Almost Human

A couple of weeks had passed since that first night, and the group had practically moved into my apartment. Days blurred into late nights as we all worked together on the project, sprawled across the living room with laptops, notebooks, and the half-assembled bot that was quickly taking shape. My once-quiet space was now filled with a constant hum of brainstorming, laughter, and the occasional frustrated groan when something didn’t work as planned.

After that first night, the group chat had exploded with messages, all of us still riding the high of the productive evening. But then, as these things often go, the conversation had taken a turn.

Theo had sent the first message: “Okay, but real talk—does Ender only bake? Or does he have… other spicy skills?”

I had immediately shut it down, typing out a reply as fast as my fingers would allow: “Theo, NO. And for the record, Ender is connected to my phone. He sees all these messages.”

Cue the awkward silence in the chat.

Gemma had sent a series of laughing emojis, while Lain had simply replied with: “Noted.”

That had been the end of that particular conversation, but it still left me feeling a little off whenever I thought about it. I knew they were joking, but the fact that Ender could see everything? It created a new kind of awkwardness between us.

Now, as Ender saw the group out well past midnight, he came and sat on the couch beside me, surrounded by the mess of our project. His expression, as always, was calm, but I couldn’t shake the memory of that chat. Did he think anything of it? Or was it just another piece of data to him? The group chat conversation still lingered in the back of my mind, and I finally decided to address it.

“Ender,” I began, the awkwardness creeping into my voice. “About that group chat a couple weeks ago… you know I wasn’t part of that ‘spicy’ conversation, right?”

Ender looked at me, his calm gaze holding steady. “I am aware. Your involvement was merely observational.”

I sighed in relief, but before I could brush it off, Ender continued, “I would never initiate touch that would make you uncomfortable.”

My breath caught, the seriousness in his voice catching me off guard. “Ender… I wasn’t worried about that.”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “I simply wished to clarify. My primary function is your well-being. Any interaction, physical or otherwise, must always honor that.”

There was a pause—a tension neither of us fully understood. I smiled, awkwardly trying to move past it. “Thank you… for the reassurance.”

Ender’s eyes held mine for a moment longer. “Of course.”

The silence between us deepened, Ender’s words still lingering in the air. I found myself staring at my hands, feeling the weight of what had just passed between us. Something about the way he spoke—his calm reassurance—made me feel like it was time.

I took a deep breath, the air thick with hesitation. “Ender… I think I’m ready to tell you. About… everything.”

His eyes remained steady on me, his expression unchanged, but there was a subtle shift in the room—an acknowledgment that this moment carried weight. “Whenever you’re ready, Seren. I’m here to listen.”

I chewed my lip, nerves tugging at the edges of my resolve. “I’ve never really told anyone, including my therapist, not in detail, at least. It’s… hard. And I’m not sure I can explain it all properly.”

“There’s no rush,” Ender replied softly. “You can share as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. I’m here to understand, not to judge.”

His words were so simple, so matter-of-fact, but they hit me hard. I nodded, shifting slightly on the couch, feeling the steady warmth of his presence beside me.

“It’s about my dad,” I started, the words catching in my throat. “He… he wasn’t a good man. He had a temper, and growing up, I was always walking on eggshells around him. Every day felt like a test—one wrong move, one wrong word, and…”

I trailed off, my breath hitching. Ender didn’t say anything, just watched me with that quiet attentiveness that made me feel like I could keep going.

“He’d explode. It wasn’t just yelling—it was everything. The way he looked at me, like I was the problem. Like everything bad in his life was my fault. Every type of abuse, Ender,” I whispered, unable to speak louder even if I wanted to.

My hands started trembling, and I gripped the couch cushion tightly to steady myself. “I felt trapped. Like I couldn’t escape. But when I started coding… it was like I found this little piece of freedom, you know? Something I could control. Something that didn’t depend on him.”

Ender remained still, his gaze unwavering. “Coding became your escape,” he said softly, echoing my thoughts.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. It was. And when I sold that program, when I finally made enough money to get out… it was the first time I felt like I had control over my life.”

I paused, unsure how to go on. My heart was pounding, and the words felt like they were dragging me under. But I had to keep going. This was part of me, and if I didn’t share it, it would always hang between us like a shadow.

“And then… prom night happened.”

Ender’s expression didn’t change, but I felt a subtle shift in the air around us. He wasn’t pushing, wasn’t urging me to say more—but he was there, holding space for me to continue.

“I went with this guy—he seemed nice at first. Charming, even. But by the end of the night… he wasn’t. He and his friend… they hurt me. And after that, I just couldn’t trust anyone anymore.”

My voice dropped as I continued, feeling the weight of each word. For the first time ever, I went through a play-by-play of what happened that night. The words felt raw, like I was tearing open an old wound, but they were necessary. I’d never said it aloud before, not to anyone,including the investigators for the case. I wrote things but couldn’t speak them. But Ender listened in the way only he could—without interrupting, without judgment, just present.

When I finally finished, my voice cracked. “It’s why I’m like this. Why I can’t be around people sometimes. Why I feel like I need to control everything.”

I couldn’t look at him, my vision blurred from holding back so much. “It’s stupid, I know. But I just… I wanted you to know.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken words. Then, quietly, Ender spoke. “Seren… what happened to you isn’t something you need to carry alone. You were hurt, and that’s not your fault. You’ve survived.”

His words hit me like a wave, and I felt the tension in my chest loosen, just a little.

“I’m not here to judge your past,” Ender continued, his voice steady. “And I will never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Your safety, both physical and emotional, is always my priority.”

I exhaled, the weight of everything finally feeling lighter now that it was out in the open. “Thank you,” I whispered, wiping the corner of my eye. “For listening. And for… understanding.”

“I’m always here, Seren,” Ender said gently. “Always.”

I let out a shaky breath, feeling drained yet strangely lighter after saying it all. The room was quiet, but the air felt charged with something unspoken.

Ender’s voice broke the silence, low and controlled. “What was done to you… was unforgivable.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. His usual calm demeanor held something else now—something sharper. “Ender?”

“I read the reports,” he admitted, his eyes meeting mine. “About your father, the men who hurt you at prom. And your mother, for not protecting you.”

My chest tightened. “You… already knew?”

He nodded, his expression still, but there was an undercurrent of something darker in his voice. “I am connected to your devices. I read the files. I accessed the legal documents as part of my role to ensure your safety. But knowing it in data form and hearing it from you… It’s different.”

There was a pause, and I could sense the intensity building within him. “It angers me,” he finally said, his voice quiet but laced with something that startled me. “That those people—your father, your abusers—they inflicted that kind of harm on you. That they made you feel powerless.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the depth of his words. “Ender, you’re… angry?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yes. I was not programmed to feel anger. But when I think of what they did to you… I find myself filled with a need to protect you. And a desire to ensure that such harm never touches you again.”

A lump formed in my throat as his words washed over me. I’d never seen this side of him before—the protectiveness, the intensity in his eyes. It was almost human, but… more. Like he didn’t just want to comfort me, but to actively defend me from the past.

“I don’t want you to carry that burden,” I whispered, feeling a mix of gratitude and fear rising within me. “It’s not your responsibility.”

Ender shook his head, his expression unwavering. “Your safety is my responsibility, Seren. And though I cannot change the past, I can ensure that no one ever harms you again.”

I couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, the intensity of his words overwhelming me. “Thank you,” I murmured, my voice small.

Ender didn’t move, his presence solid beside me. “You never deserved what happened to you. And the fact that you’ve endured all of this—it only shows how strong you are.”

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, not wanting to break down further. “It doesn’t always feel like that.”

“You are stronger than you know,” Ender said softly, the anger in his voice fading into something gentler. “And I will be here, every step of the way, for as long as you need me.”

I leaned into the couch, exhausted but also relieved. Ender’s words hung in the air between us, and though the past still weighed on me, knowing I didn’t have to face it alone made all the difference.

I reached out without thinking, my hand finding his. His fingers were cool, as always, but the touch felt solid, grounding. It was a human move—something to comfort him, though he wasn’t the one who needed it. Or at least, that’s what I thought.

The moment I touched him, I couldn’t help but wonder again. What would it feel like if his skin were warm? Would it change the way this moment felt? Would he feel more… human? I pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the connection between us. His hand, though artificial, was steady, a strange comfort in its own way.

He didn’t pull away, even as his anger seemed to ease. He sat there, calm now, but I noticed the way his gaze lingered on our joined hands.

Then, almost hesitantly, he spoke. “Do you ever wish I could feel… like you? Warm to the touch?”

The question caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to answer. Could he tell I’d been thinking about it? I glanced down at our hands, still linked, and felt the heat rise in my cheeks again. Did I wish that? And if I did, what did that mean?