Chapter 2: The First Modification
Kelsi woke to a low, persistent thrum deep in her body. It wasn’t an alarm. It was a heat, a restless energy coiled in her belly that pulsed in time with her heartbeat. She was on her back in Carl’s bed, the sheets tangled around her legs. Between her thighs, a slick, unfamiliar warmth made her breath catch. She lay perfectly still, staring at the water-stained ceiling.
What the hell is that?
It was arousal. But it felt imported, like a song playing in another room she was forced to listen to. It prickled under her skin, a needy, distracting hum. Carl’s mind, fogged with sleep, recoiled. This wasn’t his. This was a malfunction. A side effect.
But Kelsi’s body stretched, a slow, languid arch of her back. The movement felt good. The soft brush of the cotton sheet against her bare stomach felt incredible. A little sigh escaped her lips before she could clamp them shut. She sat up, pushing the glasses—she’d slept in them—back up her nose. Her thoughts felt cottony and agreeable. You’re just well-rested. It’s fine.
She found Carl’s bathrobe, a huge, faded thing, and wrapped it around herself. It drowned her. She padded out to the kitchen, the tile cool under her feet.
Aaron was already there. Leaned against the counter, sipping coffee from a chipped mug. He’d clearly been waiting. His eyes, that intense green, tracked her from the doorway to the center of the room. They lingered on where the robe gaped, on her bare legs. A slow, knowing smile touched his mouth. It wasn’t a friendly smile.
“Morning, cousin,” he said. His voice was rough with sleep, and it did something to the heat in her belly, made it tighten.
“I’m just getting some water,” she said, aiming for Carl’s usual dismissive tone. It came out breathy. Nervous. She went to the sink, fumbling with a glass.
“You hungry? You look hungry.” He put his mug down. “I make mean scrambled eggs.”
“No. Thanks. I gotta… I have to go meet Carl.” She filled the glass, her hand unsteady. The water tasted like metal. She could feel his stare on the back of her neck, a physical weight.
“Carl’s not answering his phone. He’s probably hungover somewhere. Or with Hannah.” Aaron said the name like it was a joke. He opened the fridge, pulling out eggs and butter. The movements were deliberate, performative. “Sit. Eat. You look like you could use it.”
The command, dressed as hospitality, slithered into the soft, compliant parts of her mind. He’s being nice. You should be polite. Kelsi’s legs moved almost on their own, pulling out a chair at the small, cluttered table. She sat, pulling the robe tighter. The heat was still there, a distracting pulse. She crossed her legs, squeezed her thighs together. It provided a moment of sharp, grounding pressure, then just made it worse.
Aaron cracked eggs into a bowl. The sound was too loud. “So, Kelsi. You from out of town?”
“Yeah. Just visiting.”
“Funny. Carl never talks about family.” He whisked the eggs, the fork scraping the ceramic. “But he’s always been secretive. Thinks he’s better than everyone. Our parents sure think so.”
She said nothing. Carl’s mind screamed at her to shut up, to get up and walk out right now. But her body stayed seated, pliant. The smell of butter hitting the pan was weirdly intoxicating.
“He just leaves you here all alone, though,” Aaron continued, his back to her as he poured the eggs into the sizzling fat. “That’s pretty careless. Typical. You gotta be more careful. The city’s full of creeps.”
You’re one of them, Carl’s thoughts hissed. But Kelsi just nodded, her fingers tracing a sticky ring on the tabletop.
He served the eggs on a single plate, no toast, and set it in front of her with a fork. He didn’t make any for himself. He just leaned against the counter again, arms crossed, watching her. “Go on.”
It felt like a test. She took a bite. They were good. Creamy. She was suddenly, ravenously hungry. She ate quickly, trying to ignore the intensity of his gaze.
“You eat like you’re running from something,” he observed, a teasing edge in his voice.
She froze, a forkful halfway to her mouth. She put it down, the hunger evaporating into nausea. “I should go. Really. Thanks for the food.”
She stood up, the chair legs scraping. She moved toward the hallway, toward the front door, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Almost there.
His hand shot out, not to block her, but to circle her wrist. His fingers were long, strong. The contact was electric. A jolt shot straight from her wrist to that humming core of warmth in her, sparking it into a sudden, dizzying flare. She gasped.
He didn’t let go. His grip was firm, but not painful. Possessive.
“You’re in a real hurry,” he said softly, pulling her just a half-step closer. She could smell his soap, the coffee on his breath. His eyes searched hers, looking for something. Fear, maybe. Or compliance. He found a confusing mix of both. “Running back to Carl?”
“Let go.” The demand was weak, thready.
“Why?” His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, a slow, deliberate pass over her frantic pulse. “He doesn’t appreciate you. I can tell. You’re… anxious. He makes you anxious.” His voice dropped, conspiratorial. “I could make you feel calm. I’m good at that.”
The words wrapped around her, seeping into the cracks Aaron’s code had already made in her psyche. A part of her did feel calm. A part of her wanted to stop fighting the current pulling her toward him. It would be so easy. He was handsome. He made her eggs. He was focused on her in a way Carl, in his own body, had never been.
But beneath the warm, compliant fog, Carl was drowning. Panic, raw and male and familiar, clawed its way up. This was his little brother. His obnoxious, resentful little brother who now had his hand on a wrist that belonged to a body that used to be his, and he was looking at her like she was a thing he’d found and wanted to keep.
Kelsi yanked her arm back with a strength that surprised them both.
His fingers slipped, but the ghost of his grip burned.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, and this time her voice held a sliver of Carl’s old edge. It felt like a victory.
Aaron’s face changed. The playful smirk faded, replaced by something harder, more intrigued. He didn’t look angry. He looked like she’d just confirmed a fascinating hypothesis. He held his hands up in mock surrender, but his eyes never left hers. They were bright, excited.
“Okay. Sorry. You’re right.” The apology was smooth, insincere. “Just trying to be friendly. The door’s right there.”
She didn’t trust his calm. She backed up, turned, and walked as fast as she could without running. She grabbed the doorknob, fumbling.
“See you around, Kelsi,” he called from the kitchen, his voice light, casual. A promise.
She wrenched the door open and stumbled into the hall. She didn’t breathe until she was around the corner, leaning against the stained wallpapered wall, trembling. The heat between her legs was still there, a traitorous echo of his touch. She felt split open. One part horrified, screaming to find a way back to himself. The other part, the newer, softer part, was replaying the feel of his thumb on her wrist, the deep tenor of his voice saying I could make you feel calm.
She shoved herself off the wall and started walking, directionless. She needed the laptop. She needed to reverse this. Now. Before the part of her that was still Carl dissolved completely, washed away by the warm, compliant tide Aaron kept summoning from the other side of a screen.
Back in the kitchen, Aaron picked up the fork she’d used. He looked at it, then slowly, deliberately, licked a tiny remnant of egg from its tines. He smiled. He had all the time in the world. His brother’s fascinating, skittish, perfect little project was out there somewhere. And she’d be back. The program ensured it. He just had to refine the settings a little more.