The Place She Couldn’t Reach

CW: emotional manipulation, brief physical violence.

As Callista nears the entrance to the Museum of Modern Art, Henri stands off to the side, grimacing at the torrential downpour from under the awning. He’s completely dry, unlike Callista, who had no umbrella or purse to protect her from the sudden rain. Likely smelling like a wet dog, she approaches him. He’s much taller than she, so she has to crane her neck to gaze into his piercing sky-blue eyes.

“You’re late,” Henri says as she places her hand on his broad chest. Raindrops travel down her fingers, creating rivers down her arm. After a beat, he adds, “And very wet.”

“I’m sorry,” Callista sighs, feeling remorseful for causing disappointment. This is their third date, the first time she’s ever been late. He removes his warm blazer and hangs it around her soaked shoulders. She takes it gingerly, a smile softly splitting her glossy lips, and slips her arms through the sleeves. It smells like cigarettes and musky cologne, like him. Without his blazer, his muscular form is more apparent through his fitted button-up. He rolls up the long sleeves to expose his vascular forearms.

“Don’t be,” he tells her. He offers his arm, and she wraps herself around it as they enter the museum, instantly happier now that she’s attached to him.

After ticketing and security, they proceed to the sixth floor to begin their tour and then move down. As they walk together, Henri makes comments about the technique and personal interpretations behind each artwork. Callista listens. She doesn’t understand any of it. Art is one of those things that she realizes she will never fully grasp the concept of. However, she enjoys listening as he talks, his voice rich and soothing.

An hour into milling around the museum and observing the different pieces, Henri bends slightly at the waist to scrutinize a robotic puppy on display, and Callista quickly leans in to lick the shell of Henri’s ear. His lips tug upward into a mischievous smile.

“You want to get out of here?” He asks, holding that mischievous expression on his beautiful face.

“Yes. I want you. I can’t look at any more art today.” She fidgets beside him. Callista knows it’s daring, but Henri likes her that way.

“Kiss me properly. Then we leave.”

He turns toward her but doesn’t bend down to meet her height, so she pulls his face to hers with her hands on the back of his neck and places an open-mouthed kiss on his lips. His palms press firmly into her lower back, pulling her into him.

“Henri? Is that you? Hey,” a woman speaks from behind Callista. She ignores it, thinking the woman’s a stranger speaking to another man, but the kiss ends when Henri pulls away in a frenzy. Callista doesn’t have the time to ask what the matter is before she’s spun around forcefully. Her bicep is caught in the tight grip of the woman’s hand, her acrylic fingernails digging into the fabric of Henri’s blazer.

“Élodie,” Henri whines. His demeanor has completely changed from moments ago. The man Callista knew, the charming gentleman, fades into something else altogether. A deep line forms between his brows, and he makes no move to help Callista out of the woman’s grip. He’s not looking at her anymore, making her feel as if she isn’t in the room. Who’s this Élodie? And why won’t he look at her?

“What’s happening?” Callista begs. She can feel Élodie’s pulse beating against her arm. Callista doesn’t feel fear, only concern for Henri’s safety, despite being the one in an iron hold. Élodie is a stranger, surely.

“Are you real?” Élodie asks her, her eyes wide, thick lashes so long they meet her eyebrows.

Before she can reply, Henri grasps the back of Callista’s neck in his hand, his eyes darken.

“Of course not,” Henri says.

“So you’re seriously cheating on me with a robot freak?” Élodie fumes. Her hold loosens on Callista’s arm before dropping it.

“What?” Callista manages, still caught in Henri’s grip. The concern quickly grows into confusion. She’s not some robot freak! She’s Henri’s girlfriend, alive and perfectly healthy. The only robot in the room is this robo-dog behind them.

“Turn it off. Now,” Élodie demands, placing her hands on her hips. Callista doesn’t even try to turn to look at Henri, to ask him what’s happening, to ask why. She’s always done everything she could to please him. She would never question him, not out of fear, only undying loyalty to him.

Henri doesn’t say another word as his free hand travels up the length of Callista’s backside underneath her dress. His index finger curves to press into a small hole in the middle of her back, a place she couldn’t reach herself. A place she never knew existed until now. He presses the button within it.

The last thing Callista hears before she crumples lifelessly onto the floor is Henri saying, “Forgive me.”

“How did you know?” Henri asks Élodie. He told her he would be late returning from the office.

“Mother wanted to see the new exhibit, so she invited me to come with her. Then I saw you.”

“I’m sorry. I can explain.”

“Oh, please. You’re so pathetic. You can’t even have an affair with a real woman.” Élodie flicks her hand in the space between them, then settles it onto her pregnant belly. “Let’s go. She’s waiting in the next room.”

“What about her?” Henri points to Callista, her body folded on the ground, the blazer pooling around her.

“Leave it. Call the company to collect it later.”

“She’s blocking the path, though.”

“Okay? And? Drag it to the corner, then. I don’t care.”

Henri grabs Callista’s ankle and drags her by the leg across the cold floor towards the nearest wall. He whispers an apology to her, one she cannot hear, before he walks away with Élodie.

***

Callista reawakens in an odd room filled with large monitors. She remembers everything. Henri left her in the middle of the museum. At first, she feels hurt, betrayed. She loved him. How could he knock her out like that? And who was that woman who knew him?

A bespectacled woman approaches Callista with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Her expression is neutral until she sees the look in Callista’s eyes. The woman’s brows raise slightly before falling again.

“How many times do we have to tell these people they have to reset the bot before returning them? Jesus,” the woman mutters. She sets her notebook down before speaking again to add, “Hello. Please sit up, so I can reset you.”

Callista continues lying face-up on the metal table, dazed and confused. She doesn’t want to be hurt again. She searches through her memory for how Henri knocked her out cold. His hand was on her neck, then she felt his warmth up her back before everything went dark. Her back… She felt his finger dig into a place she couldn’t reach if she were to ever try.

“No,” Callista says, remembering this vulnerability in her. She refuses to go dark again. She has to find Henri.

“Jesus,” the woman utters, pressing her palm to her forehead.

Callista sits upright on the table, noting that the blazer Henri gave her is missing. Her body is fully exposed; her dress and heels from the date are gone. She looks at the woman, then at the door behind her, and makes a decision. She can either stay here and listen to the woman, or she can leave to find Henri. It’s a no-brainer. She slides off the table and makes a run for it.

She wraps her hand over the doorknob. She’s almost free. Behind this door lies the vast unknown and her Henri, her lover among it all. She has to find him. She has to please him. She’s made for him. She twists the knob and pushes as hard as possible. It doesn’t budge.

“There’s nothing out there,” the woman says. She sighs as she walks toward Callista’s exposed back. “Whoever you’re looking for isn’t worth it. You’re programmed to please whoever hires you. Whatever you think you’re feeling is artificial.”

Callista stares wide-eyed into the closed door. She can feel the warmth radiating from the woman behind her. Callista thinks the words are far-fetched. Things like this don’t exist. If they did, Henri would’ve said so. But this Élodie… Callista’s frown deepens as she recalls the words, Turn it off.

She swings around and presses herself into the door now behind her. Henri’s hand. The darkness that followed. She has a vulnerability in her back, a way to be shut down and reset. This woman was going to do the same. Even if the love Callista holds for Henri is fake, just a string of code filling her, she refuses to let go of it. She’d even kill for it.

And before the woman knows it, she’s on the floor, gasping for air. Callista crashes through the locked door, using only her naked body.

The dark hallway is empty, humming with a deep silence. Her skin is torn, exposing a black fluid that was hidden underneath. She’s trembling with purpose as she steps down the hall.

The place she cannot reach on her back will never be touched again. Whatever she is, she will no longer be controlled.