The mail sat on the screen. She stared at it.

 

We know her. We were at her birth. We saw her name passed on. We have even heard about the small place she sat now. And as our point of view focuses on her flushed face we know realise that we don’t, actually, know her name.

 

Which, all things considered, is the point.

 

However, we can see that she is furious. 


No one should be able to find her. No one. Least of all him.

 

Coffee? What the fuck did he mean by that?

 

Bastard.

 

She hit the reply button and hammered out a response.

 

“How the fuck did you get this address. No, forget that. I don’t want to know. I don’t want you to reply to me again. Not after what you did.

 

Our time for coffee is long gone. You made that very clear the day you grafted that metal arm to you and betrayed everything we stood for. You and your teams – your cells.”

 

She paused. People had been hurt her way, too. And she knew his teams had always been careful.

 

Of course she knew, she checked. It was her job.

 

“Just…fuck off!” She yelled at her laptop, sure that it had been offended by the outburst.

 

One of her cats rubbed round her legs and she picked it up, crying tears of vehement frustration into its fur. Her hand went to her keyboard and she hit a key and stormed from the room.


Drafts: 1


***

 

Drafts: 5

 

Coffee? What did it mean? And why nothing else?

 

She hit the refresh button. And again.

 

And…again.

 

But as it was now three days since it arrived and she figured nothing else would be following it.

 

Christ, this was annoying.

 

Coffee? What could he have possibly meant by that. She thought of all the ways they had used it.

 

“Would you like to come up for a coffee?”

 

The eye contact. The smile. The lips. The kettle boiling dry in the background. She remembered the passion, the clothes being torn aside. She remembered –

 

Her hands flew to the keys again.

 

“So that’s your plan is it? You think you could sweet talk me into bed? Just like that? How easy do you think I am?

 

And how the HELL  did  you get this address. I told you never to contact me again – you and your cells, your metal body. How was that going to help? What on earth …


***

 

Drafts:10

 

“Bastard message.”

 

She needed new eyes on this.

 

“Lucy.” Silence reigned.


“Lucy.” Still nothing. 

 

She sighed. “Lucy.” Sharper this time, a little harder.

 

“Yes, madam.” It was a male voice that answered, which reminded her that she needed to spend more time on her home system.

 

“Lucy. Coffee.”

 

“Ma’am.” She heard a noise from the kitchen. “Latte, ma’am?”

 

“Nono. I don’t want one.” Useless technology. “Definitions. What does it mean?”

 

“Coffee: A drink made from the roasted and ground beanlike seeds of a tropical shrub, served hot or iced. Coffee: a party or reception at which coffee is served. Coffee: A widely consumed stimulant beverage prepared from roasted seeds

 

The voice droned on.


“Ugh.” She walked away to get her Latte.

 

***


Drafts: 18

 

She looked at her mug and clicked on the Drafts folder. She command-A’d all her previous attempts and deleted them.

 

“Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

 

She hit the reply button and typed her response.

 

She waited, re-read it just to be sure, then hit send.

 

Smiling, she walked to her garden.

 

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