She says her name is Helena. Swedish. Blonde, blue-eyed and clear-skinned. She says she bends into all kinds of positions and gives fantastic blow-jobs.

Simon cries when he fucks her. He cries when her mouth parts slightly and her hips thrust like it’s almost real.

On the bedside table sits Helena’s twelve-volt battery pack. Simon plugs her in for the night and goes about dressing her. Carefully. Methodically. He selects the nightgown that best suits her eyes – cornflower blue. He lays her beside him; snug and tucked in tight. Simon falls asleep to the gentle buzzing of the android’s charger.

Simon and Helena catch the 11:55 train home Sunday night. Simon systematically pays for two tickets, validates them twice and sits down and makes himself and Helena comfortable.

To the right of him sits a young woman with streaked hair and smudged red lipstick. Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, she is pallid and drawn. Simon wonders about who she fucked tonight. He wonders about who cares who she fucked tonight and if they stood idly by and pained.

Another young woman comes and sits across from Simon and Helena. Simon puts his arm around Helena. Protectively. The girl looks at them but does not see them. She takes out a pen and a bus timetable. She begins to write. She writes and writes until her hand starts to bleed. The blood drips from her hand an turns the blue timetable purple. The purple drips onto the train’s dappled rubber floor.

Simon’s eyes shift upward from the floor to the girl’s chest. She’s bleeding there too. Blood soaks through her shirt in the shape of a human heart. Simon’s sure he can see it beating. He holds Helena closer and desperately strains his ears for the sound of a heartbeat.

Simon takes Helena on the 12:32 bus home on Sunday night. He takes her away from the Bleeding Heart and the Whore. At home, Simon takes Helena inside and lays her down on the living room floor. He cries when he fucks her.

Eventually, when Helena’s skull collapses and her elbows snap, Simon fucks what’s left of her. He’ll take a photo and throw her bent remains into the bin.

In the neon-lit pornography store, a fat man rests behind the counter. Simon enters the store and greets the man. He has found a new one. She says her name is Helena. Swedish. Blonde, blue-eyed and clear-skinned. She says she bends into all kinds of positions and gives fantastic blow-jobs.

When he gets home, Simon removes the seven thousand dollar price tag and pushes aside her twelve-volt battery pack.

He cries when he fucks her.