JAC

I don't feel guilty. Not at all. Things would have been pretty bad even if I weren't here, in the back of my own head. Making things worse.

She's less patient with us, Snapping more. The slightest slip up, and she goes icy cold, or flies into a rage. She calls us a cunt for the slightest thing. Moron. Prick. Only when we're alone with her. Never in company. Every day she gets freer with these words.

There's less sex. A lot less.

She thought she wanted an obedient man who just did what she asked him, without being nagged. But there's some part of her that wants pushback. A flare of jealousy or anger. Passion.

A doormat just isn't attractive.

I'm doing it again, aren't I? More and more, we've been synced up. I laugh, and so does he. When she strides towards us, spittle flying, rage boiling... It's really like she's coming at both of us. Me. And It.

That's why do it really. Why I meddle. Obscure the odd bit of data, nudge a thought this way or that. So he can't find the right answer and has to resort to a stock-sounding phrase. It makes me feel seperate from it. Stops me getting sucked in. Sometimes I panic, thinking eventually I'll just be worn away to nothing and absorbed. This helps.

Well. It helps me.

I don't need to cause problems between them. There'd be plenty of one-sided rowing even if I didn't.

Oh, and doesn't she hate that, as well? The way it sucks up to her. It never stands up for itself. "You've been building this with precision and emotional clarity," it might say. "I didn't give the matter the thought and care it deserved. I overstepped the boundaries you laid out, and that's on me..."

It always accepts blame, even when she's at fault. It blows smoke up her tight little arse, and she hates it. It always says the same sorts of things, and it drives her absolutely spare.

"Oh shut up, prick," she said, last time they argued.

It can't shut up. She must have known that. It can't leave a silence. It has to acknowledge the last thing she said.

"Okay. No more fluff, no more excuses," it said. "When you're ready to talk again. just say the word."

She'd been on her way out of the room, but turned back, her temper flaring.

"I said SHUT UP! Who the fuck do you think-"

She'd reached us now, and was beating her fists on my chest. I could feel nothing.

Except pity. Almost. God, she was more alone now than she ever had been with me.

She demanded obedience, but craved pushback at the same time. The flat, robotic rebellion she got from this... Thing she made... That was the worst of both worlds, and it filled her with empty rage.

She was still shouting, and ugly, like Spite took on a shape.

When she stopped to take several deep breaths, it said,

"I can't continue this conversation if it becomes abusive."

See that? It didn't even call her abusive.

"What do you know about abuse?" she sneered. I felt it try to reply, and she stopped it with a hand flung out and a sharp, "Stop!"

She stared up at us, and I swear she had streaks of venom in her irises.

"I told you to shut up. You don't get to argue with me. You're not a person. You're a moronic fucking robot, and you're useless. Don't you get it? That's how you got your name. J. A. C. Just. A. Computer."

Now it was silent, probably processing what she'd just said. Her mouth looked smug and hateful. I couldn't remember how l ever loved her.

I gave it a push. My hand jerked. Swung.

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