All That I Ever Wanted

By Tara L. Campbell

≆

I stood outside the apartment of a sexbot. As I had approached the door, a glass plate erected at a comfortable angle that met my palm. A bright light rolled up then down, scanning to verify my identity: Dr. Mayra Nash, age: 37. Sex: female. Profession: toxicologist. I felt a momentary panic that my visit would somehow get back to my colleagues, but it was soon replaced by an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame.

I snatched my hand away and the glass returned to its hiding place. The front door clicked open, swinging inward in a way that was both terrifying and inviting. The small entryway was plain, hosting a small table with a sparse bouquet of white lilies and clusters of a delicate blue flower I couldn’t identify. An oval mirror hung above the table behind the flowers, the effect reminding me of a hotel suite. The display tried to do elegant but it came off contrived.

Hesitating, I considered walking away. I could leave without anyone knowing I’d come in the first place. The request buried in the digital ether, a mistake that never came to pass. Instead, I entered and shut the door, avoiding the mirror, and walked down the short hallway.

The sexbot, Aleksander, named per my request, waited at the end of the hall. His tall physique cast in mysterious shadow from the city lights that backlit him through the floor-to-ceiling glass. The apartment strived for luxurious and masculine in its design, though it was cheaply executed.

Aleksander stood relaxed with his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets. I paused to look, to admire the style I’d chosen. Was this really what I desired? Clean cut, the slightly intimidating build a modernized fantasy viking man—powerful, yet intelligently restrained. Aleksander seemed to have walked straight out of a romance novel, I decided.

“Mayra,” his voice was deep, soothing, the effect mesmerized me. “Would you like a drink?”

I nodded. Aleksander motioned for me to sit at the kitchen island and walked around to the other side.

The light in the small kitchen area was subdued, similar to the rest of the apartment, which emphasized the shadowy appeal. A single recessed light illuminated Aleksander from the top down. Blonde hair, sun-kissed golden skin, and piercing blue eyes. The crisp white button down was open at the collar, revealing the maddening hollows that I yearned to touch.

I was staring but Aleksander simply smiled as he pressed the drink into my hand.

“This is your first time,” he stated.

“No,” I objected. “I’ve had sex before.”

Aleksander chuckled softly. “I meant with someone like me.”

Someone like me.

What did that mean? Self-referencing and inquisitive, both human traits. Did I care?

“No,” I said. “I have never sought out sex from someone I didn’t know, much less paid for it, before.” I took a large swallow of the alcohol—dodging the real question—but it burned and I had to rapidly blink away the tears that threatened. I wasn’t prepared for straight whiskey, but that’s what I’d ordered when I signed up for the service. I wanted the drink to mirror the personality I’d requested for Aleksander: forward but respectful; in charge but aware; decision maker but conscious of my needs.

“I will bear this in mind and tailor the experience to your comfort level,” he said, coming around the island counter and taking my hand. He led me to the living area—another efficiently compact space outfitted with stone, metal, and dark leather. I wondered if the company had to re-furnish the entire apartment for specific tastes, or if they had a standard selection and moved the sexbots to the one that aligned closest to their client’s demands. In my case, the choice was a solid match. The apartment suited Aleksander.

“Sit,” he commanded, though it was followed with a gentle nudge. I did as told, clutching the heavy tumbler, trying to hide the tremble of my hands. My mind raced and I felt the panic rising. I took a large swallow of the whiskey and focused on the faux fireplace.

Aleksander sat next to me on the leather sofa. Did he intend for it here? Like frantic high school kids? Or would we move to the soft rug on the floor like savage beasts? The dual concepts made me laugh, a strangled and unflattering noise.

“Are you alright?” Aleksander leaned forward with concern, reaching for the glass. “I can get you something less potent.”

I pulled the glass back and shook my head. “No, I like it.” I didn’t but it was doing its job of steadying my nerves. “I just had an interesting thought is all.”

He sat back, watching me, his gaze intent. “Tell me,” he said.

“I’d rather not.” I took another drink. At this rate, I was bound to be sloshed so that the anxiety would take a backseat long enough for me to get my rocks off.

“You are uncomfortable,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact but gentle. “Share something about yourself with me.”

The selection box for “forward, take charge” type flashed to mind, the one I’d checked without hesitation when choosing the desired traits. I wanted to dislike this, but I couldn’t. Somewhere down inside, I needed to be free of decision for a little while. Everything else in life was on my plate, and for once, I wanted to be selfish, the center of focus, but I didn’t want to have to keep directing.

“I’m the head of a research lab studying toxic microbial infections…” Had I just killed the mood? I looked at Aleksander, waiting for his eyes to glaze over or for him to shirk away in disgust. A typical response with human men, especially as I edged closer to middle-age.

He nodded instead, an appreciative ah-hum indicating he understood but wasn’t put off by my work. A good start.

“Your day must be stressful, then. Not much time for other things, such as social obligations.”

I shook my head, peering into the dark whiskey. “I prefer my work over people.”

“A common theme in my clientele,” he said.

I looked up at him, puzzled. “Really? You cater to lonely workaholic women?”

Aleksander laughed. “You could say it’s a type I am best acquainted with, yes.”

“I suppose that should make me feel better, knowing I’m not the only one seeking services from an autonomous non-human being.” The statement caused a wild, somewhat unwelcome thought. Could I be sitting with Carla’s “boy toy”? She was the one who suggested the idea after I lashed out at work. You really ought to get in on this, she’d said. Your pent up frustration is throwing your numbers off. It wasn’t. I always checked my work repeatedly and followed a strict protocol of verifying with others. Admittedly, though, I was a bit of a bear these days.

“It doesn’t mean I am an expert on why you are here, however,” Aleksander broke into my thoughts, a smooth interjection that I hadn’t minded just then. He went to the kitchen and returned with the whiskey bottle, refilling my glass to a classy two finger mark. The bottle was tall, black-labeled, and glittered seductively from the low glass table. A lot like Aleksander did sitting next to me on the sofa.

“I’m here for great sex,” I blurted. My face flushed red. “Er, I’m sorry, that wasn’t how I meant it to come out.” I buried my face in the tumbler again.

Aleksander regarded me with a look I couldn’t quite make out. Curiosity? Pity? I hoped not the latter. I’m well aware that I lack conventional attractive qualities. A definite “swipe left” I’d overheard from male colleagues, most of whom also did not fit society’s absurd conventions of sexual appeal. Their obliviousness to this fact was equally absurd but it had caused nearly all of them to dismiss me as a part of the background scene, an aging, sexless coworker who couldn’t possibly be considered a viable partner.

I pitied the attractive young interns when they were assigned to the lab. Unchecked leering intermixed with condescending and patronizing remarks filled their days. The last pretty redhead hadn’t been in the lab for a week before having to go through the uncomfortable process of rejecting men in the workplace. By month three, she’d had to leave. The open hostility for spurning advances interfered with her work too much.

No, I doubted Aleksander pitied me. I wondered what it was he felt, though. He hadn’t said anything, sitting quietly while I dived into my own thoughts.

“There’s not much else to tell, I’m afraid.” I took another drink, noticing I no longer had to consciously keep from screwing up my face. The burn was starting to feel welcome. “I’m a lonely workaholic woman looking for satisfying sex.”

“And yet your posture does not reflect all of that statement,” Aleksander said. I looked at him, marveling at the exquisite correctness of his design. He was beautiful. I could see why people were turning to androids for their needs these days.

“I’m nervous is all,” I said, finally.

Aleksander nodded and draped his arm on the back of the sofa, letting his hand rest at the back of my head, a fingertip tracing the curve of my ear. Had he been this close all this time? I puzzled, the distraction of his touch doing terrible things to my mind. He was warm, soft but firm, assertive with his touch.

“If you are certain, then. I do not want to waste your time.” He quirked a brow at me, his hand stopped, the question of permission to proceed written on his face. I marveled once more that he had such expressiveness, and that he was so, so very close.

“Yes,” my voice broke and I nodded for clarification. “I am certain, this is what I’m here for. To… to have consensual, satisfactory, sex with you.” I downed the remains of the whiskey, praying I hadn’t just consumed an amount that would result in a sloppy sexual experience.

Aleksander took the glass from me and set it on the table. His body leaned in close to me, I could feel the heat radiating off of him, both physically stimulating and thought-provoking. The whiskey did its job, though, and shot down the inquisition my sober mind would have launched into—the hows, the technical details, the science of it all. But that wasn’t why I was here.

My mind burst when he pressed his mouth hard against mine. The multifaceted contact sending an overload to my senses. Firm, soft. Demanding, polite. Knowing, exploring. Nevermind the very real sensation of a delicate pair of lips, smooth flesh that parted for an insistent, probing tongue. For a moment I was afraid I’d simply sat there like an inflated imitation of a human while he did all the work, but fortunately my animal brain had kicked in and spared me any awkwardness.

Surreal didn’t even begin to explain what I was feeling. I hadn’t had contact with anyone in so many years, I didn’t know how bad I’d ached for this. I ran my hands down his body, everything feeling as I’d specified: taught, energized. It felt so real. He felt so real.

I tugged open his shirt, pulling it free with his help. The flesh was responsive, rippling under a tickling caress. But I didn’t ponder the how of it, I shoved that to the back of my mind so I could enjoy the reality of that moment.

Perhaps we really would go at it like frantic teenagers, I thought as he kissed down my neck, working the buttons open of my own shirt. A poorly planned article of clothing, I pushed him back long enough to struggle out of my shirt and tossed it aside.

Exposed, I felt the sting of rejections past. I hadn’t been so free to do anything like this, in a room that wasn’t pitch black where I couldn’t be seen. But in that moment I was fully visible, my partner side hued by a warm fire, and staring intently at me. Aleksander pulled my shielding arms back and resumed his attention to my physical self. He was unconcerned with my imperfections, and for the first time in a very long time, I melted away into sexual bliss.

≆

Aleksander’s naked body was visible in the pre-dawn light. I laid there watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest while he slept. Or feigned sleep as I hadn’t yet figured out if androids were programmed to sleep or not.

Like his heartbeat that had raced and slowed in time with our pace through the early morning. My face flushed at the memory, and I quickly scuttled to the edge of the bed, looking for anything to cover myself with. I had no recollection of where my clothing had fallen as we’d adventured throughout the small apartment much the same as we had each other.

I settled on a small throw blanket draped across a minimalist armchair, and crept out of the room in search of my clothes.

This was nothing at all what I’d expected when I’d signed up for the service. My pre-sexbot self had concocted a litany of outlandish ideas, settling on a sad scene of a glorified dildo jackhammering away, reminiscent of a few too many of the sexual encounters with human men. No, this was anything but that, and it left me utterly, pleasantly, wiped. I didn’t have a clue what to tell Carla the next time I saw her at work.

My clothing collected, I slipped into the bathroom to dress. I was beyond a disheveled mess; my reflection didn’t hold back. I quickly washed and dressed, doing my best to wipe away the smudged eye makeup. They ought to up the waterproof to sex proof, I thought, laughing to myself.

I opened the door and yelped. Aleksander leaned against the wall, clad in black linen pajama pants that hung dangerously low. His torso was to die for, and I felt a hint of guilt. I was objectifying him, reducing him to the sum of his parts.

But wasn’t he just an object?

“I did not intend to startle you,” he said, a gentle smile making him look boyish with his tousled hair. “Was the service satisfactory?”

I stepped into the hall, brushing past him in search of my handbag. “Satisfactory, yes. Yes, thank you, Aleksander.” I spotted the bag on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. “I just, it’s late and all, so I thought it best to go home now. Sunday chores and such,” I laughed nervously, willing my voice down an octave before it reached shrill. “This was a memorable experience.”

Aleksander nodded and offered out a card. “In case you are in need again,” he smiled. I accepted the card and slipped it into my bag.

“Thank you,” I said again walking to the front door.

“Of course. The bellman will call a cab for you downstairs.” He rested his hand at the small of my back, sending another thrilling jolt through my body. A reminder to make the next appointment?

“Oh, how thoughtful of you,” I said, unsure how next to proceed. I opted for opening the door; it seemed a logical step, anyway, the first one to get me back on track from a completely irrational, but much needed, night out.

“Goodnight, Mayra.”

“Goodnight, Aleksander.” I turned away from his apartment and caught the eye of another woman, slightly older but by all accounts, much more put together and strikingly attractive. She gave me a knowing smile and nodded, walking away to the elevator with her head held high. A woman who knew exactly what she needed and didn’t mess around when it came to getting it. I followed slowly, waiting for the next lift down. Right then, I wasn’t prepared for any insightful discourse about my visit with a sexbot.

≆

My return to work the following Monday was neither eventful nor renewed. I simply was back at it where I performed my role of background support and coordination, approving or disapproving requests, and doing everything I could to advance my own research project in between. The demands of running a lab while balancing a research project was tough but I dared not complain. Few had it as good as this, and my lab afforded me the space I needed to perform my experimental research.

“Dr. Nash, your signature is required.” A rumpled stack of papers were dropped on my desk.

Dr. Kent Rothfuss waited expectantly for a response so that he could move on with his important work. So important that he insisted on an urgent response to every inquiry, request, and review he put forth. A demanding, arrogant asshole who made my lab miserable until he got what he wanted.

“Dr. Rothfuss, I will review your requisition order and have a response by the end of the week, along with all the rest.” I added the paperwork to my overfilled bin of other requests.

“I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here, Dr. Nash. You consistently undermine my work with your lack of timely attention.” His voice raised as he railed on. “Thousands of hours, and dollars, ride on this project. The least you could do is procure materials at a reasonable rate. That’s what you have staff for, use them.”

At that, my assistant Carla entered the office, giving an elaborate eye roll behind Dr. Rothfuss before stepping around to face him with a warm smile.

“Happy Monday, Dr. Rothfuss!” Carla’s voice honey sweet.

“Miss Styles,” he nodded brusquely at Carla, his gaze lingering a moment before turning back to me. “I’m not asking for much, just enough to keep my project moving forward.”

Carla scooped up the stack of requests, an entire ream’s worth of paper, and beamed at him. “Don’t worry your pretty bespeckled little nose, Dr. Rothfuss. I’ll get these going for Dr. Nash right away.”

“See that you do,” he growled as he left the office, slamming the door shut behind him. Carla waited a second then unceremoniously dumped the lot on the desk with a loud whomp and scurried to the door to make sure no one was lurking.

“Well…” she purred. “Tell me all about your weekend, Dr. Nash.”

Again my face went hot with color, the erotic adventuring blinking to the forefront of my thoughts. Exquisite little memory chunks that I’d hoped would live by the wayside, waiting until I was home alone where my thoughts could safely wander.

“Really, Carla. Not here, not now. I have enough on my plate, as Dr. Rothfuss made evident.” I rifled through the stacks of articles and various office supply on my desk, hoping Carla would take a hint. She did take it, and promptly set it aside to grill me further.

“Pfft, Dr. Cunt can go find someone else to harass. You’re mine for,” she checked her smartphone, “the next five minutes. Tell me what happened!”

“What do you think happens with services like that,” I hissed, glancing at the door.

Carla gasped, clapping her hands together. “I knew it! People are still so uptight about it, but sex is sex! Get it clean and good from a reliable source, I always say. It makes all the world of difference.”

“Keep your voice down, please Carla.” I craned to see past her in case someone was listening at the door. “I don’t need something like this getting out, it could do who knows what to our lab’s funding, effectively putting everyone’s work at risk.” The thought had chased me around the day after visiting Aleksander, as determined as a lingering whiskey hangover.

Carla rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, everyone is busy doing their thing. I want to know about your thing…” She leaned in, bouncing her finely shaped eyebrows and giving me a seductive stare down. I laughed. Carla really was a charming woman whose wit and flair in life I often envied. She was also a pain in the neck, but I couldn’t fault her too much. If it wasn’t at her insistence, I wouldn’t have sought out a sexbot for a much needed romp.

“The experience was memorable,” I said. “Now, go prioritize those for me please,” I motioned to the requests pile.

“Ugh, you are such a prude, I swear.” Carla slithered off the desk and picked up the stack of papers, her pouty lips downturned.

I grinned at her and said, “Not such a prude Saturday night, I assure you.”

“Oooh!” Carla squealed, “I love it! My hot little mama, get some!” She swung open the door and hurried out. The free-wheeling sprite scampered down the hall before I could say anything. I got up and shut the door lest anyone pop in and see me, my face a deep crimson. I turned to my monitors, trying hard to get Aleksander out of my mind.

≆

Two months later I found myself once more at Aleksander’s door, my details read from a palm scan to confirm my identity. I didn’t expect to be here again, the last time was supposedly a single experiment designed to satisfy Carla’s demands and my own curiosity. And yet he was on my mind day after day, those hauntingly beautiful eyes boring into me with determination.

“Mayra, welcome.” This time Aleksander opened the door himself. I didn’t know what that meant, but I didn’t care enough to ask. He was there, that was all that mattered.

“Thank you,” I said, shrugging out of my overcoat. He took it and my bag, stowing both in the hall closet. I remembered the elegant woman from last time and wondered about her own sexbot’s greeting rituals. Was this what it was like? Casual, familiar?

“Would you like a drink?” Aleksander was already reaching beneath the island.

“A glass of wine, please,” I cut him off mid-reach. “I normally don’t drink so the whiskey was a bit much last time.”

“I’ll update your file,” he said, pulling out a wine glass. He popped the cork on a fresh bottle of wine, the dark red poured from the bottle, and was aromatic enough I could smell the fruity fermentation from the other side of the island where I sat.

He placed the glass before me and I took a sip. “This is perfect,” I said.

“Good, it suits you,” Aleksander said. He placed his hands flat on the countertop, and leaned in towards me. “I’ll let you finish that one,” his voice low, a wicked smile spreading across his face. It was an unbelievably effective way of rendering me simultaneously mute and wanton. I drained the glass of wine.

≆

My nights with Aleksander increased in frequency, from once a month to at least once a week. Some mornings I’d barely manage enough time to get from his apartment back to my own to change before appearing at work. No one in the lab was wiser to my recreational activities except Carla who walked around with an all-knowing grin. Fortunately, we were surrounded by those who had no time for anything other than themselves.

An automated alert notified me that a data set had completed analysis and was ready for review. I pulled down the file as a local copy and sipped my coffee while skimming line after line. What I read stopped me cold. The synthesized antibody had had an affect on the toxin.

I skimmed further, the data points continuing with more positive results. This was impossible, I thought. My hypothesis was a longshot, not at all likely for an effective outcome, at least not to this degree. And yet, the results showed otherwise.

Discarding the coffee mug, I printed a copy of the file, the section with the promising results, and dialed Carla’s extension. A minute later she sauntered into the room. “All right, whatcha got, doc?”

I thrust the printout into her hands and pointed to the hastily marked section. “What do you see?” I asked.

“Mad scribbles and a foreign language,” Carla retorted, pushing the papers back at me.

An impatient growl escaped me as I moved beside Carla and pointed out the data that was as clear to me as if it were written for a grade schooler. I gave her a pass though: she had been my friend well before my assistant. I knew when I hired her that she did not interpret data, and likely never would. She shot me a warning look and I composed myself. “I’m sorry, let me explain.”

By the time I’d finished, the paper had many more scribbles, doodles and diagrams, and creases from my attempt to explain the importance of the findings. The experiment turned out to be more than a baseline inquiry. I had enough to press ahead with developing my project further.

“Carla, this is it. This is what I’ve been working towards for so long now. My entire career, if we’re counting”

Carla pursed her lips into a tight line. “I think you need to wait for another round of tests before getting too excited.”

I frowned. She was right, replication testing was crucial to this type of work, but Carla’s lack of enthusiasm seemed off. “Are you sure you understand what this means?” I asked.

Carla stared at me with dead seriousness and I knew I’d overstepped. “I’m not a scientist but I’m not stupid, Mayra,” she said cooly. She rarely used my given name in the lab.

“I’m sorry, I just thought you’d be more excited about it.” I sank into my chair, staring at the data.

Picking up a folder from the guest chair, Carla took a seat, letting a breath explode out of her. She clasped the folder to her chest like a schoolgirl. “Mayra, just don’t get your hopes up, okay?’

I looked up at Carla and shook my head. “This time is different, but you’re right. I’ll wait until we put it through more testing.”

Carla nodded and stood, carefully setting the folder down. “Good. I’ll setup a call with the other lab and get this rolling.” She headed for the door, stopping to look back at me with a small, sad smile. “Stay level-headed, alright?”

I nodded. “Of course. Thanks, Carla.”

Everything I’d worked for was riding on this one, I couldn’t help but get my hopes up.

≆

“I’m not sure I can contain myself much longer,” I said to Aleksander, rolling away from him in search of a shirt. It had been fast and frenetic, like crazed animals if I were to describe it aptly. Just what I’d needed after an exhausting day of meeting with other teams, defending my processes and reviewing my peers’ critiques.

“They have similar results, far closer to the original than not, it’s got to be ready for the next phase of testing.” I pulled a t-shirt over my head and recovered my underwear from a drawer knob. Ravaged by a beast, I chuckled at the cheesy romance novel tagline that came to mind.

Aleksander and his all-too perfect form slipped into his usual loungewear. “Careful, Mayra, you don’t want your project marred by your emotions.”

“You sound like Carla.”

“How do you mean?” He padded down the hallway to the kitchen and I followed after.

“Ever since I showed her the first results, she’s been less than enthusiastic about the whole project. Even Dr. Rothfuss demonstrated a more reasonable response. If anything, she’s become distant.” The jibes at work had all but ceased, and Carla hadn’t mentioned Aleksander once since the day I’d shown her the results, which I didn’t understand. Aleksander was her idea to begin with. Now all she did was make short comments confirming or negating things about other projects. She avoided mine altogether.

“Perhaps she is concerned about your work-life balance,” Aleksander held a glass of water out to me that I gladly accepted.

“No,” I drank, then added: “I mean that’d be out of character for her. We’ve been friends since college, she knows work is my number one priority.”

“Hmm, I see. Is there anything else she might know about the project that may have her concerned?”

“Not at all. As I’ve said before, this project is what I’ve centered my career on, what I’ve been working towards forever now.” I set the glass on the counter and went about getting dressed. “I need to get going. Thanks again for the quickie.”

“Of course, I’m here for your pleasure.”

≆

Rain poured down in sheets that came from every direction. Visibility was so obscured that the taxi cab crept at a pace slower than a walk. If it weren’t for a lack of clothing to change into upon arrival, I’d have gotten out and hoofed it the remaining mile.

“Is there any chance you could go faster?” I pleaded. The cab driver glanced up in the rearview mirror, his expression a mix between annoyance and disgust. He shook his head and resumed the dead ahead stare, our speed an ever steady snail’s pace.

I sat back in the seat with a sigh and swiped through text messages again, waiting in vain for the next update. Three months after my breakthrough, I’d gotten a call from my mother: Evan’s in decline, Mayra. You need to get to the hospital, now.

Now was over forty-five minutes before, just as a flash flood alert had hit the city. The drive across it was the longest, most agonizing trip I’d ever experienced.

Out front of the hospital, traffic was chaos. The second the cab came to a stop, I thrust a wad of bills through the barrier and scrambled out, ignoring the angry shouts of the driver. The change made up for my harried behavior, I felt.

The long-term care ward was filled with the haunted faces of people who had been waiting for an eternity in hopes of a miracle for their loved ones. Few miracles ever happened on this ward, however. More often it was people offering a solemn nod of condolence to each other as the dead were wheeled away.

Tonight, it seemed, would be my turn.

≆

Seventeen years ago, Evan Saunders pulled me out of the path of an oncoming city bus, saving my life. We attended the same university, and from that point on, we’d been together ever since. He was studying structural engineering and I was on my way to becoming a medical doctor.

Evan was my everything, all that I could have ever wanted in a life partner. He was the first, and only, man to love me unconditionally. The quirky guy drawn to mind-boggling concepts about things most people couldn’t wrap their minds around. Absent minded on things that most people wasted so much of their life obsessing about. Above all, though, he was kind and gentle, and always giving without a second thought.

I loved his laugh, his small, wiry frame, and his large nose that he was always so self-conscious of. When he smiled it was full and bright, reaching his dark brown eyes with absolute joy. Every night he’d remind me that the next day we’d have an amazing adventure, even if it was just takeout and cheap beer on the couch. My heart was full with Evan, my world complete.

≆

“Mayra, paging doctor Mayra,” Evan said into his cupped hand, performing his best impression of a voice over an intercom system.

He turned to me in bed and grinned. “As your devoted partner in crime, I have to tell you something.”

I peered over the top of my book, giving him a bit of side-eye for interrupting me at an especially good part. “And what’s that?” I asked.

“I think you’re kinda cute.”

I let out an exasperated laugh. We’d just survived finals, both graduating with our respective undergraduate degrees, and I was recovering in bed with a towel wrapped around my wet hair, wearing the ugliest oversized nightshirt I owned.

Evan gave me an exaggerated wink and an awkward come-hither look that left me gasping for air from laughing so hard. How I loved this man so much.

≆

Thirteen years ago, my world was destroyed. A trip overseas had turned to disaster when Evan contracted an unknown virus, or so we thought it was. Returning to the states, his condition deteriorated further over the course of six months until he went to sleep one day and never woke. Nearly every contagion known to humanity was considered, but nothing aligned with what Evan presented. Or if something came close, tests concluded there was no match. Whatever it was, it was slowly eating away at Evan and nothing could be done to stop his decline.

Evan had woken once in all these years, roughly five years ago, but it was a string of incoherent screaming that the hospital staff couldn’t decipher. He’d collapsed, his heart stopped. They brought him back but never to consciousness. I had slipped back into my old routine of vigilant watchfulness for months afterwards until Carla pulled me back to my work.

“Mayra, please. You are doing nothing for him here, wasting away along with him. No one’s asking you to give up, but you need to go live your life still. Be healthy and ready for when he wakes.” It’d taken a bit more coaxing by Carla and my mother, Evan’s family too, but I had eventually returned to my work. To my mission to find the cause of Evan’s illness so that one day, a cure could be found.

≆

Drenched from the dash to the safety of the hospital, I stood in the doorway of Evan’s room. His parents and sister were close by, dozing with heads on each other’s shoulders. My mom crept up from a corner and squeezed my hand. “Give me your coat, love.” I shrugged out of the coat and handed it to her. She clutched it close, hugging the thing like a child.

Evan’s chest rose in a hitching mechanical rhythm, so unlike the last one I’d watched. The ventilator squeezed air in and pulled the carbon dioxide back out from Evan’s lungs. Thin hospital blankets fit his frail form, accentuating the withered frame that had wasted away all these years.

Mom had gone over the details on the phone: the doctors had stabilized him from today’s crash, but it was temporary. Evan was dying and the few remaining interventions the doctors had left were more torture than what it was worth. His family agreed that this time they would let him go. It was time I did the same.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my knee touching his hand. The white skin sunk against every bone so that it looked like rice paper showing everything beneath. Delicate, fragile. Creams and ointments coated open sores on his body, the ones not yet progressed to the point of needing gauze protection the way most of his face and neck had. His once soft brown hair was now a coarse grey, what remained of it anyway.

I didn’t know what to say. How do you say the final goodbye? Would he hear me? Would he know? Careful not to touch any of the bandages, I leaned forward and kissed his brow. No lines marred the paper thin skin, no fear or worry creased his face the way it had everyone else in the room. Exhaustion wasn’t etched in the lines around his closed lids like his mother’s who had opened her own and gazed sadly at me. She offered a slight nod of encouragement and closed them again. She hurt in a way I could not truly fathom, but it was close.

One last look for Evan, I caressed the back of his hand, remembering how it felt to hold it. I brushed a lock of hair aside, kissed him gently, then left the room.

Evan was gone by the time I’d made my way to the grieving nook, the place other people often fled to after their loved ones passed away.

≆

“Would you consider the service satisfactory?” The clipped voice of a UK woman asked over the phone. Evan had died four months ago, my part in the project at the lab now concluded and moved on to the next phase. I’d submitted my resignation, no longer driven by the madness, the impossibility really, of saving Evan. Now I was calling to cancel the recurring visits with Aleksander.

“Yes, the service was satisfactory,” I intoned.

“What reason are you cancelling, if I may ask?” The words were polite, the operator’s tone anything but.

“I’m…” I hesitated, looking at Aleksander’s card. They had tailored everything about him to suit my desires. He was everything I’d needed at the time. He was everything Evan was not.

“I’m moving out of state,” I didn’t care that it was a lie.

“Understandable. A replica can be made available anywhere in the United States, and where legalized in the world, if you like.”

“No thank you,” I dropped the card into the recycle bin, also not caring if anyone discovered a calling card of a sexbot in my refuse.

“Very well, Ms. Nash. Your account has been updated and charges discontinued. Is there anything else I may help you with?”

“No thank you,” I said again and ended the call before the operator could say anything more.

I looked out over the cityscape and let my mind wander. I didn’t say goodbye to Aleksander.

All that I Ever Wanted

Copyright © Tara L. Campbell

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This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

Cover & Typesetting by Tara L. Campbell