ROBOT ARDEN ENRIQUE ZAYN III
Maya had lost count of how many times she had replaced the synthetic skin of the robot that mirrored the man she once loved. No matter what she did, it never lasted — after thirty minutes, the artificial flesh would melt and peel away, as if the universe itself was conspiring against her obsession. Crates of materials had come and gone, her tireless efforts ending in inevitable failure. Only three pieces of skin remained. She took one, carefully pressing it onto the metallic frame of Robot Arden. Her trembling fingers sculpted every detail with obsessive precision, until the face of Arden stared back at her once more.
Finished at last, Maya wiped the sweat from her brow, her breath ragged. She stripped off her damp shirt, the thin undergarment clinging to her curves, beads of sweat tracing her skin like wandering hands. Her rosy nipples peeked through the fabric, her slender waist and flat stomach glistening under the dim light. Her bare thighs, pale and inviting, were revealed beneath her shorts.
Dragging a velvet-cushioned chair closer, she climbed atop it, steadying herself by gripping Robot Arden's cold shoulder. She worked meticulously on the hair, replicating Arden's tousled locks strand by strand, even perfecting the style he had worn in life.
"Fuhh… done," Maya exhaled, her voice trembling between exhaustion and satisfaction. Every detail was perfect. The veins of the hands, made of wires beneath the surface, imitated human imperfection flawlessly. Maya's craftsmanship was nothing short of maddening brilliance.
Except for one part.
One part of him remained unfinished — the part she dared not recreate. That most intimate part of Arden's body, which she had once known so deeply, still lay untouched. After all, what need was there? He was only a machine. Yet her heart ached at the thought. Her fingers itched to sculpt it, to make him whole. But she stopped herself, her nails digging into her scalp. Have I gone mad? she whispered inwardly.
Stepping down from the chair, Maya gazed longingly at Robot Arden. Tonight felt different. Strange. She had finished the work that usually took her days in mere hours. Why did you have to leave me so soon, Arden? her heart cried silently.
She caressed the tattoo she had painstakingly engraved onto the back of the robot, her fingertips tracing the design as though it were his real flesh. If only this creation could truly become Arden — if only he could live and breathe once more — she would never let him go.
Robot Arden stood motionless, awaiting her command, lifeless without her spark. Maya collapsed onto the long sofa, too weary to lift her legs. Sweat dampened her skin as the air thickened with heat. She would need to reapply the synthetic skin soon — it was already beginning to melt.
"Arden… open the window," she murmured.
At once, the robot's eyes flickered open, revealing the same smoldering gaze Arden once had. He obeyed, moving towards the window with unnerving human grace. He was perfect — eerily perfect. His steps, his posture… just like Arden.
Before Maya could issue another command, her heavy eyelids fell shut, dragging her into darkness. The robot remained by the window, silent, waiting. Slowly, his skin began to melt again, like wax under a cruel sun.
Tap… tap… tap…
Footsteps approached. Slow, deliberate. Maya stirred, her vision blurred. Standing over her was a towering man, shadowed and menacing. A twisted smile curved Maya's lips in her delirium. Dreaming, she reached out with trembling hands, and the man caught her slender fingers.
He crouched to her level, a giant cloaked in black. His face hidden behind a mask, eyes the only thing visible beneath a black beanie and jacket. An imposing phantom, faceless yet dangerously real.
Maya, dazed but not drunk, tried to make sense of her weakness. Her limbs were heavy as stone — the effects of the sedative she had taken to focus on her work now betraying her. She collapsed against the man, who caught her effortlessly in his arms.
Her fingers clawed at his mask, desperate to see his face, but his large hand pressed firmly over her eyes, cloaking her in darkness. She fought back, weakly striking his chest, her blows laughably soft against his solid frame. His arms locked around her, caging her within his brutal embrace. She could feel the heat of his body against hers.
"Ugh…" His voice, rough and low, slipped from his throat.
Maya froze.
In an instant, he rose from the floor, pulling her onto his lap. She straddled him now, too close, too vulnerable. She pushed against his chest, her strength fading fast.
"Shhh…" he whispered, his breath ghosting against her ear.
His hand finally released her eyes but kept her tightly bound to him. She blinked, straining to see his face, but the room was cloaked in shadows, and the moonlight behind him cast his features in silhouette. Her hands rested against his chest, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart beneath the dark fabric.
He brushed her hair back with gloved fingers, a mockery of tenderness. She could not resist. No strength remained in her body.
He pulled her even closer, her body slumping against him, helpless. Then, she felt it — the heat of his mouth against her neck. His lips, warm and hungry, kissed her skin with unbearable slowness.
"Ah… no…" Maya whimpered, her voice quivering with fear and something dangerously close to longing. She struggled, but he did not stop. His lips devoured the length of her throat, each kiss leaving her weaker than the last.
Her thin strap slipped from her shoulder, exposing the soft curve of her collarbone. She felt her knees scrape against the cold floor tiles, pain mingling with sensation. Her hands gripped his broad shoulders, nails digging in as if to anchor herself in reality.
No one would hear her cries. No one could reach this hidden room — a secret chamber at the top of the house, long abandoned by all but her. Her sanctuary. Now, her prison.
The man tore off his gloves with his teeth, his rough hands sliding under the thin fabric of her undergarment. She shuddered beneath his touch, her body betraying her mind.
"Arden… where are you?" Maya's voice cracked with despair, tears slipping down her cheeks as her vision dimmed.
At her broken plea, the man paused. His grip loosened, his gaze lingering on her tear-streaked face. Slowly, almost regretfully, he pulled her clothes back over her trembling form, covering her bare chest. She lay still in his arms, like a porcelain doll that had fallen from its shelf.
He cradled her gently and placed her back onto the sofa, brushing a strand of damp hair from her face. His fingers hovered over her lips, temptation burning in his chest. But at the last moment, he turned away.
With desperate swiftness, he dressed himself once more in shadows, slipping back into the mask of darkness. And then, like a ghost fleeing the dawn, he vanished from the room — leaving behind only the echo of desire and a nightmare half-lived.