Then

"Julia," says a voice, warm with concern. It's Josh. The most welcome sight ever, swimming into focus. His expression, intense. His eyes searching me like I've always wanted to be searched.

"Hi," I say weakly. I register an ice pack on the back of my head, a sling on my arm. I'm on my back on the living room sectional, a ceiling fan spinning high above me. Josh is kneeling to my left, dressed in a T-shirt with circles of sweat under the arms, like he was just working out. I flicker my gaze around the space and register the girls, bunched up at a distance. Watching us, talking in low murmurs. And two cameramen, discreet but present.

"What happened?" I say, focusing back on Josh. "Who was that?"

Josh presses my chilly hand between both of his.

"They're looking into it," he says in a husky voice that tells me he's more upset than he's letting on. "She actually got away from show security before the police arrived. But I'm sure they'll find her. It's all on camera."

I shift my head and wince. "Why would she attack me?"

I can't help but remember, again, the flood of comments after my first and only Instagram post to date. It started nice, with various public figures making their statements, including Synth twins Christi and Chrystel, but it quickly devolved, and it wasn't just the biting comments accusing me of not being a real woman.

Less fuckbots and better vaccines, please!

We're in a pandemic and THIS is what science is doing?? What a joke.

Welcome to America Julia where the 1% is making robot sex toys while the 99% are on food stamps. It's great here!!

I had to stop reading.

Could this woman be some kind of anti-Synth activist? The producers did warn me that there was a media leak about my presence on the show...

"Everyone's saying she was a crazy fan," says Josh. "Some of the camera people noticed her last week. I guess she was lurking around the property. My guess is, she saw you alone and took her chance."

"Her chance at what?" I say, feeling stupid and slow.

"Fame?" Josh shakes his head like it's beyond him. "Maybe she wanted to be on camera. Who the hell knows. With people like that..."

I exhale slowly and manage a small nod. At least that feels better than a targeted attack. Though...maybe it's worse that it could have been any of us. I don't know what to feel.

Josh squeezes my hand. "I'm so sorry, Julia. I'm talking to the producers about safety. The fact that this happened is unacceptable."

"Sorry to interrupt," comes a tentative voice. It's Emma, dressed in a bikini and cover-up, her long brown hair spilling over her slim shoulders. The girls' ambassador into the situation, by the looks of it. "We all just want to say we're so sorry, Julia. And if there's anything any of us can do..."

"Thanks," I say. "I appreciate that."

Emma bites her lip. "I was inside the house. I actually saw her jump you. A bunch of us did. We just couldn't get out there fast enough."

"It's so scary," says a petite girl whose name I can't remember. "I almost went for a walk by the pool before you."

"Maybe we should ask the producers for some self-defense training," offers Zoe. "What do you think, Julia? We could all do it together, like, as a team."

"Oh," I say with some surprise. "Sure. I mean, I...can't. But that's a great idea for everyone else."

Her nose scrunches. "Can't?"

"I...can't defend myself in the same way that you all can."

Sure, I can self-protect—but not if it means harming another person. Fighting my assailant? Out of the question. When the woman grabbed my hair, I knew she was about to bash my head, and in the moment, it was like I had no willpower. No spark, no reaction; I went limp and let her do it. Should I find this disturbing? Emma's shocked expression tells me yes.

"Julia, what are you saying?" she says.

I prop myself up despite the shooting pain in my shoulder, glance at Josh, then address the whole group of girls.

"Not all of you know this, but I guess you should. I'm a Synth."

There are audible gasps.

"I can't hurt people," I explain. "It's just not part of my..." I almost say programming, but think better. "Instincts."

"But self-defense has to be different, right?" objects Emma, the crowd of girls murmuring loudly behind her, clearly upset.

I shrug my shoulders up an inch.

"It's not different for them," says Camila in a pointed, sharp tone. She steps forward, a striking figure in an elegant black cover-up with a plunging neckline that shows the center string of her white bikini. "Haven't y'all watched Keeping Up with the Synths? Chrystel explained the whole thing after she went public about her sexual assault." Her eyes turn to me. "There's only one case where a Synth can hurt a human. Right, Julia?"

Everyone looks to me for clarification.

I feel like getting technical is just going to make me seem more foreign to them, and to Josh, but I can't shy away now. I have to appear comfortable with myself so that they can be, too. Then we can all move on.

"No Harm coding is black-and-white," I explain. "But there's a separate algorithm called the Leighton Clause because of this case, like, ten years ago. Have you guys heard of Andrea Leighton?"

"Wasn't she in that really bad horror movie?" Zoe pipes up, snapping her fingers. "Night of the...something?"

"She was a Texas oil heiress and aspiring actress," says Camila, calm and in control, for which I'm strangely grateful. "She owned one of those Home Assistant Bots—remember when those came out? Anyway, her boyfriend strangled her in front of it. The Bot could have taken him down and saved her if it wasn't for No Harm. Long story short, there was a public outcry, and Congress passed an exception clause. But there were so many bugs, it didn't roll out until Christi and Chrystel."

"How do you know all this?" says Emma.

Cam smiles mirthlessly. "My father's in the oil business. Andrea was a family friend. The Bot that couldn't save her? My dad uses it to clean our pool."

My heart patters uncomfortably.

"So what is the algorithm, exactly?" says Emma, wrinkling her brow.

Cam opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. "If I see someone hurting another person, and the ethical algorithm determines that there's a guilty party and an innocent party worthy of defense, No Harm is bypassed."

"Which means," Camila cuts in, raising a sharp-nailed finger, "that even though Julia couldn't defend herself, if that crazy fan attacked one of all y'all—" she pauses, a smirk tugging at her lips "—then Julia could've fucked that bitch up."

I get the reference, and give her the slightest smile in return. It strikes me that she could do more damage with that single, manicured nail than I could with my entire body.

"But it doesn't seem right that she could defend us when she can't—" Emma starts again.

"I think what Julia needs right now is our full support," interrupts Josh, his deep voice bringing this whole uncomfortable topic to a welcome end. "And she has it, right?" He's firm, commanding, like a general bringing order to his troops.

The girls' voices rise in agreement, but a smell of fear lingers, and I don't have to ask to know what it's about.

The girls have to be wondering not only what would have happened if they were the ones walking alone by the pool, but what it's like to be me: helpless. At the mercy of any lunatic who wants to hurt me.

I lick my lips. I've loved being Julia ever since Launch Day. I've relished my body, my feelings—even the hard emotions, like my ever-present gnawing hunger for Josh's affection. But there's something new within me. A seed of distress. I don't like that I'm fundamentally...weak. My thoughts rush to comfort me. Isn't everyone fundamentally weak, at some level? And yet...

"We're all behind you, Julia," says Josh, his voice full of warmth. "I promise you that nothing like this will ever happen again when you're with me."

"It's not your responsibility to protect me." My voice cracks, because I don't want this dynamic. I want to be pure fun for Josh. Not a burden, dragging him down.

I cover my face because suddenly, tears are wetting my cheeks. I don't know how to name everything I'm feeling, but I hate that it's getting the best of me.

"Sorry. I wasn't going to fall apart," I say, my voice muffled behind my hands.

The girls descend. I can't see them, but I can hear them, feel them, like a flock of birds, settling at the foot of the couch, on either side of Josh, drawing close, surrounding me like a protective wall.

"You have all of us," says a female voice, sweet and steely. Camila. "We're in this together."

I uncover my eyes, utterly shocked by this display of support from the very last person I would have expected. We look at each other for a solid three seconds. I can't describe what passes between us. Only that it's powerful, and that some of the steel in her seems to enter me.

I reach up a hand. We thread our fingers together; she presses tight. My voice comes out throaty. "Thanks, Texas."

Camila gives me a half smile. "Sure thing, Red."

And then, as if moved by her display of affection toward me, Josh enfolds both our hands in his grasp and squeezes, making an odd bond of three.

"We'll take care of her, right?" says Camila, breaking our gaze and locking eyes with Josh.

"Absolutely," he says.

The burn of jealousy and suspicion is so fierce and sudden, I could retch. But, with my hand trapped between theirs, I try to muscle my emotions toward the right things—the things Josh might love me for: trust, kindness, gratitude.

"Thanks," I say in a gentle tone, and as Josh's eyes slip away from Camila and back to me, I tamp down the hot swell of victory under a delicate smile. "You guys are the sweetest."