Anti-tron hysteria grew, but you never stopped sneaking through town at night to see me. Then one night, you showed up with your face beaten. The gash on your forehead bled blood that was a bit too pink and a bit too watery to be human. I didn’t know anything about how Androtrons healed, but you told me you were fine. It scared me, you know, what was happening in our city.
“Did you call the cops?”
“No. They ran off,” you said.
“You fought back?”
“Why? You could have been hurt worse than this, Eli”
But you smiled, “I’m made of tougher stuff.” Then it faded. “You know I worked at the car factory. I can bend metal with my bare hands. They’d say I’ve gone rogue. And you know what happens to trons gone rogue.”
I did, but I didn’t dare say it out loud, as if it would make it any less real. Then you told me about the crap place you were living in and how management couldn’t stand anyone other than humans living under their shitty rooftop.
“They can’t evict you for what you are,” I told you. But I knew they could under different pretenses. I wasn’t a stranger to discrimination.
“You’re still a citizen. They can’t fucking do that. Is that why you were fired as well?” I said.
“I’ll be alright, Kenya.” And you held my hand. Of course I didn’t believe that. I was pissed and most of all, scared.
“Well you aren’t going to live out on the streets, I won’t let you,” I said.
“I don’t have a home anymore.”
“Yes you do. Your home is here, with me.”
You decided to stay.