Steel Don't Bleed

Unanswered Questions

The room had settled into a quiet that felt earned—like they’d said the hardest things already and were standing in the aftermath, unsure what came next.

Iris sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded together, staring at nothing. After telling Elias about the dreams, he remained in the chair, but his posture had shifted—less guarded now, more present.

Then he let out a small chuckle. “So… you think you’re a robot because he called you 075 and you heard it in a dream?”

Iris blinked, startled, then shook her head. “It’s not just that,” she said softly. “It’s everything. The pull to the robot pieces… the blood…”

Elias held up a hand, stopping her gently. “Blood? Iris… robots don’t bleed. How can you be a robot? I’ve seen you bleed. You have scars. You can feel.”

She looked down at her hands, voice barely audible. “It would explain why… the feelings feel so new.”

Elias didn’t answer right away. He stood from the chair slowly, like he didn’t want to spook her, the legs of it giving a soft scrape against the floor. Iris felt the movement more than she saw it—a shift in the air, a closeness she hadn’t been prepared for.

He lowered himself in front of her, kneeling so they were eye level, his hands resting lightly on his thighs. Not looming. Not pulling away. Just there.

“Iris,” he said quietly. Without another word, he closed the distance between them and kissed her.

When he pulled back, close enough for her to feel his breath, his voice was low, probing. “How do you feel?”

“I… I don’t know. Like…” she trailed off, just gazing at him.

He kissed her again, slower this time, letting her follow his lead, letting the moment stretch. Pulling back slightly, his lips brushing hers one last time, he murmured, a hint of disbelief in his voice, “I don’t think robots can do that.”

“I just feel… different,” Iris whispered, her voice trembling just enough to show how unsure she was. “Like… I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Elias’s eyes softened, unwavering. He brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, letting his fingers linger at her cheek. “You are you,” he said, low, steady. “All of this—every fear, every memory you can’t trust, every feeling that’s new—it’s still you. That’s not wrong. That’s not broken. It’s… human.”

She swallowed, staring down at the floor, then back at him. “But what if… what if I’m not supposed to be this way? What if all of this isn’t… real?”

He gave a slow shake of his head, almost a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It is real. That’s the thing about being alive, Iris. It’s messy, confusing, and sometimes terrifying—but it’s yours.”

Her hands twitched in her lap, gripping the edge of the bed. “It doesn’t feel like mine,” she admitted softly.

Elias’s gaze held hers, steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to solve everything right now,” he said softly. “You don’t have to figure out who you are all at once. Just… breathe. Let yourself feel it—whatever ‘it’ is. You’re not alone in this.”

Iris nodded faintly, closing her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered.

Elias stayed a moment longer, making sure she was settled. Then, slowly, he rose, careful not to disturb her, and moved to the door. He paused, looking back once, a soft expression on his face.

“Good night, Iris,” he said quietly.

“Good night,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

The click of the door closing echoed softly in the small room. For a heartbeat, she breathed in the quiet, letting the absence of his presence settle around her. Then, almost imperceptibly, she opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling, mind spinning. She wasn’t asleep—not yet—but for now, she allowed herself to sit with her thoughts, alone with the questions that refused to be quiet.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets, tracing the cold edge of the mattress as if it could anchor her to something real. She could still feel him—just the memory of him kneeling there, steady, present. It made her chest tighten and loosen all at once, a confusing mix of comfort and longing.

“I don’t even know what’s real anymore,” she whispered to herself. The words sounded fragile in the quiet room, almost like a confession she hadn’t wanted to speak out loud. Her mind went over the dreams again, the pull toward the robot pieces, the sight of blood that had left her frozen. How could she reconcile the truth of her own body with the whispers of memory that refused to fit together?

Her eyes moved to the corner of the room, to the darkened window.Everything felt like it was both too sharp and too muted at once, like the world had turned down the volume just enough for her to hear her own pulse.

The room seemed to hum softly around her. She could almost hear the echo of Elias’s words, his hands brushing her hair, his voice saying she was human, whole in her own messy, fragile way. But that sense of certainty felt distant, like it belonged to someone else’s life. How could she believe it when everything inside her felt like it was being rewritten?

Her fingers curled into the sheets again, nails biting into the fabric, and she let herself imagine what it would be like to sleep, to shut her mind off for just a little while. But she didn’t. Not yet. Not with the questions still alive, still reaching, still impossible to ignore.

A low exhale left her, a breath that carried both exhaustion and the tiniest spark of hope. She wasn’t alone. That much she knew. And maybe that was enough for now—to sit here, awake, feeling everything, and let the quiet settle around her like a promise that tomorrow, she could take one more step toward understanding who she was.

And maybe, just maybe, that step wouldn’t feel quite so heavy.