Machine Man - Max Barry [24]
“I’m not suicidal.”
Dr. Angelica Austin ignored this. “How’s your pain?”
“Very bad.” Not completely true. But the nurses were being lax with my medication, forcing me to compensate by demanding it earlier and in greater quantities. “I’m not suicidal.”
“Discuss that with psych.” She gazed at my stump. Her expression reminded me of a time in high school when out of nowhere a girl I hardly knew said, “You have beautiful eyes.” The next thing she said was “What a waste.” “Not my area.”
“When do I get a psych consult?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?” This didn’t get an answer. I changed tactics. “Can I have my phone? I don’t see how it’s supposed to be dangerous.” Dr. Angelica popped a pen and wrote on my chart. “Is Lola Shanks coming?”
“Perhaps later.”
“Why is everyone mad at me?”
Dr. Angelica Austin lowered her clipboard. “No one is mad at you.” She looked mad. Then she left.
That night I developed a terrible crawling sensation in both legs. I was supposed to be doped at midnight but it was 12:17 a.m. and still no drugs. I sweated and shook and eventually held down the call button for as long as it took. Nine minutes later, Nurse Veronica arrived. She glared at me like I was a stain. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I was busy with the patients who want to get better.”
DAYS PASSED and no one visited. In this respect it was much like before. The difference was now I wanted them to. Well. Not them. Her. I wanted Lola Shanks to barge through the door, her arms full of legs.
I couldn’t risk asking for her. Since the nurses had turned hostile, letting them know I wanted something was a strategic mistake. My meals were proof of that. But I couldn’t wait, either. On the fifth day I formulated a plan to drag myself across the floor to the phone in the hall. Then, like a miracle, she appeared. She did not have any prosthetic limbs. It was just her, in a big hospital shirt and sweatpants. She hung in the doorway and stared at me through her glasses.
I pulled myself upright. “Hi! Hi.”
She stopped short of my bed. “You crushed your other leg.”
“Yeah.”
“On purpose.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” The word slid out of her mouth like it was heavy. It dropped to the floor and lay there.
“Because …” I couldn’t think how to explain it. It seemed obvious. She had seen my prototype.
“Do you want to die?”
“No!”
“Do you hate yourself?”
“No. Well.” I considered. There were parts of which I didn’t have a very high opinion. But I didn’t hate them. I just thought they could be better. “No.”
“Do you like pain?”
“What? Of course not.”
“Then it doesn’t make any sense.”
“When someone gets their vision laser-corrected, nobody thinks they’re trying to hurt themselves. They’re just tolerating short-term pain to improve their bodies. You do physical therapy. You make people sweat and struggle and do painful exercises. You have—you have pierced ears. Did you puncture your earlobes because you hate yourself? Are you working your way up to suicide?” Lola sucked in a breath, but I had found a point and wanted to make it. “Pain isn’t my goal. My pain is a side effect of the human body being so flawed that the only way to implement significant improvements is to scrap what’s there and start over. I just want to upgrade. That’s not weird. People go to the gym to do that. The only difference is I have access to better technology.”
I realized I had gone too far. Lola began to move. “Wait,” I said. “Let me rephrase that.” But she was leaning closer. Before I realized what was happening, she kissed me.
ONE TIME at an MIT party, I talked to a girl on a ripped leather sofa about alternate universes. She leaned forward as if to make a point and fell onto me with her lips open. I’m not really sure how it happened. Her pupils were dilated. I guess that’s how. It was shocking and I didn’t know what to do. The whole time we were kissing I was terrified I would screw this up and she would stop. Her head became heavy and her kissing less urgent and then she fell asleep. I didn’t realize this right