Moral Dilemma

By the time Jennifer walked out of the washroom, an almost blissful look on her face, I had already spiralled into the second-guessing phase of the night. Sure, the app held power I'd only dreamed of, and sure Jennifer was the woman I'd always wanted... well... not exactly Jennifer. Just a woman who looked like her but didn't act like a self-righteous prick every time I left a sock on the floor.

But what I was doing was wrong, wasn't it? Rewiring someone's mind without their consent, twisting their beliefs and relationships like a cheap toy, wasn't a joke. There was no moral grey area here. Keep going, and I'd burn through the last of my ethics like a match in dry grass.

Still... she was just so hot! The way her hoodie stretched over her shoulders when she reached for the broom, the way her glasses slid down her nose when she focused; those little details had been torturing me for months.

I honestly couldn't decide.

"So are you just going to sit there all day and watch me do all the work around here?" Jennifer's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp as a knife. She planted her hands on her hips, her green eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "Honestly, Dustin, if you're going to keep staying here with us, you have to start contributing."

"I contribute," I retorted, sitting up straighter on the couch. My phone buzzed in my pocket, a silent reminder of the app running in the background.

"Seriously?" She laughed, but there was no warmth in it. "Not financially, that's for sure. And while I enjoyed cleaning the washroom, your little 'have fun' tip was weirdly helpful, the sink is stacked with your takeout containers, and your laundry hamper's been spilling clean clothes onto the hallway floor for three days. I can't do everything around here."

I hated when she talked down to me like this. Marcus had told me I was golden, that I could crash as long as it took to find a new job. Yeah, I wasn't the tidiest roommate, but I took out the trash when it reeked and I fixed the leaky faucet in the kitchen last week. I did my bit, just not when she snapped her fingers at me like a dog trainer.

"Hey Jennifer," I said, my voice tight with anger, "Stop being so bossy with me. I’ll get to it later."

"Bossy?" She asked, but not in the rageful tone I expected. Her brow furrowed, like she was trying to untangle a foreign word. It was a confused, genuinely curious tone, like she wasn't sure if she'd heard me right.

"Bossy..." she repeated quietly, her voice dropping to a murmur.

Then she looked at me. Really looked at me. I could tell she was still angry. Her cheeks flushed pink, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, but her lips were pressed into a thin line, like she was fighting to hold back a different reaction. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, after a deep sigh that shook her shoulders, she held her hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender.

"Okay," she said, her voice softer now, "you win. I'll back off and let you get to it at your pace. Sorry for jumping all over you like that."

"Thanks," I said, my heart skipping a beat when I realized I'd used the trigger phrase again. "It's okay, really. Sorry I can be a bit messy sometimes."

"No," she said, choosing her words carefully like she was reading from a script she didn't quite understand. "It's not my place to boss you around, Dustin. I would appreciate help around here, but I shouldn't be so pushy. Not with you. I should be the one saying sorry."

"Okay," I said, fumbling for something else to say. I held a hand out to her, a stupid peace offering. She looked at it for a few seconds, rolled her eyes, then took it. Her hand was warm and soft, and I lingered a little longer than I should have before letting go. "No hard feelings."

"No hard feelings," she repeated, like she was memorizing the words. "Now I'm going to chill out in my room. I'll see you at dinner."

"Dinner sounds great," I responded, my mind already racing. "See you then."

And then she left, her hoodie swishing as she walked down the hallway. I collapsed back onto the couch, my hands shaking. The app had worked again. This time, on a command that directly contradicted her personality. She'd gone from yelling at me to apologizing in sixty seconds flat.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the app's green blinking light. The guilt was still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it was getting harder to hear over the rush of excitement. Jennifer was starting to bend to my will. And if I kept going, soon she'd break completely.

I glanced down the hallway, toward her bedroom door. Maybe I could "accidentally" knock on it later, ask to borrow a charger. Maybe I could use the trigger again, see if I could get her to take off her hoodie. Just to see.

Yeah. Maybe I'd do just that.