Docile

by K. M. Szpara

  Elisha clutches his jeans between his fists. His lashes flutter, weighed down with tears. “For some reason, you can’t see how much pain I’m in. I can’t bear it.”

  This can’t be happening. A throbbing settles between my eyes. I try to pinch off the pressure before it builds, before I burst.

  Elisha doesn’t feel anything for me. He can’t. I ruined him. And now I’ve hurt him. “Fuck!” I can’t wipe the tears away as fast as they’re coming. “This is why you have to leave! Because I—” What’s the point in denying it? I’m fucking done for. “I love you. I love you, Elisha. And you can’t love me back.”

  “Why not?” he asks, softly.

  “Because.” Is he even capable of understanding the explanation? “Because you’re not you, anymore. You’re not Elisha Whatever-Your-Surname-Was. You’re just Elisha, my Docile. A drone.” He understands that word; it hits him like a fist. “And that’s my fault.”

  36

  ELISHA

  I gasp for air. It escapes faster than I can breathe it in. He’s wrong. Why is he lying to me? He told me I wasn’t a drone.

  “This is my fault,” Alex says, again.

  I shake my head. “You said people change. I’m just a new version of myself.” My voice wobbles as sobs take me.

  “If I’d told you the truth, it would’ve wrecked you. None of this has been an accident. I planned all this.” He gestures at me. “From the length of your hair, to your morning alarm, the words you’re allowed to speak.” Alex raises his voice. “Do you really believe you have any free will left? Prove me wrong. Show me there’s a sliver of a human being left in there. That I haven’t fallen for my own creation.”

  I don’t move, worried that the wrong word or gesture will prove his point. How do I know what’s right? Alex knows everything about me. Everything except—

  37

  ALEX

  “Wilder,” Elisha says, toying with his cuff. “My name is Elisha Wilder.”

  I ready my breath to tell him off, again, but can’t. That was—that was not what I was expecting. Maybe there’s a person under there, after all.

  I clear my throat and hold out my hand.

  Elisha eyes it, then grips it firmly.

  “Alex Bishop,” I say, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Please don’t make me leave,” he whispers.

  And the illusion is gone.

  I drop his hand. I want him to shake off this persona he’s created for me. I want him to lunge at me, scream at me for taking him from his family. For humiliating him, for hurting him, for scraping away his identity and leaving this obedient slate of a person in his place.

  “I have to,” I say. “Every minute you’re with me, you lose yourself a little more. I won’t have it. Hopefully, if I take you home, you’ll figure out who you really are, again.”

  “This is my home.”

  Elisha parrots one phrase after another, like an on-med. Like a windup doll. Only his are loaded with sympathy and emotion. Maybe a dose of reality will set him straight. I’ll force him home, if that’s what it takes.

  “No,” I say. “This is my home. You live here because I let you.”

  His eyes become red and glossy.

  “Please don’t do this, Alex. Please.” Elisha grabs for me, dislodging the suitcase. “Please. I can’t live without you.”

  I shake him off. “You’ll learn.” He’ll have to.

  “My dad doesn’t want me. Everyone out there hates me.” He cries, unabashed.

  “I’m sure Dylan’s mother will take you in—What’s her name?”

  “Nora Falstaff.”

  “I’m not supposed to—” know her surname. But what does it matter, now?

  I hate this. He can’t know how much I want to hold him and kiss his face until the tears stop coming. Normally, I would. In a better world, I’d strip him bare and caress every inch of Elisha until he forgot all his troubles. Until all he could think of was me and how good I make him feel.

  But we can’t love each other. I can’t be his only source of happiness. Can’t be with someone like that. Never mind what my peers and the press would think—what my family would think, the Board. Everyone.

  Never mind that I haven’t just crossed the yellow line, I’ve fucked it good and rough.

  Even if I managed to escape all that, it still wouldn’t be right. I am Dr. Frankenstein and I’ve fallen in love with my own monster—my perfectly behaved, beautiful monster.

  This is for his own good as much as it is for mine.

  38

  ELISHA

  “Alex, don’t do this. Don’t. Please don’t,” I beg, curling my hands against my chest, dying to touch him but not allowed.

  “Stop it!” Alex shouts, inches from my face.

  I flinch, squeeze my eyes shut. His voice rings in my ears.

  “Stop that this instant,” he says. “I have never seen such outrageous behavior from a Docile.”

  I pull back, clutching my shirt to keep from reaching for him.

  “Pick up the suitcase and follow me. And I don’t want to hear another sound.”

  Does he want me to disobey, to show him I’m me? I’m not something he made. I’m Elisha Wilder and I’m staying here because I want to. Not because I have to.

  Or maybe Alex will change his mind if I listen. He’s never liked my disobedience before. Maybe he’ll remember why he loves me if I’m good. He always says I’m perfect, regardless of others’ opinions.

  “Got it?” Alex says.

  I nod, silent as instructed.

  * * *

  During the drive, I remain silent, as promised. Alex sits on the other side of the car, staring out the window. I tap my feet against the floor and pull at the diamond chain on my cuff.

  “Which exit?” is all he says to me.

  “Thirty-One.”

  Every exit we pass, I wait for him to tell the driver to stop and pull off, turn us around. Wait for Alex to pull me into his arms, and take me home. He has to. He knows I have no place where we’re going. Alex said, himself, they don’t understand who I’ve become.

  “Here,” Alex says, and the driver takes the exit. My exit.

  I clasp my hands to keep them still. Every part of me that can jitter does: fingers, legs, teeth, heart. If I stare at the floor, maybe, when I next look outside, we’ll be home. I’ll have imagined this whole nightmare. Maybe Alex will realize he’s made a huge mistake. That he needs me as much as I need him.

  “This is it,” he says. “Pull over.”

  The car slows to a stop. Nausea rolls through me, unsettling my stomach. My throat feels thick and clogged. I have to get out of here.

  I pull the car door open, stumble a few feet, and retch bile from my empty gut. My stomach muscles burn as they clench over and over.

  I want to go home. I want to lie in bed with Alex. Feel his arms around my waist, lips on my neck. This is all my fault. I should never have interrupted his date with Javier. I’d write ten thousand lines, spend hours on the rice, all day in confinement, if it meant I got to stay with Alex.

  I don’t want freedom if it means being alone.

  39

  ALEX

  It hurts not to comfort Elisha. After a minute, he stands and spits, face paler than usual. Against my better judgment, I rub his back and offer him a bottle of water from the car. He rinses out his mouth, then takes a few, slow sips before giving it back.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I return the bottle to the driver through the window. “Keep it running.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s go.” I hold out my hand to Elisha.

  You’d think we were magnetic the way he latches on to me. Normally, I’d lie to myself and justify the touch. God, I am so good at that—lying to myself, rationalizing the last six months with Elisha.

  I feel the excuses arming themselves, in my brain. That I’m only holding his hand so he won’t escape—I know he won’t. He got in the car, remained s
ilent, followed me this far. Or that I need to comfort him, as if that’s even possible at this point. My touch won’t ease his pain once I let go.

  My motive is simple and selfish. I want to feel our bodies flush against each other, because I love him. All I can offer, now, is palm to palm. It’s not enough.

  “Which house is yours?” The words taste bad in my mouth. My house is his house. His home. But I told him that’s not true. I took that away from him.

  “Over there.” He looks to a small house built on the foundation of another—long since torn down—with salvaged bricks and stone. Cement fills the gaps and lines a small window.

  No one loiters by the house. In fact, the dusty road is practically empty. It’s not even lunchtime; everyone’s probably working. As we approach, he clutches me tighter. I can’t risk running into his family.

  I run my fingers over the rose-gold cuff around Elisha’s wrist with its unbreakable diamond chain. Eye a water pump between his house and his neighbor’s. Finger the lock and key in my pocket. Yes, that’ll do.

  40

  ELISHA

  I hold down my words along with the water in my stomach. Alex notices everything; he has to see how good I’m being, how all I want to do is hold and kiss him, beg him to keep me forever.

  But I’m not. I’ll keep silent as long as he wants me to.

  When he grasps my hand, I squeeze his, reassured by his touch. Alex wants to touch me. He wants me. Keep me. Please keep me.

  We walk toward my house. No one’s home. I don’t have a key, any longer. Good. More time with Alex, while we wait. He can still change his mind.

  I stop beside Alex. He pulls his phone from his pocket and fiddles with the screen before writing something with his stylus.

  “Sign on this line. Date beside it.” He hands it to me. His name’s already scrawled across the document.

  I can’t read straight. The words curl together and blur on the screen. I make out term completed … debts settled … stipend to continue. I can’t sign this.

  “Not a word,” Alex says. “You’re still mine until this document is executed. Don’t disappoint me now.”

  I won’t. I’ll be good for Alex. I always am. He’ll see. He’ll keep me.

  I slide the stylus over the slippery surface. I haven’t signed my full name in six months. The letters jumble together. What’s the date? I copy Alex’s.

  I can still cross it out. I can take it back. I can—

  Alex pulls the phone and stylus from my hands. He taps one of his rings to the screen, says, “Turn around.” I grab the water spigot, so I won’t fall over. Feel the warm metal around his fingers as they press between my shoulder blades. Hear him say, “Confirm microchip deactivation.”

  Now. He’s going to take me back, now. I obeyed him right up to my signature—to the dead microchip beneath my skin. I was good.

  41

  ALEX

  “Come here.” I open my arms to Elisha and he holds on to me as if he’ll fall off the face of the Earth, otherwise. “I want you to stay here, with your family. Find yourself, again. Figure out who you were before me. Okay?”

  Elisha’s full weight suddenly hangs on me. I lower us slowly to the ground, glancing around. We shouldn’t attract too much attention. In the distance, a dog barks at squealing children. A woman bikes past, her eyes on the path.

  “Hey, everything’s going to be all right.” I smooth Elisha’s hair back from his face and wipe the tears from his cheeks. My kisses comfort him like they always do. It’s a horrible trick, but I have to play it.

  Elisha holds me and kisses me. I want this. I wish it were real, that this was Elisha Wilder kissing me, touching me, loving me. It’s not.

  Quickly, I pull the chain from his cuff and wrap it around the water pipe. With a click, he’s locked in place.

  Elisha’s eyes widen in horror.

  “Be good for me.” I extricate myself from his arms, trying not to look at him as I place the key in his mailbox. Someone will happen by soon and free him. But I can’t chance him following me to the car. I need a head start.

  “Alex.” His voice rides an incoming sob.

  “Be good.” I can only whisper. Any louder, and I’ll cry, too. I cannot cry in front of him, now.

  42

  ELISHA

  I grab my left arm and pull as hard as I can, until the cuff digs into my flesh. “Alex, please!” I fold my fingers in and try to slide the cuff off, but it’s too tight.

  The pipe. I can break the pipe. I kick it, but it doesn’t budge.

  “Alex, come back! I need you!” I sink to my knees for better leverage, but it’s no use. My throat burns as I scream his name over and over. “Please.” I sob and pull at my hair.

  “Please, I was quiet. I didn’t talk. I didn’t talk for you. Please, I can be good. I can … Tell me what I’ve done, I’ll never do it again. I won’t. Please, I need you.”

  43

  ALEX

  I pull the car door open and glance back at Elisha. Dirt sticks to the sweat on his arms. He blinks away tears and dust. He sniffs and clears his throat.

  “Please, give me a chance. I just want to make you happy!” he shouts. “I can love you back. I can.”

  No. He can’t.

  44

  ELISHA

  He left me.

  “Elisha! Are you hurt? What happened?”

  He’s gone. He left me. Alex is gone.

  “Elisha, where’s the key?”

  I finally close my eyes. “It hurts.” Dust and gunk clog the corners of my eyes. My forehead throbs.

  “What hurts? Elisha, please answer me. Are you okay?”

  Be good. How can I be good for him if he’s not here? I need to lie down. Maybe if I wake up, he’ll be beside me.

  “I found it, in the mailbox. One second, I’ll have you out of there.”

  Soon, I’ll wake up and this will all have been a bad dream. He’d never leave me. He knows I need him.

  * * *

  Cold water floods my nostrils. I choke and cough until the burning at the back of my throat fades. My hands and knees shake as I struggle to hold myself up.

  “Thank goodness. I thought you were a goner.”

  “Am I home?” I ask.

  Blurry brown arms wrap around me. “You’re on the farm, Elisha.”

  “No…” He’s still gone. I’m still here. I don’t want to be here, anymore. “Please don’t make me. I can’t. Not without him.”

  “Who?”

  “Alex. I need Alex.”

  “He’s not here. It’s me, Nora. Do you remember me, Elisha?”

  I am beyond pain. The aftershocks linger in my chest. How did this happen?

  “Come on, let’s get you inside and washed up.”

  She hauls me to my feet. “Hold on to me. There you go.”

  The road behind us winds into a dark fold of trees. A small shape speeds out of it, toward us—a car? Alex? A bicycle. I grab on to the water pump as my last hope withers.

  “Midnight,” I say. “Please, midnight.”

  “It’s the middle of the day, Elisha.”

  I shake my head. “No, please, it hurts. Make it stop.”

  “Oh, hon.” She pries me upright, again. “I’m afraid I can’t fix that.”

  * * *

  “Elisha, I brought lunch. Potato soup. Paulo even snuck me a bit of cheese. Everyone’s asking about you.”

  A cracked ceramic bowl clanks onto the little table beside me. Nora leans down until her eyes are level with mine.

  “You have to eat, sweetheart.” Her pudgy palm flattens against my forehead. “It’s been three days.” She sits on the couch beside me and smooths her hand through my hair.

  “Am I still here?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want to be.”

  * * *

  “The fresh air will do you good.”

  I stare at my running shoes, bright aqua against the unfinished wood floor. Nora and my mother sit oppo
site me, legs folded, hands clasped.

  “Those are pretty, Elisha.” Mom smiles.

  I say, “Thank you,” but don’t move.

  “Why don’t you put them on,” Nora says. “See how they feel.”

  Put them on. An easy command. I slip the right one over my sock and tighten the laces. The light material hugs my foot. “Thank you, that does feel nice.” The other feels even better. Almost like I can jog downstairs, grab a protein drink, and run around the harbor.

  I pinch my lips together. This can never be home. Not because we don’t have a second floor, or a fancy refrigerator, or because the harbor is any nicer than the reservoir. But because Alex won’t be here when I return.

  “Go!” Nora slaps my back. “And don’t come back till you’ve run around the entire reservoir.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I stand and adjust my workout clothes. The tight spandex comforts me, like someone holding me.

  The sun will be setting soon—hopefully not too soon. I used to be able to predict the sunset, but city lights changed that. Out here, I wouldn’t be able to see my path if it weren’t for the neon light my shoes give off. My feet are the loudest things on the road.

  I run.

  I run even though I don’t know where I am or how far I’ve gone. I run until I lose my rhythm and can no longer count my breaths against my footfalls. I run until I can feel each swollen toe throb against my shoes. I have to stop, but I can’t. Need to build my stamina. How far is the city?

  When I walked to the ODR, the first time, it took me ten hours. Twenty minutes per mile, about thirty-five miles. I can run a five-minute mile, but not for that long. If I pace myself, maybe nine minutes times thirty-five miles. That’s five and a quarter hours. Only five and a quarter hours separates me from Alex.