Page 15 of Real

Dorian’s omega father declined to comment.

My stomach roils. The article is twenty years old. Either it took the warlock a long time to create Buddy, or he’s been hiding in Dorian Gray’s closet for twenty years.

Either way, Buddy isn’t just an echo of someone Gray was mourning. He’s a new person.

I knew it.

The door to the dressing room swings open. Buddy stands there, the button-up shirt hugging his slim frame. Other than the seam along his neck, he almost looks human. His skin seems more textured than before, and his lips are wet.

In this moment, I can see why a man like Dorian Gray would give anything for Buddy. He’s beautiful.

He lowers his chin. “Is it okay?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. You’re just… a very attractive man.”

Buddy’s lips quirk up. “Do you really think so?”

I nod. Buddy should know that about himself, shouldn’t he? Even if it isn’t appropriate for me to say it.

Buddy spins around to look at himself in the mirror. For a moment, I swear the seam at the top of his neck fades. But I must be seeing things because it pops back into focus the second a female voice says, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

It’s the cashier.

“Do you sell socks and underwear?” I ask.

“Of course. Let me go grab you a few styles to choose from. Will these be for you or your… robot?”

“My friend,” I correct. “And yes, the socks and underwear are for him.”

“Ah, very well. I’ll be back shortly.”

Buddy watches her as she walks away. What would it feel like to have a body that made everyone assume you were a machine or doll? I look down at the round stomach I’ve always hated so much. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad.

“What is this?” Buddy asks, holding up his sleeve where the tag is dangling. The shirt is two hundred dollars.

I rip the tag off anyway. After living with Dorian Gray for two decades, Buddy deserves to be spoiled a little bit.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go find you some shoes and pants that fit.”

7

Buddy

H keeps pulling clothing from the racks for me to try on. One of the pairs of jeans makes him stare at my ass. I can’t believe an alpha like H would look at me that way. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I can’t stop thinking about it as I fumble with all the buttons and zippers. I’ve unbuttoned Dorian’s shirts before when I was washing and ironing them, but it’s harder when the clothing is on my own body.

After a whirlwind of putting things on and taking them off, I end up back in the beautiful shirt with the crane on it and the pair of jeans that made H stare. I’m also wearing a pair of underwear like Candlewick’s. It’s pink and made of lace. The lady initially brought me underwear like Dorian’s, so maybe I’m not supposed to wear this kind. H told her I could have lacey underwear if I wanted to.

I step out into the parking lot with my new clothes on. There are other people milling about the strip mall, and they don’t stare at me. They don’t even notice that I’m made of plastic. For a moment, I’m just a guy walking through a parking lot.

It reminds me of the Christmas when Dorian was in Belize and Candlewick came over to see me. He made me hot cocoa and played Christmas songs through the sound system in the kitchen. When I asked him why he came, he laughed as if the question were ridiculous and said, “Because you’re my friend, Bud. I want to spend Christmas with you.”

I almost felt human that day.

H opens the back door and sets the bag filled with my new clothing on the seat. “You said you can drink liquid, right? Can you eat ice cream?”

“I can eat the plain stuff without bits of solid food in it.”

Technically, I can eat whatever I want, but anything solid gives me an awful stomachache that lasts for weeks. I don’t smell very good during that time either. It’s like the food has rotted inside me but can’t come out until it’s nothing but mush.

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