TOUCH
John Connor wakes up in the middle of the night, and his throat feels the way he imagines it must after eating sand. Coarse and dry barely begins to describe it. It's difficult to swallow, and each try comes along with a burning sensation that's a lot like being choked. Unfortunately, he does know how that feels.
After a minute of rallying his willpower to get out of bed and go down to the kitchen for the glass of water he needs so much, John finally rolls to one side and sits on the edge of the mattress. When he feels a small chill on the back of his head and along his back, he can't help but huff angrily and roll his eyes. Surely enough, when he feels around the bed with one hand, he finds it quite damp with his own sweat. That's going to make laying back on it quite uncomfortable. Maybe wearing a tee shirt along with his usual pair of shorts when going to bed could help with that, and then again getting encased in anything will probably cause him to boil alive.
The summers in California are supposed to be hot, that much he understands, but it still feels as if this year the weather is purposefully being obnoxious. As he walks along the hallway, John notices that the door to Cameron's room is open. Curiosity gets the best of him and he leans on the threshold to take a peek inside. The room is empty, and for all intents and purposes it looks as if the Terminator has never set foot inside. Right in front of him is the bed, perfectly made, not a single wrinkle on its surface. Every item is in a place that seems proper for it, and every piece of furniture looks like it's perfectly aligned to the room's walls. It's all too neat, Spartan, efficient. It's all just so… mechanical. Then again, what did he expect? A girl's room? John razzes at the absurdity of that thought and resumes walking toward the stairs.
While in the kitchen, John gulps down a couple glasses of water and seizes the opportunity to grab a quick snack. His mother usually tries to stock up on ham and hotdogs, so he just opens the fridge and goes straight for the cold cuts drawer. Without any regard for etiquette, he just stacks a bit of each on top of his hand. The stuff is cold, but he doesn't mind it enough to waste time heating it at this hour of the night. He turns around with his bounty in hand and slams the door shut with his foot as he walks away, ready to go back to his room. He doesn't go past the kitchen's window, though. As he walks by it, he notices something moving in the shadows near the far wall of the backyard. Coming into the kitchen the angle didn't let him see toward that side of the house, but now that he's going the opposite way, it's pretty obvious that something—or rather someone—is out there. The outline of the shadow looks vaguely human and it's definitely too big to be any kind of wild animal that would venture into the suburbs.
Without a second thought, John tosses the food on the kitchen countertop and begins carefully tiptoeing toward the double-glass door that gives way into the backyard. Trying to avoid making any noise, he slowly, almost delicately leans against the wall just beside the door. As he waits there for a moment, he realizes that he has reacted without hesitation, or much thought for that matter. Just the way that was drilled into his mind through years of training. Now that he's here, flat against the wall and with the risk of encountering some very real danger quite soon, John begins thinking he should've gone to his mother first. Even though he knows this is no Terminator lurking around in the bushes—because they just don't do that—the fear that's pooling in his stomach is growing into something very real and quite overwhelming.
A shuffling noise coming from the general direction where he saw the intruder shifts John abruptly back into soldier mode. Taking a deep breath, he slides as silently as possible along the wall and bends sideways to take a peek outside. His eyes hastily scour the backyard but it's too dark to see anything concrete, though he can make out the layout of the terrain by memory. The intruder, however, is completely obscured by the fence's shadow. The moon is hanging low on the horizon, hitting the fence at just the right angle so its shadow stretches a long way into the backyard. John curses inwardly as he forces his eyes into trying to pierce the darkness to no avail.
Suddenly, two tiny and symmetric twinkles pierce the darkness for just an instant. Eyes, John immediately concludes, and he reflexively straightens back against the wall. His breathing is rapidly becoming fast and shallow, and he can feel his heart pounding hard inside his chest. The adrenaline is making his limbs tremble a little bit from time to time, but he's trying to bravely push through the gut-reaction of running away, just as he was trained. At least when it's not about Terminators. In those cases it's all about running away.
Steadying his breaths as much as he can, John slides slowly toward the glass pane once more. A shape he knows all too well gradually emerges from the shadows. It's Cameron. However, even though he no longer has anything to fear, the adrenaline doesn't stop coursing through his body, the tension in his limbs and the increased awareness not letting up one bit. This situation is just too weird. Why the hell is Cameron skulking around in the darkness? Why is she prowling in the backyard like a burglar? It's very obvious that the Terminator is hiding, and the problem is that she's hiding from them. Are they not supposed to trust each other? Yet, here she is, making it very hard for John to do that.
Ever since the whole deal with her damaged chip, the feeling of mistrust lingered in the air like a bad smell. John has managed to handle things even though his mom and Derek are continually making it very clear that they think he fucked up, and right now he's feeling very inclined to believe them. To top it all off, he has been feeling like crap almost every day since then. He just can't forget the hurt in his mother's eyes when he pulled the pistol on her and Derek to stop them from burning Cameron.
John is at odds with his own family and being haunted by thoughts he thought would never ever cross his mind, and all for what? There is no gratitude forthcoming from Cameron, that's for damn sure. In fact, she made it very clear from the very beginning that she also thought he fucked up. Did he? Is she dangerous? The fear returns with a vengeance and pools in the pit that has just opened in the bottom of his stomach when John realizes just how close the Terminator is, whereas the pocket watch she gave him is in fact all the way up in the second story of the house, safely tucked away inside the bottom drawer of the bedside table in his room. He's royally screwed if Cameron has lost it again.
Luckily, it seems like things aren't going down such a grim path. For now. The situation, however, does get weirder. John watches as the cyborg walks toward the swings and then takes a seat on the one closest to the house, which is then followed by absolutely nothing else. She just sits there as she would anywhere else—back ramrod straight, hands resting on her thighs, the thousand yard stare in her eyes—and then she stays like that for what seems to John like the longest time ever. At least in the meantime he does manage to relax a little.
While waiting for something to happen, he analyzes Cameron in hopes to find something that tells him more about what's going on. Maybe he's missing something. A subtle clue he didn't notice before because he was all skittish. Yeah, that must be it, because killer robots from the future don't just sit on swings and stare at the horizon in the dead of night. They don't do the whole 'for no reason at all' deal.
The first thing John notices almost makes him slap his own forehead. For some reason, he always assumed that Cameron was very heavy. However, the swing is taking her weight without any obvious signs of strain on the chains. It makes his mind reel. Aside from that, nothing looks out of place. She's wearing the same black leather combat boots she always wears, even though it's summer and they look like they must be hot as hell. Why does she wear them all the time? It's not like she can like or enjoy stuff, and don't machines go about things with practicality in mind? Going through the heat of summer with those boots is going to make her stand out like a sore thumb, and John knows she's all against that. Not to mention his mom. Then it hits him. For the first time since she joined his family, John realizes that he has never bothered to check if she owns any other shoes. He does remember scolding her for stealing things, though.
John forces the guilt to the back of his mind. Why is he feeling bad for her, anyway? It's not like Cameron can feel anything about not being taken into consideration by him or his family. Still, since being inconspicuous is vital to the Connors, tomorrow he's going to ask her if she owns any other shoes, and if not, they're making a shopping trip down to the mall. For subtlety's sake. That's the only reason why he's doing it. He repeats this reasoning in his mind until it sounds just true enough.
His eyes continue to rake over the cyborg's form, and John notices that he has almost never seen Cameron wearing anything besides denim jeans. Also, for some reason they're always quite the tight fit. Now, it's not like he likes her, but she does have pretty nice legs. Maybe a bit on the thin side, but rather shapely. If it weren't for the fact that machines can't have vanity or interest in showing off, he would think she wears the tight jeans on purpose. As for not having something else to wear, John has seen her laundry basket and she owns several pairs. In different colors, even. Since he can't very well just ask her about it, he resolves to further investigate in the near future.
Finally, John arrives at the only sensible area of Cameron's wardrobe. Her shirt. Tonight she's wearing a simple sleeveless top that kind of looks like one of his undershirts. With the scarce lighting, he can't really tell what color it is, but it's something dark. She does own a ton of these garments. They're the only things in her closet that don't raise any question's in his mind. Except that tonight something is off. John squints and tries to make out the details of her figure. There's something about her well-formed, pert breasts that looks just a smidge different than usual. An alarm starts blaring inside his head. He didn't just think that a killer robot from the future has a nice rack, did he? Then again, that's not a big deal, not at all. Of course he has noticed the cyborg's chest, he's a young, healthy man in his teens. He's allowed eyes, isn't he?
As he stares, Cameron suddenly slides her hands along her thighs and toward the waist of her pants, slowly. She then sticks her thumbs under the hem, and when John notices just what it is that she's doing, time begins slowing down to a crawl in his mind. As if they were high speed cameras, his eyes capture every single motion of her delicate fingers as they undo the button of her jeans with precise, measured movements. Then the zipper is slid down. Finally, the cloth slides midway along her thighs, wrinkling and revealing the bounty of soft skin lying underneath with each passing inch. He inhales sharply.
No detail escapes his eyes. John takes note of even how her soft flesh spills just slightly around the hem of her simple panties and on the surface of the swing's seat. When Cameron's hand dips between her legs, partially concealed by the cloth of her underwear, his mind finally gives up and turns to complete mush. All reason is gone, and if he were more aware of his own body, he would notice that his eyes are open so wide that they seem to be bulging out of their sockets as they follow her hand's movements. His throat is again dry as the desert sand, and when he finally swallows the huge lump that has formed in his throat it's not without difficulty.
Cameron's hand moves to a mesmerizing rhythm as it slowly slides up and down the front of her tummy, dipping inside her panties and then reappearing just slightly. Each movement is perfectly followed by John's eyes and by now he's having trouble finding the air that should be right there in his lungs. He's beyond caring about menial things like shallow and labored breathing, though.
After a while, Cameron's hand stops its enticing dance. John can't really tell how much time has passed, but he can't help the pang of disappointment he feels. Because no matter how long it has been, it has been way too short.
Since his gaze is still glued to the cyborg's hand, he can't help but follow as she brings it in front of her face. She wriggles her fingers and studies them for a moment with eyes that could be watching paint dry. There's no curiosity in her face, or any other expression at all, which John notices with some chagrin. It doesn't matter that she can confuse him into kingdom come when she does things like these—touching herself out in the backyard in the middle of the night—at the end of the day she's just a machine. Nothing more, nothing less. There's some reason for what she did, probably something to do with infiltration. Maybe she's learning how to better have sex or something. With other men. For some reason the thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Who knows why, it's not like he cares.
When she's done scrutinizing her fingers with the same passion of an ice cube, Cameron stands up without warning and pulls her pants up in a single motion, effectively cutting John's ruminations short. She turns toward the house and starts walking. He panics. It takes him all of five strides to make it up the stairs, and the next second he's already lying on his bed. The mattress is cold and clammy but he definitely doesn't give a rats ass right now.
After half a minute of taking desperate, huge gulps of air, the panic finally starts receding and the questions start flowing. Did she see him? She must have, she has fucking X-Ray vision or something. Like Superman. Maybe. What if she says something about it the next morning? What if she comments it casually in front of his mom and uncle? That would be so like her! How is he supposed to handle something like that? Is he in trouble? Shit!
By the time John finally manages to fall asleep, the sky has already begun turning purple with the first rays of the sun beginning to break through the darkness of night.
