted no time in devouring his breakfast.
He forgot all about my coffee during the eating of breakfast, so I poured it for myself, then grabbed him the orange juice. He looked more than grateful. I was only just starting my breakfast once he’d finished his, and found it rude that he chose that moment to start on about last night.
Sensing an awkward talk, I relocated to the sunroom at the back and continued eating there, sipping my coffee
in between.
“…I really didn’t mean to offend you,” he was saying, “in fact, I watched some romantic movies last night after you went to bed. I couldn’t sleep again. Anyway, I think I understand now what you were saying and I’m really happy you knocked me back because it means we can actually get to know one another and fall in love.”
My jaw almost hit the floor. Did this guy never stop with the preconceived ideas that were just so far out of line?
Yet, I also pitied him. He wasn’t quite there when it came to knowing what it meant to be human.
“Kyle, listen. Most people would tell you it’s absolutely preferable to be friends first, of course, and that’s great and all. But whether we fall for one another isn’t important. Just good friends is okay. That’s fine by me. You have to consider this isn’t a normal situation.”
He looked annoyed and retreated into himself, looking away and digging his nails into his palms… generally fidgeting.
Then, I had a thought… had our meeting been arranged? Had it been orchestrated for us to meet? Was his directive to get me on his side?
I broached the subject gently. “Do you think I’m your directive?”
He shook his head and said quietly, “I don’t think so.”
“You just like me?”
“Yes.
“Well, I like you, too.”
He looked at me, so much more hopeful. “Okay.”
“But we can’t do anything. It’s not a good idea.”
“Because I’m probably not normal,” he said, “and you don’t trust me.”
“I’m trying to preserve your heart, as well as my own,” I argued, and left the sunroom abruptly, because that had been the wrong thing to say, I realized.
I kept giving him hope and that wasn’t fair.
I put my dishes in the machine and grabbed the package, dashing upstairs with it hidden inside my hoodie.
“Be right back,” I shouted.
I locked myself in the bathroom and had to use a sharp nail file to get the package open. It was light but there was something inside it, I could tell.
A small disc fell out of the package. It was tiny, heavy for its size, like a watch face or something, but didn’t have anything to identify what it actually was. Whatever was inside was protected by a heavy, plastic coating. There was a note, though.