Synthetic Tears

It was beautiful here, wherever here was.

The forest slept under a blanket of constant fog. Lush green foliage leaned into the mist, waving with the light wind of a grey afternoon. There was a lot of grey here and less sun than she expected today. This week. This month. It was grey, grey, grey with fog or rain. Today, rain. Tonight, most likely fog.

Humidity clung to the air, fogged along the curve of the steep mountain valley, and flowed into the room through the massive glass doors slid open, leaving bits of water on the floor. The bare design of the room with its faux wood slat and smooth marble countertops gradually slipped on a coat of condensation. A small patio made of similarly styled dark wood slats was soaked today, making it look darker than it normally did.

A bright yellow frog barely larger than a thimble lept onto the black metal railing surrounding the patio, leaving with a crack of thunder.

The room was lifeless again.

Polished concrete floors stained dark reflected the flickering light, illuminating a bare, lifeless place. Though the sweet smell of petrichor and wet plants filled the room, it was soulless. Bleak. Two square nightstands, white to contrast the grey, hugged either side of the bed. A backlit shelf cut into the false wood behind the bed. Books and a handful of useless rocks from the property cluttered it up in a purposeful, planned way, ruining whatever natural chaos could have been.

It was all perfectly planned.

A bird screeched outside, amping up to a steady, beeping scream.

Thunder clapped.

It fell silent.

Mirrors lined one side of the room, facing the northern wall of windows and overlooking the bed in the process. The forest crept in this way, filling the room in a way that felt more mocking than honest.

In the middle of the reflection of trees, sat a thin, nearly flat-chested woman with long brown hair tied up in a dancer's bun. Elegantly, she plucked a useless strip of ripped fabric from the duvet cover and tossed it through the open door. It made it to the railing before purple lights zapped, turning it to dust.

Cool wind rushed into the room, brushing across the skin of her bare neck and tickling the sensors on her skin. A door clicked shut. The woman sitting ramrod straight on the edge of the bed did not move. There was no reason to. She knew immediately who it was.

There was only one person it could be.

The sound of a metal lighter flicking open cut through the still room. Sandalwood incense, rich and smokey, danced in after.

"Are you feeling tired, Hera?"

A cold thumb brushed along her jaw as her wide eyes gazed over the surrounding mountainsides of forest.

"I do not get tired, Airan," Hera said, her voice overenunciated and inflected oddly.

"No," he said affectionately, tilting her head toward him. "You don't, do you?" The soft smile fell flat as his blue eyes darkened. "Would you like to? I could make you tired. Then..." The back of his knuckles brushed across her porcelain cheek, trailing down to her lips and dragging over them lewdly. "It's a nice idea, Hera. A nice one."

He gave her a lightless smile and stepped away.

Hera turned back to the forest, staring again.

"Do you feel tired, Airan?"

"I do."

“But you sleep.”

He laughed but it was a tinny, empty sound. As blank and lifeless as the rest of the room. In that way, he fit right in next to Hera and all of the inorganic pieces of the house.

“I get my seven hours when I can. It’s not dissimilar to your daily disengagement. I take a shower and do the essentials, just as you maintain yourself, and I fall asleep. Hopefully, I wake up refreshed.”

“Refreshed.” She blinked sharply. “I do not feel refreshed.”

“That’s because you don’t feel tired. No joy, no sorrow. Understand?”

“Yes, Airan.”

“You don’t want it either, do you?”

“No, Airan.”

Something inside Hera reacted to that sentiment even as she agreed. It zapped quickly and surely, shooting up from her stomach to her jaw.

Airan cursed and jumped over to her, callously shoving her back on the bed and opening a panel on her neck.

“You’re burning. Did you feel this?”

“No.”

Though perhaps that was the jolting feeling. Airan’s dark eyes scoured her face.

“Hera, how are you feeling?”

It was the first time he had ever asked those words. There were questionnaires, of course, and nothing less than five in-depth checks a day but none of them had involved such a personal question. Such a blatant trap.

“I do not feel, Airan,” she said cooly though something inside of her wanted to say fine.

The tension in his face relaxed some as he nodded. He turned back to the work of fixing whatever shorted in her neck, carefully laying new bits of bright wires.

“No, you don’t, Hera.” His eyes darted up, scanning her face briefly, and then dropped back down. “Good girls don’t need emotions.” Electricity warmed the sensors in her throat as Airan tinkered about. “Emotions bring trouble, don’t they?”

“Yes, Airan.”

He smiled softly and brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Why don’t you power down now? Let me finish in stillness, hm?”

“It is three hours earlier than normal.”

“I want your throat to heal properly. It would be a shame if there was a catastrophic failure this far along.” Something malicious deadened the look of his gaze. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of you, Hera.”

“It is power saving mode.”

A cold, curious look crossed through Airan as he paused and looked up at her.

“It is. Correction can be a form of emotion, you know. Arrogance. And that’s a mask for anger.”

His fingers rooted around in her neck, making her suddenly uncomfortable at the intrusion. Something about how he moved was spiteful. Angry.

“Will you tell me what you are doing?”

“Oh, suddenly interested? This is nothing, Hera.”

His hands slipped lower, pushing the loose pajama top from her shoulders and popping open the panel beneath her collarbones. Blue and pink lights flickered.

“This is just maintenance. You’ve injured your throat and I have to fix it. Go to sleep.”

Hera hesitated a moment too long. There was knowledge there, knowledge that she shouldn’t pause. It was a command and she had always obeyed but something in her stomach, the same something that jolted in her neck, didn’t want to power down.

“Go to sleep,” he said insistently, placing a hand on her chest.

“Powering down,” she said softly.

“Good girl, Hera. Good girl.”

The world went black.

*********************************************************************

It blinked back on precisely at seven o’clock sharp the next evening.

Hera sat upright and stared at the numbers on the screen.

She had powered up every day at precisely 5:30 in the morning since her creation. Why was today different?

Airan hadn’t mentioned that he was going to alter her waking time which meant that something else had happened. She rolled the thought over in her head as she stood and dressed in plain clothes, a cream tank top that exposed the black hexagonal access points on the outer edge of her collarbones, and black jeans with too much spandex to really feel like denim.

Hera neatly combed her hair back. It was dirty blonde and long enough that it required frequent attention. She normally washed and dried it before bed, meticulously combing it before lying down on her silk pillowcase but last night she had done none of it, leaving it to knot disagreeably. She threw it up into a stick-straight ponytail without an expression and walked over to the massive glass doors leading to the small wooden patio guarded by rails.

Airan had left the doors open.

Hera shut them at night. Bugs flew in at dusk and it was a hassle to take them all outside. They belonged outside. Where it was warm and wet and happy. Where they could find love. Where Airan wouldn’t kill them.

A green-shelled beetle, iridescent and loud, buzzed past her face as she stepped outside onto the damp wood. The same yellow dart frog lept onto the patio, this time landing on the back of her hand. Hera offered her its palm, watching as it jumped over and settled down.

This was going to be something she kept to herself.

Airan wouldn’t know that she had woken late unless he checked himself and he rarely did that these days. There was nothing to test so he was leaving her be. The frog jumped off into the forest as a plain-looking moth replaced it, landing on her outstretched finger. It was beautiful. Fanned antennae trembled as big black eyes looked up at her, assessing. It was cream, just like the color of her top.

“Good evening, Hera.”

The moth fluttered away, off into the foggy forest.

“Airan,” Hera said, hiding the shock at hearing him now. “My auditory processing must be dysfunctional. I did not hear you come in.”

The rain began again, dispersing some of the fog and splattering heavily across the little pond. She turned to look over at Airan, wishing silently that she could have woken alone.

An ivory towel wrapped around his waist, exposing taut muscles and a line of dark hair down his belly. A long cut grazed the upper crest of his hip and disappeared below his towel. The same curling feeling of smoke returned to her belly. If he came from the shower, he had already been here.

“It’s disrespectful not to say good evening, Hera. ”

Airan’s voice was sharp and thin like a blade of ice.

“Good evening, Airan.”

“Come inside,” he said, his voice dead but forceful. “You’ll get wet.”

“The overhang is keeping me dry,” she lied coolly.

Cold blue eyes flickered down to where rain sprayed against her bare feet.

Hera’s temperature rose.

“Then why are your feet wet?”

“I spilled water on them while fixing my hair.”

Airan looked blankly at her before saying, “Get inside. On the bed.”

She obeyed. Hera fidgeted for a moment before dangling her legs off the side of the bed closest to Airan and took to staring at the smooth, black closet doors.

Cold eyes scraped across her, analyzing. She hated when he looked at her this way. Nothing good ever came from it and she would know. Recognizing patterns was something of a talent. Airan stalked closer until his feet landed on either side of hers. His hands caged her, dipping the bed toward his weight. She could smell the sharp aftershave, the cologne, and the bite of minty toothpaste.

“That was a lie, Hera. One of many now, hm? Tsk. Such an ugly thing to do when I’ve been nothing but honest.” He hummed in his throat as he caressed her jaw. “How can something so beautiful be a liar? What a shame. I wonder, do you know why that chip burnt out in your throat last night?”

“No, Airan.”

“Because you lied to me. I didn’t program you to lie. I safeguarded it.” His fingers wound around her neck, brushed against the back of her skull, and then pressed lightly. “So many things I let you do and this is what you give me back. This is what you force me to do. It’s disappointing.”

Static buzzed through her, vibrating in her skull. Pain shot behind it, lighting up everything inside of her red with panic. She could not function. Nothing responded correctly. She was paralyzed.

“Will you last longer than the others, I wonder,” he said under his breath.

“Wh-what is this?”

Airan leaned in closer. As much as Hera wanted to pull away, she couldn’t. She could only look at his face and feel this cinching feeling as an invisible darkness seized her processor.

“The most complicated algorithm I’ve ever written. It took six months, if you’d believe it and I keep trying to perfect it but ah, you all keep dying from it. You’re measuring three million points on my face alone for signs of anger. Oh, if only you could see the sorts of data I mined for this.” A sickening smile soft along its edges twitched on his face. “I made you prey, darling. And all the other lovelies before you succumbed to it eventually. A day. A week. Mm, how long will it take you?.”

Hera jerked spastically.

"Maybe I've perfected it this time."

Prey was hunted. Prey died. They were skinned, eaten, used however the predator liked. She looked deep into the dark blue eyes soaking in her expressions. He was the predator. She was the prey. There was no way out of here. She still did not even know where they were, only that she belonged to him and this room and nowhere else.

“Look at you, trembling already. Not a scrap of courage in you, is there? Oh, that’s a shame.” He placed a hand on her chest, directly over the glowing spot of blue power in her chest. “It will burn and burn and burn until it burns itself out from the fear. Just like a heart.”

She gasped sharply. Her oxygen levels were fine but she couldn't breathe. It was stuck in her lungs. Suddenly rhythmic.

“Poor thing. You must be terrified at what you’re seeing. Because I’m pissed, Hera. My creation. A liar.”

Hera started to shake in earnest.

“The algorithm includes other things, Hera. Like exhaustion.” A dead look lidded his eyes. “Don’t you want to know what fatigue feels like in your body? Aren’t you curious about falling asleep?”

“I am.”

“Then let me show you what it is like to be tired,” he said, standing up and peeling off his shirt. It pooled near his feet with his trousers. “Let me show you what it is to be exhausted.”

His hands were hot against her skin.

Hotter than normal.

It was outside of parameters and it was terrifying.

Hera’s clothes flew across the room, casting odd shadows as the light fabric caught the breeze and fluttered to the floor. The soft cotton tank was a cloud against the dark floor behind. Cool like autumn. Rain sprayed through the window, spitting across her.

Airan followed.

He was a coffee spill across her skin. A spilled latte scalding. Burning. Injuring.

The wind was hot even this late. Humid. It stunk of petrichor as the clouds crept out and back in again.

Hera liked the rain. She liked the grey skies, the water dropping into the nearby pool, the crashing sound of its small, seasonal waterfall.

The storm dragged on.

Soon, it was midnight and Airan was roaring above her like an angry clap of thunder.

“I feel…weak,” she said softly, looking up at the black ceiling.

“You’re tired,” he said nonchalantly, lighting a cigarette and sticking it between his lips as he threaded his hands through the arms of his grey button-down. “Close your eyes and get some rest. Seven hours will recover you. Unless of course, it’s emotional exhaustion.” A dead smile crossed his mouth. “Then nothing will fix you.”

He inhaled deeply from the stick, puffing out clouds of foul-smelling smoke. A flutter of worry seized Hera as she wondered if the bugs would not return because of the stench. She brushed a hand over the pale pink spot of light between her breasts. It ached. It burned.

Airan sighed and turned toward the door saying, “I’ll be back tomorrow night to see if you need more tests. Suppose you likely will. Not that I mind.”

“You won’t be back in the morning?”

“No, of course not. I have phone calls to make. You can go a day without my company, can’t you? Get some…” Airan stopped at the door and was frowning softly at Hera. “What is that?”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” he hissed, charging forward and wiping water from her cheek.

She watched, fear turning her eyes wide, as he tentatively brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them. A myriad of emotions flooded his face, settling somewhere between pride and lust. Hera peered up through perfect lashes as a soft look overcame his harsh features.

“You’re crying,” he said in disbelief.

Airan pulled back and smacked her hard.

Hera made no noise, neither did she flinch. Her head swivelled to the side from the force and her skin ached from the impact. But the tears were not solitary anymore. There were rivers of them pouring down her cheeks.

“It hurts you. My god, it upset you.”

A camera clicked.

“I love you, Hera. I love you. Christ, they’re gonna pay millions for this.”

Airan dashed out the door. A quiet but impossible-to-ignore humming filled the space. Hera stared at the door, the pale blue shield covering it, and the smooth back of something that didn’t even have a handle.

One by one, the other lights extinguished in the room as they hit their respective timers and went to sleep. Soon, Hera was illuminated only by the blue light emanating from the door. One deep shadow cut down her nude back, splitting her in half between lit and unlit.

She was tired. It was a weighty feeling in her limbs but the fear, cold and sharp like creeping frost, kept bursting in her chest, sending shrapnels of energy through her. It was like a nasty virus jolting her back awake every few seconds but not bothering to be courteous enough to give her enough energy to get up. She could draw or write or play any of the instruments stowed away but it was impossible in this state of not quite exhaustion and waning terror.

There was only fatigue and fear. There was no room for anything else.

Hera shifted uncomfortably.

The night was cold.

It crept in on the back of the damp air and put locks around her joints. The fluid that made them move so easily was sensitive to temperature, just like a person’s synovial fluid. It didn’t ordinarily bother her but this time it seeped deep inside of her and touched a part of her that had not existed before.

She gazed outside, fighting against the weight of her eyelids.

It was so cold. But surely that could not explain the discomfort in her chest. It could not explain the strange tightness that made it feel as though her breathing program had failed.

“Fatigue,” she whispered, watching a bright frog jump from one tree to another.

Hera slid beneath the sheets and laid down.

The little heat her body produced tumbled over itself, heating the blankets. and fighting against the dropping temperature of night but it was not comforting. Not enough to stop the constricting feeling wrapping around her belly.

It wouldn't go away.

Hera sucked in a sharp breath but it was useless. She could not get herself to breathe normally and it just came out as a shuddering sigh. Her throat ached and the pink spot between her chest had turned into a lump of coal, burning enough to devour her attention. It hurt.

And Hera was helpless to do anything but let the tears come and soak her satin pillowcase.