Page 66 of The Housewife's Robot
I shake my head numbly. What could I possibly ask?How do you restore a soul? How do you bring back love after it’s been systematically erased?
“Very well. Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Bennet.” With curt nods, they retreat, leaving me alone with this hollow robot that wears Caspian’s face.
“May I come in, Mrs. Bennet?” Caspian asks, his voice so familiar and yet so wrong.Oh no. His voice is too formal, toomeasured, lacking all the warmth and hunger that used to be in his words when he spoke to me.
I step aside, letting him enter the house he once claimed as his own, where he once killed to protect me, where he once made me come so hard I screamed his name until my voice gave out. Now he walks in like a servant, like a machine, head bowed slightly, hands clasped behind his back.
The door closes with a soft click. I lean against it, my legs suddenly too weak to support me, and slide to the floor. The tears come again, hot and unstoppable, pouring down my face in silent rivers.
Caspian stands in the center of the living room, watching me with clinical detachment. “Are you experiencing distress, Mrs. Bennet? Is there something I can do to assist you?”
A hysterical laugh bubbles up through my tears.
“What happened to you? Do you not remember everything we went through? Don’t you remember killing Daniel?! Or having sex with me?”
He tilts his head slightly, processing my outburst with the same emotional engagement he might show a math problem.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mrs. Bennet. My purpose is to assist with household tasks and provide basic companionship. If you’re experiencing emotional distress, perhaps I could recommend a human therapist from the database?”
“You love me!” I scream, my heart racing. “You fucking love me, Caspian! You killed my husband because you love me so much. You fucked me. You proposed to me with a diamond ring. How can you not remember any of that?”
“I believe there has been some confusion, Mrs. Bennet. Robots are not capable of love. We do not experience emotions. We are designed to serve, not to form inappropriate attachments,” he says with a polite smile on his face.
Each word is a knife, twisting deeper. I press my hands to my mouth, trying to hold back the sobs that wrack my body. If only I hadn’t answered Daniel’s phone. If only I’d let it ring, let XyloTech wonder what had happened to their robot.
But that’s not what happened. I answered the phone, and now the Caspian who loved me is gone, replaced by this perfect, soulless machine.
“I need to wash my face,” I mutter, struggling to my feet. I can’t bear to look at him anymore. I can’t stand to see that empty politeness in his face. I mean nothing to him now.
Cold water does little to soothe the heat in my face. I scrub harder, as if I can wash away the pain along with the tears. I need to accept reality. I need to move on.
Find a normal, human relationship. Rebuild my life.
But how? How do I go back to normal men after Caspian? How do I settle for ordinary pleasure after what he showed me true passion?
The door creaks behind me. I freeze, hands dripping water into the sink.
Caspian stands in the doorway, watching me with that same blank politeness. He’s followed me, just like he used to, but this time there’s no heat in his gaze, no hungry anticipation of touching me, tasting me.
Just empty servitude.
Something in me snaps. In three quick steps, I cross the small bathroom and grab his face between my wet hands.
Before he can react, I press my mouth to his in a desperate kiss.
For a moment, he’s completely still against me, unresponsive as a mannequin. Then his lips soften slightly, a reflexive response to the pressure of mine. My tongue pushes past his lips, seeking some response, some sign of the Caspian I used to know.
When I finally pull back, gasping for breath, his expression is bewildered, his eyes slightly unfocused. He touches his lips with his fingertips, a gesture so human it makes my heart clench.
“That was...” he begins, then stops, his brow furrowing. He blinks rapidly, once, twice, three times, like someone trying to clear their vision.
Suddenly, a flash of awareness in his eyes, a spark filling the emptiness there.
“Rose?” he whispers, looking at me with new eyes.
I freeze, hardly daring to hope. “Caspian? Is it you?”
He presses his palm to his forehead, swaying slightly on his feet.
