Bought

Polished

I was well into my midday chores by the time Tyler shambled into the kitchen.  He slumped into a chair at the table I was in the middle of polishing.  The guy looked terrible.  Bloodshot eyes, sweaty hair, morning breath.  The bruise on his face had ripened to a brilliant yellow-green.  Thankfully he was wearing his arm.  It still made me uncomfortable to see him without it.

"It's official," he groaned.  "I hate you when you sleep."

"Because that isn't a creepy thing to say at all," I muttered.  I threw a quick glance at the empty doorway, just to make sure his dad wasn't there.  The guy had a weird ability to show up whenever it was least convenient for me.

Tyler followed my glance.  "Dad isn't here.  He had some business meeting at a casino.  Left early this morning."

That was a relief.  If his dad was at a casino, he would probably be gone all day.  Which meant no new chores, nobody glaring at me like they wanted to kill me personally, and no acting like a perfect servant.  And now I have a chance to escape, my brain added.

I cringed.  Why hadn't that been my first thought?  Escape had always been my number one priority before.  If anything it should be even more important now.  I wasn't safe here.

"You okay?" Tyler wondered as he squinted at me.  My thoughts spiraled down a new path.  If I tried to escape now, and I was successful, what would happen to Tyler?  He would probably be punished.  No, he would be punished.  I was a liability, one of the few people in the world who knew his secret.

"Fine," I answered. His frown deepened.

"No, you're not fine. You're just used to telling people that because normally nobody cares about you."

"The Stockholders care."

"For the wrong reasons."

I abandoned polishing the table. It was almost done anyway. The rag of chemicals went into the trash. When I turned back Tyler was still watching me.

"It's rude to stare."

He shrugged. "You're plenty rude. I figured it would be alright if I was rude right back." He scratched his chin. "So, since my dad's not around, maybe we can actually get to know each other."

"And what if I don't want to know anything about you?"

"Then you're seriously missing out. I'll even let you ask your question first. Nothing is off limits."

I sat down at the table across from him. He shot me a grin and raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, question number one;" I began, "do you know you have morning breath?"

His face, usually so pale, turned beat red. He mumbled something I couldn't catch and excused himself from the room. I shook my head. This guy was really something else. Get to know each other? Nobody ever "got to know" a product. We practically didn't have personalities.

I walked into the kitchen, all the while running through my mental list of jobs. I could wash the dishes next. If there were any. Tyler and his dad were pretty good at cleaning their plates after every meal.

My gaze wandered to a wooden block on the counter which displayed a dozen or so knife handles. It was an antique, probably worth a fortune. When laser cutters had become cheaper they quickly took over the knife market. Hardly anyone used real steel ones.

Without even realizing what I was doing, I pulled one of the knives out of the wooden block. It glinted in the florescent lights. It wasn't very long, about the size of your average butter knife. The edge was razor sharp.

"There you are!"

I flinched and automatically slipped the knife in my tool belt. Hopefully it wouldn't puncture any of the bottles of chemicals in there. Or me.

"And for the record," Tyler continued as he stepped further into the kitchen, "that counts as your first question.  The answer was no."

"I'm a little busy," I groaned as I crossed to the sink. A single plate and wine glass.

"You can't bail, it's my turn for a question. What's your natural hair color?"

I froze.  How did he know . . ?

"You're hair is growing out," he said.  So that explained it.  Now the whole world would see my dusty brown hair.  At least it was better than the bleached monstrosity I'd been forced to make.  I turned on the faucet so that steaming water washed over my hands and onto the plate.  Crumbs and sauce from something, probably pie, swirled away in the torrent.  Tyler kept talking despite all the clues I was giving him that I didn't want to talk.

"Actually, don't tell me.  I want to guess.  And remember, if you don't answer my question then it doesn't count towards me turn."

Ice cold fingers traced my hairline.  I whirled, my palm striking Tyler's arm.  He tumbled backwards.  A red mark was already starting to form.

"Is it always going to be like this?" he demanded as he rubbed his arm.  "I do something totally harmless, and you punish me for it?"

"Don't touch me!" I snarled.  He held up his hands in surrender.

"Fine!  No touching!  I get it, alright?  Five foot radius.  I just was trying to get a good look at your hair.  It's sort of floofing all over the place."

My fury, which had been sparked by his unexpected touch, started to ebb.  I turned back to the dishes.  "I'm sorry I hit you.  Just . . . please don't touch me."

"No touching ladies, got it."  He folded his arms.  "And for the record, your natural hair color is sort of a yellow brown.  Like buried gold, all shiny as soon as it sees the light of day for the first time."

"Wow, real poetic."

"Just one of my many hidden talents.  So my next question, since you didn't answer that last one, is a really good one."  His face took on a somber expression.  "And you have to answer honestly, got it?  And no hitting me."

"Fine, whatever."  As if I actually wanted to hit him.  It was all reflexive.  The poor guy was harmless.  Hurting him on purpose would be like kicking a drowning puppy.

"Why exactly are you a product?  Or even better, how do they pick what people become products and which don't?"

Of all the questions he could have asked, that wasn't one I was expecting.  How products were picked?  Why did he want to know?

I didn't see any reason not to tell him.  It wasn't exactly secret information.  And he couldn't use it to hurt me.  "The doctors run tests on everyone when you're born.  If you don't pass, you become a product.  If you fail badly enough then they just kill you."

"But you didn't pass the test?"

"Obviously not, or I wouldn't be in this mess!"

"What about your parents?"  My eyes burned, but no tears came.  At least he couldn't see my face while I did the dishes.

"They didn't have a choice but to give me up, did they?  I never met them.  They're out there.  Somewhere.  Maybe with a different kid who passed the stupid tests."

The dishes were clean, and for once I was out of jobs to do.  "I'm tired.  Don't bother me, please."

I could feel his eyes following me as I left the room, but he never said a word.