rapping me in the toilet. What a brilliant idea.

Rock could have done anything – sent me hurtling into a star, fed me to a black hole, left me in deep space to explode. I wish that his torch had cracked my skull open, and my brains had leaked out in zero gravity and that they formed a brainy blob that swallowed him up. We’d both be dead and I wouldn’t be waiting.

It was a stupid idea to have applied in the first place. Back home I would be much more than a walking collection of haploid cells - more than just a sex machine. Oh, I had other duties on this ship besides the woman I was currently assigned to, like helping in the kitchens, but they weren’t worth considering. I’m a space slut. I’ve read the contract over and over again and there’s no going home.

“Androgy.”

That stupid name - if only it were pronounced silently! I’ve changed it back to Ryan, since I’ve been sat here. Maybe not officially but I’ve made a resolution never to respond to anything but ‘Ryan’.

“Androgy!”

That ridiculous word! When I applied for Propagation on this ship the lady suggested that ‘Ryan’ wasn’t futuristic enough. Not enough z’s or g’s or k’s. So I thought for a little while, flipped through my Genesis textbook, and came up with ‘Androgy’, which they liked.

“Androgy!!”

I can’t bear to hear it or even think it. It's almost the hormone. Androgen. Do you know what it really is? It’s an anagram of ‘Ryan = God’. It is my assumed name, for this assumed position. Hell. Positions is what got me trapped in this toilet.

“Androgy, I’ve come to set you free!”

I jumped off the seat, smashing my nose into the wall. "Zoë?”

“Oh thank God, you’re still alive!” Her voice, however muffled, was still as beautiful as ever.

“Zoë!” I pressed my ear against the wall and shouted, “of course I’m still alive! Hey Zoë?”

“What?”

“Call me Ryan.”

“What?”

“Ryan.”

“Ryan?”

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a little while. I couldn’t hear anything. The toilet walls were designed to keep noises in. I thought that she had gone away until she spoke again, making my heart skip.

“I don’t know how to get you out.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s okay.”

“A – Ryan,” she started, faltering, “can you still breathe?”

“Of course I can still breathe,” I answered. “Why?”

“They’ve turned off the oxygen.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Rock did it. He’s very mad at you.”

I pulled away from the wall and sat back down on the seat. Rock was very mad at me. Rock had turned off my oxygen. How long had I been here already, waiting to be placed in isolation for a few weeks when in reality I was gradually suffocating to death? Is oxygen lighter than air or should I crouch down low? Why couldn’t Zoe get me out? With every breath, I could feel the air becoming thinner but thickening in my lungs. I kicked the door as hard as I could. “Zoë,” I shouted, “get me out!”

“Don’t panic!” she screamed. “You’ll die faster!”

“I’m not panicking!” I banged my fists against the wall. "My nose hurts! Oh I can feel my fingers turning blue!" I slumped down to the floor and propped myself up against the door. My legs were squashed against the bottom of the seat and I was feeling quite dizzy. “How much longer do you think I’ve got?”

“Don’t talk,” she said quickly. “It wastes oxygen. I’m going now, I’m going to get Ozan. Oh, Androgy, Ryan.” She paused. “I’m sorry about what happened with Rock. It was an accident.”

I didn’t say anything, and she must have left because she didn’t say anything more either.

I’m sorry about what happened with Rock. It was an accident.