UNFAIR
Even if I couldn't imagine her reactions, it's all too easy to imagine acting on my impulses. Pulling her close enough to feel how fast my heart beats for her, only to bend down until we were face to face, leaning in; and then she ducks away. Afraid of being loved as Dorothy Wayneright and not R. Dorothy, longing for that which she has refused herself, her dreams.
~
"Dorothy, does it ever bother you to be so perfect around people who make mistakes?" Roger asked, casually slouched on his receiving room's couch.
"No." She replied passively, moving on towards the next knick-knack to be dusted.
"Does anything bother you?" A man as rash as Roger found it strange that anyone could be so devoid of revenge-lust or even passion over important matters.
"I suppose something is bothering you then." she quipped, sensing the direction of the conversation.
"No, well, I guess not… I, I just think it's strange that someone who insists on being human-like never reacts like a normal person would."
"You're so careless and giving when it comes to your snide remarks and cruel comments. But you hide and bury away your feelings, what needs to be said, Roger Smith." Never facing him, Dorothy walked out of the room to find another chore.
Roger pondered over what she said, but couldn't help wandering back to earlier in the afternoon.
~
Things had gone like clockwork, Dorothy's daily one-person orchestra, the dull good-bye and the standard job. It had been a simple visit to an elderly home facing demolition from a small company of the Rosewater's. The case was easy compared to those previous, so he calmly cruised homeward until he spotted Dorothy. She was walking into a small grocery doing assuredly little out of the ordinary. All the same, Roger pulled over and watched through the store windows as she plucked items off the shelves. He felt strange watching her in his own home because she would know he was watching; in a crowd she'd never know the difference. So he leaned against the Griffon, sliding his sunglasses just a little bit lower on his nose.
Inside, Dorothy found all the requested objects with ease, having long ago memorized the store's layout. A girl looking slightly younger than she accidentally knocked something over, causing everything on that shelf to painfully slide and slip off. Without hesitation, smile or sigh, Dorothy walked over to the shelf, straightened it and started to reassemble the product line. When the task was finished, both the cashier and the girl looked distraught, but Dorothy simply walked up to the counter with nothing said about it.
Roger had been gaping at the scene, not for it's overall strangeness, but the fact that Dorothy hadn't blinked once. Roger himself had flinched every time a new item fell to the floor.
Completely unfazed by the fact that Roger was standing there, Dorothy walked up to him. "Hello Roger."
~
Having replayed the memory enough times, Roger got up in search of Dorothy.
How many other times had something out of the ordinary happened while Dorothy stood by uncaring? Roger halted halfway down the spiral staircase—What about the opposite; how many times had Dorothy had a reaction to something? When was the last time she was upset? Hadn't she actually screamed his name? When was the last time she seemed sad? Hadn't she begged him to save her kitten? It wasn't too long ago that he had managed to hurt her feelings. He remembered all of those times in a flood now. A fast slide show of her faces which had even for a moment replaced her mask.
Has she already learned how to be human? Perhaps she feels the mask is still necessary. But for what is it needed? With her mechanical movements and disconcerting eyes she can't truly pretend to be human. But if she really is hiding her newfound humanity, why is she acting like a completely soulless android?
--bury away your feelings, what needs to be said—
Haven't I been asking the right questions?
--I suppose something is bothering you then—
Yes, something is…
--like a normal person would—
Am I normal enough to say that? When the words of an android haunt me?
--I love you—
That's what bothers me…
--what needs to be said, Roger Smith—
Did she need to say it? To taunt and scare me with her seriousness in three words that rolled off her tongue like an avalanche that will never leave mine to reach her ears. Were those her buried away feelings? What needed to be said, even if I'm not sure it was really Dorothy who said it? How could I be sure? After all, I have no idea what Beck's device was capable of… Maybe my ignorance is nothing but feigned, wishful thinking, and deep down I really know that she would never say that, especially to me.
He slumped down on the staircase wrapping his arms around the back of his head and bringing his knees toward his chest.
Human beings live towards finding happiness in other people. And when they are sure they've found that happiness they give small signs, hoping to be clear only to that one person. I've been getting nothing but mixed signals and now I can only give those back.
What was or is stopping me from telling her? It's common knowledge that most people hide their feelings out of fear of how others might react to them. But could I even guess what she would do or say in return? As methodical as she is, she is nowhere near predictable. If I hugged her would she push me away, return the embrace, or stand there and think nothing of it? If I kissed her would she turn away, or could she possibly kiss me back? Would she even know how if she wanted to? What could possibly happen if I told her that I…
Even if I couldn't imagine her reactions, it's all too easy to imagine acting on my impulses. Pulling her close enough to feel how fast my heart beats for her, only to bend down until we were face to face, leaning in, and then…
"Roger?" My hands shoot from behind my head and my legs straighten until my height brings me far away from her, enough that my daydream of closeness is out of my head. "What are you doing in the middle of the stairs?"
Even as my previous thoughts are crashing down, they rise to my face and I can't help but redden as she looks into me. And I wonder how long she's been there and if maybe my mixed signals are being correctly interpreted.
"Are you not feeling well Roger Smith? Your face is red and you have been sitting on the stairs looking hurt." She asks in the absence of my reply. I find that rather than seeing her as she is, I can only think of her past unmaskings. When her hair seemed aglow and her minute smile radiated nothing but warmth.
"I… I'm fine Dorothy. I was just coming to look for you."
"Oh." Unexpectedly she seems disappointed that I have missed her in the few minutes that she was gone. "Is there something I can do for you, then?"
…she ducks away…
"Will you tell me what exactly you meant earlier, when you said that I've been hiding my feelings?" I needed to hear it from her; else my subconscious would never rest on the subject.
"I meant nothing by it. Please don't waste any more of your time on it." Only Dorothy could say such a thing without sounding any more rejected than before. Then she quickly turned away as if she had no need to go up the stairs I'm blocking.
"Wait!" We both know she was lying when she said her words meant nothing. But her failure to continue walking away showed that she didn't expect me to do anything about it.
Taking a giant leap, I latched onto her arm, knowing it was only a gesture and if she wanted to she could rip my arm right off. The contact was stirring and for a moment I couldn't remember anything but my daydreams. It must have done something to her too because she hadn't yet thought of an excuse to get away. I slowly pulled her into me, not wanting to break the spell, but unable to control the need for even more contact.
When it finally dawned on her how close we were, she should have yelled, should have slapped me, should have told me what a louse I am for doing this to her. With the same unpredictable nature that somehow bothered me, she calmly walked out of my arms.
…afraid of being loved as Dorothy Wayneright and not R. Dorothy…
What causes her to act like this? Why isn't she telling me that I'm wrong? Wrong for thinking these things, for wanting her… Human or not, I've chosen her, hasn't she perceived that? I haven't tried to get the attention of a woman since I met her and I don't even know if Dorothy could really be classified as female.
Still she walks away without a word. More torturous than if she had slapped me or yelled, she ignores me.
…longing for that which she has refused herself…
Now more than ever, I want to follow her more fiercely, capture her arms, her body and hold her. I think that she's playing with me, knowing how I look at her, how I'm hurt by this treatment. I want to hear her feelings too, ask her about them, but I'm not as confident as she is. I can't be sure that she feels anything for me. Her eyes don't light up when she sees me and her face doesn't get red every time I'm found in a compromising position. She doesn't relish the early morning when dreams, however fleeting still feel real to your senses. Her voice never fails her while she talks to me. How am I supposed to know, I want to know…
…her dreams…