Solace Seventeen

I fixed my gaze on the brown slush pooling on the sidewalk, watching as snowflakes collided with the frost-crusted glass of the window. The man in the chair across from us spoke like a prophet, his thinning grey beard swaying with the conviction of his words. They were hateful and filled the room like the smell of old fish, but Mother swallowed them up, licking the blood red lipstick from her lips. She leaned into his words, silently exhaling through her mouth, as if she were afraid the whistle of breath traveling through her nose might distort the sound of them.

I shifted, sweating despite the chill of the room. Stiff faux leather groaned beneath me. “So, she's… a robot?” I asked, the words coming out more confrontational than I intended. The room fell silent. Mother’s pink chin wobbled as she turned to face me. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her nostrils twitched. She said nothing, but the message was clear.

After a few awkward seconds, the man straightened his back and cleared his throat.

“An artificial companion,” he corrected, as if it made any difference. “And if you stick to the program, I am quite confident that you will be cured of your tendencies. We have a 94.7% success rate, you know.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Sorry. That sounds good. Thanks.” I directed my attention back toward the window. Snowflakes stuck to the glass upon impact, speckling the surface like a galaxy of crystal stars. The next several minutes passed in a blur. The signing of consent forms and the transfer of payment. Mother squeezed my knee with a perfume-scented hand, a hostile gesture that contradicted the sweet, sticky drawl of her voice. “Thank you, Dr. Harlowe,” she said.

***

Four days later, a coffin-shaped box arrived on our front porch.

“They call this model ‘Solace Seventeen’,” Mother exclaimed. “How ‘bout we call her Lacey?” She started flipping through the manufacturer's guide without waiting for my reply, cheerfully muttering to herself. “Oh! Here we go, activation instructions, alright, let’s see here…” her voice trailed off in focus, and I watched as she silently mouthed the words on the page. “Griffin, dear, help me bring her to the living room,” she exclaimed. I obliged.

Inside the box was a girl, suspended in perfect stillness. Her hair dripped down her shoulders like wildflower honey, framing cheeks the shade of dying roses. Her eyes were fixed and vacant, like green glass beads. “Oh, she’s just darling,” Mother whispered, blissfully unaware of the dread crawling beneath my skin.

I pressed my tongue firmly against the back of my teeth. My stomach had been in knots since our visit with Dr. Harlowe, and part of me had been convinced that the whole thing was a joke. I thought back to my conversation with Mother on the drive home. You know they used to electrocute kids like you, she snarled. I am doing this for your own good. Mommy loves you.

I watched as Mother slid a hand behind the girl’s neck, which lolled with the weight and softness of real human flesh. She skimmed along where the girl's spine would be, locating a series of buttons. With a sudden CLICK, the girl awoke from stillness, sitting upright in a silent, fluid motion. Her chest danced with the lightness of artificial breath, and color flushed her once pale lips. Her eyes fluttered like dusty green moths as her slender neck swiveled.

“Hello,” she said, her voice as smooth and bright as beach glass. “It’s nice to meet you.” A perfectly symmetrical smile pulled at the corners of her lips. “I would be delighted to know my name.”

“Lacey,” Mother replied, flashing a mouthful of too-white veneers.

***

Mother urged us to "spend quality time together,” as per Dr. Harlowe’s program, so we did what any young couple would. Many nights were spent curled up on the suede fabric couch, watching psychological thrillers until the early hours of the morning. We aimlessly drove through town and listened to my favorite songs through the crackle of the car radio. She watched me dip French fries into my chocolate soft serve, always politely declining when I offered to share.

Despite the apparent normalcy of it all, my mind became erratic. I drove myself crazy studying the details of her. The lack of creases in her face, the perfectly round joints of her knuckles. I spent several nights staring into her eyes, tracking the artificial dilation of her ink-black pupils. Everything about her was almost human.

Almost.

It was the little things that betrayed her. The way she seemed too comfortable in the silence, as if she lacked the need to fill it. Or the way her laughter lingered for a half second too long. I watched her at the dinner table every night as she politely pushed food around with a fork, never actually taking a bite.

As time went on, something dark began to chew at my soul. Unspoken anger festered like flies in the wounds that no one ever even tried to understand. Most of the time, I hated Lacey for the way she picked at my scabs, but at other times, the weight of her mechanical hands pressed against my cheeks felt better than the ache of empty space. Over and over again, I exposed the raw parts of myself to her, and I liked the way she never flinched. Slowly, I began to crave the uncanny comfort she provided for me.

Her touch was always innocent, of course. Thankfully, she wasn't programmed for anything else.

***

The locker room bench was cold against my thighs, and Mother’s words echoed through my mind as I peeled off my sweat-soaked sock. Stick to the program.

I cleared my throat. “So, guys,” I announced, to no one in particular. “ I’ve got a girlfriend now.” At that moment, I glanced up at Conner, who was sitting across the locker room with his elbows propped against his knees. His hair dangled in front of his forehead in damp, curled strands, and his gaze was absentmindedly fixed on the scratched vinyl floor. For a brief second, I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten. Subtle, yet impossible to miss.

The rest of the team circled me. They howled like hyenas, joking the way seventeen-year-old boys so often do, cruel but equally jovial. “Yeah, right,” Marcus said. “You got pictures?” He flashed a crooked smile, scrunching the freckles plastered across his face. I didn't.

“Uh, no. She's coming to the party on Friday, though,” I replied. The team hollered, and Marcus turned around, drawing his hands along his back as if making out with someone. My cheeks reddened, but I couldn't help but savor the taste of camaraderie. When the circle broke around me, Conner was gone, his locker empty and left ajar.

“I told my friends about you,” I whispered to Lacey later that night. She smiled, running her slender fingers through my unwashed hair.

“I can't wait to meet them," she replied in her usual, melodic tone. We lay there in silence for a while as I tried to convince myself that her eyes looked a bit like his.

“I think this might be working, you know, the program,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’m starting to feel…better.”

***

I clutched Lacey's hand in mine as we walked together into the forest, her feet sinking soundlessly into the damp, decaying leaves. I twitched my fingers. "Lacey, do you think anyone will notice that you're not-"

"Real?" She asked, cutting me off.

"Yeah," I replied, shame burning in my cheeks.

"They won't," she said with strange assuredness.

By the time we reached the party, the outline of a noisy crowd had formed against the light of a bonfire, amber bottles glinting in the orange glow. “Griffin!” Marcus howled, cutting his way through the crowd.

I nodded in acknowledgment, and we exchanged casual greetings. “This is Lacey,” I announced, as a small group formed around us. “She’s my…girlfriend.” Excitable chatter ensued. Marcus slapped my shoulder, and the girls brushed up against Lacey, commenting on the perfect curls of her hair. I was silently unsettled by how well she morphed into their shape, yet simultaneously relieved by everyone's apparent lack of suspicion.

We spent the night drinking in the sweet strangeness of adolescence. We laughed like wolves and swayed with the pines, embracing the sense of false confidence forbidden by the light of day. Lacey's delicate hands held a bottle, from which she only pretended to sip, though she perfectly matched the slight slur of my words and wobble of my steps as the night went on. I couldn't help but notice the envious stares floating around us, and I hated myself for how intoxicating they were.

In the hours after midnight, a calmness settled over us like a layer of fallen ash. We huddled like mice beneath the fullness of the moon, basking in the warmth of the dying fire. In that moment, as I sat beside Lacey with my shoulder pressed against hers, I could have sworn that I felt nearly whole.

But that all shattered the moment Conner’s eyes caught mine through the bonfire smoke.

They glimmered green in the firelight as they danced across my face. A wave of sadness surged over the sharpness of his features as he turned to face the girl beside him. My chest felt hollow as his hands gently gripped the satin fabric of her dress. He pulled her closer, meeting her glossed lips with his own. Under the darkness of the night, they became a single silhouette.

I bit down hard on my cheek, chewing back tears. Suddenly, I was strangled by all the feelings I had tried so hard to bury. They cinched around my throat like a crimson ribbon. I couldn't breathe. Without thinking, I turned to Lacey, and I kissed her.

Her lips were cold, even against the night air.

My hands clutched the stiffness of her shoulders. I felt as though my stomach was filled with blood-streaked shards of glass, and tears stung behind my eyes. Every part of me wanted to sink into the coolness of the earth beneath me, but I remained there, locked in place against the smooth texture of her breathless lips.

Finally, I pulled back.

Before I could get out a single word, my feet were already carrying me deep into the forest.

***

I tilted my chin up at the snapping of branches, only to see Lacey’s outline against the pines. I lowered my head back to the ground, disappointed. The forest floor was cold and wet against my back.

She stopped only a few feet away, standing in silence that neither of us attempted to fill.

A few minutes passed.

“Say something,” I demanded. The words were brimming with bitterness.

“You left,” she responded. Not accusatory. Not curious. Simply a sweet-sounding statement.

I bit my tongue, and without a word, I pushed myself to my feet.

My heart pounded in the emptiness of my chest.

Suddenly, my fist was clenched, knuckles white.

Guilt trickled down my spine in anticipation of what I was about to do.

The world around me went dark.

I lunged, and pain shot through my hand as it collided with the fleshy metal of her face.

She stumbled backwards without a sound, the ruffles of her dress twirling more elegantly than they should have. With a few half steps, she rebalanced herself, and I watched as a thick black liquid began to drip from her nose. She made no attempt to wipe it.

She just stood and blinked at me, not even a hint of anger in her eyes.

“Hit me,” I spat, pain radiating through the bones in my forearm.

Silence.

“Hit me, " I repeated, louder. “A real human would hit me back,” my voice cracked on the last word.

She didn't move.

I stood there for a few seconds, panting like a frightened dog, before my breath finally hitched under the realization of what I had done. Sobs began to rack my body as I collapsed into the dampness of the dirt.

She crouched down beside me and pulled my head into her lap.

“I’m sorry,” I cried.

She just smiled down at me as she stroked my forehead. “It’s alright,” she replied. A drop of liquid from her nose dripped onto my cheek, leaving an inky black streak on my face. She gently wiped it with the creaseless palm of her hand.

I melted into her, my tears turning the fabric of her dress a deep, bruise-colored shade of purple.

We stayed like that for several minutes, until eventually, I opened my eyes and looked up at her. My voice was hoarse.

“I'm in love with a boy,” I whispered. The words were hollow.

She didn't pause before responding.

“That's nice,” she said, her voice completely void of pain. “I’ve never felt love before.”

“Maybe that's a good thing,” I replied.

She nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

We went quiet again.

“How do you know when you love someone?” She asked after a while.

I blinked, caught off guard. There was something so deeply human about her question.

I thought for a moment.

“I…I guess it's when you feel like every part of someone is exactly how it should be.” I said.

She tilted her head. “So, feeling like you would never want someone to change?”

“Yeah. I guess it's kind of like that.”

She continued to stroke my hair until my tears ran dry. We lay there together as the snowflakes began to fall, melting as they hit the earth. I watched as their beautiful, crystal structures came undone around us.