"How beautiful you are, Aitsū. Perfect for our line of work. How the men will fall at your feet. Do you know what to do?"
Aitsū flipped her hair back and grinned, green eyes glittering like precious jewels. With deliberately slow movements she pushed the dishes off the table, before crawling across it, looking seductive in her uniform.
"Let me show you what I know." She purred.
Aitsū woke up with a start, mechanical heart pounding within the cavern of her chest. The dream burned in her mind, too real to be imagined; and once more, she wondered who she really was, who she had been.
Next to her, Sam slept, murmuring to herself. Her hair spread against the pillow, so contrasting- like dark ink spilled across a blank page. Her father, who she had learned was called Lane, had fallen asleep on the couch in his coat, limps splayed out like a sloth in slow motion.
The apartment was quite small, more of a glorified closet, really. With one bedroom, one bath, and a living room, there wasn't much room to move around, especially with all of the boxes.
Everything was packed. Cardboard boxes lined the walls, cluttered the floor, so navigating was a hazardous thing amidst the chaos.
"We're not moving or anything," Samantha had said. "We just keep the memories of mom packed away. It's easier this way. Now, read me a story."
And so Aitsū had read Siddhartha until the girl had fallen asleep.
Her body was a supple as a jaguar, and all of the secrets of love Kamala taught him.
Maybe it's their secret, how to love. Ordinary people can. But you and I, Kamala, can't. How else can you practice and sell love as an art?
Silent as to not awaken Sam from her slumber, Aitsū slipped out of bed. The dream had made her restless, and she momentarily wished she could be like Uteki- forever in screensaver mode, without a care in the word as long as she was charged.
She walked amongst the boxes, curiosity making her peek into each one. A red sweater that smelled like perfume here, a pearl necklace with a fine layer of dust there. Art utensils in the box against the door, pots and pans in the box beneath the window. As she made her way to the last box, she realized it was sealed strongly with tape, as if hoping to conceal the danger within. Her hand reached out.
"Not that one. Christ, you're a modern day Pandora, aren't you?" The man said gruffly, voice scratchy from sleep. Unlike with Uteki, She felt an intense need to obey. And then something with her, clicked.
Her whole demeanor changed. Her posture straightened, her chin raised, her green eyes sparkled with lust, her lips pulling into a knowing smile. No longer a child, but rather, a woman with needs, was what she radiated. Lane cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable beneath her gaze.
"Just… Sit down."
Aitsū happily obliged, crossing the room with sure steps, before sinking into the leather next to him, thighs pressing against his own. She noticed he hadn't moved, and that a red flush was beginning to spread beneath his skin.
There was a flurry of movement below them, and Sam's face peeked out from beneath the covers. And just as quickly as it came, the confidence left. The feeling of a woman vanished, and she was in control of her feelings once more. Suddenly, she was too close to this man, and she scooted over.
It was like a spell was broken. Lane got up and walked to the bathroom briskly, and she could hear the shower come on. There was a moment of awkward silence.
Samantha sat up and blinked, still groggy from sleep. Her yellow sweater hung of her slight frame, exposing the pale skin of her shoulder.
"Aitsū, can you please go get my glasses? I left them on the sink. I'd send Uteki, but she's hooked up to the television still, and she has a habit of breaking them."
The persecom hesitated, not wishing to lose herself once more. However, she obeyed, taking baby steps down towards the bathroom door. Inhaling deeply, she entered.
She felt her ear ports tighten as it sensed the moisture in the air, and a clear screen slid across her eyes, just beneath the lid, to protect from the water droplets. She realized, with a hint of relief, he was behind the shower curtain, humming away to a song. She could see his lean silhouette, but nothing more. He began to sing.
"Show me yours, I'll show you mine. We got one thing on our minds-"
That was all she heard. His command, to show him all of her. Aitsū began to reach for the straps of her dress when she snapped out of it. Heart pounding, she turned and ran out of the room, getting away from the insane temptation to listen. Her will was not her own around him.
Samantha looked up from a book she was reading, glasses perched on her nose. It was a becoming and sophisticated look, and framed her features nicely.
"I found them. They were on the floor." She said, a sheepish smile pulling at her lips. Aitsū, suddenly ashamed, looked away. She had nearly seduced this girl's father. She wasn't just dysfunctional, but completely insane.
"Oh, and here. Put these on. Your dress is so… Old." She added, tossing clothes at Aitsū. Seeing her face, she continued. "And don't worry, I won't look. Unless you want to use the bathroom?"
The persecom shook her head rapidly, getting undressed quickly before the girl commanded her to do so.
Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps, and a warm hand pressed against the girl's bare chest, just above her right breast. Aitsū shuddered involuntarily.
"What's this scar? It looks… Almost as if someone took a branding iron to you."
Aitsū bit her cheek as a memory passed through her.
"You did well today, Kamala. Outshined all of the other girls."
Kamala, not yet Aitsu, let out a barking laugh at her namesake. They named her after the red lipped and fair prostitute who seduced a holy man, bewitched him with the flex of her limbs and feel of her lips. A fitting title.
She let out a yawn, leaned back into the leather couch, took a drag of her cigar.
"I've got to live up to the hype." She sang.
"Ah, yes. The hype. Word on the street is that Live Peep is taking persecoms too, now. A pretty little think, with pale skin and eyes like amber. Seems like the rage is kinky but cute. And you don't exactly radiate innocence."
Kamala paused, taking in his words. A weight pressed on her shoulders.
"She got high ratings. Higher than yours, on her first day. So here's the deal. You either start looking better, looking cuter, not sexy- or we'll do it for you. Do you understand?"
Kamala glowered, before spitting in his face and throwing her cigar at him. His reaction was instantaneous- he lunged forward, caught her by the wrist, and pressed the burning hot cigar into her skin. She let out a low whimper, but did not cry- she was used to pain.
"Your programming is going to get you killed." He snapped, reaching for the branding iron.