Over the four years of being the tiny guy inside the body of a robot, I’ve never really considered much about the consequences. What consequences, you may ask yourself? There are quite a few. For starters, I’m the interior and only once I know I can trust someone, they can see me for who I really am, size and all. And yes, that has been an extremely shit way of approaching things in the past. But there are precautions I have to make, for my own safety. I’ve had to abandon my own family and take maturity levels to the extreme in order to become who I am today.

In this final year of my curse, I decided that it was time to let my life dictate what is to happen. I decided that I was tired of hiding, tired of running away instead of facing my problems. I was tired of crushing my girlfriends’ lives and then abandoning them completely. And more importantly, I was tired of the screaming. The constant reminder that I was three inches tall and not six foot like my exterior. I decided that it wasn’t going to get any better if I lived my life in secrets and remorse.

And now Emily knows.

She kneels before me, her eyes running up and down my smaller frame, taking me in. And for once, I let her. Maybe it’s best she knows. Maybe it’s best that I let it all out. I think Emily deserves it more than anyone, with her illness and more importantly, sister.

“I d-d-don’t understand.” She whispers now, her fast paced breathing hitting me like a gust of warm summer’s wind. I try not to show my uncertainty as she stares. “Do I have the disorder? I c-c-can’t…”

I sigh, kicking the scratchy tufts of carpet with my shoes. Well, at least she’s not screaming… No one’s ever… I straighten up a little in confusion. Why isn’t Emily screaming, like the countless other girls I’ve faced? “You don’t have the disorder.” I say softly. “I’m real.” I pause before adding in a quieter tone. “It’s real.”

A sharp intake of her breath whistles through my soft brown hair. It’s like the gentle suction of a vacuum cleaner. “Oh god… the tiny guy is real.” She repeats it, as if talking to herself. “The tiny guy’s real. How could I have guessed? I mean, it’s not like Andrew Lawson’s a robot or something. He’s too… real looking…”

“But it is real.” She counters, gesturing to me with her left hand. I stumble backwards, thinking she’s going to make a grab for me but instead, Emily answers herself again. “He’s real, the robot’s like, headless on the bed for god’s sake and his neck slides off like Megan said it did… who woulda thought?” She tugs up the bottom of her bed shirt to inspect the NJ tube protruding from her stomach. I wince as she prods it with her fingers. The slightly discoloured skin around it peels at the edges. “They slipped me something in the bloody feed.” She snaps, turning to me critically. “You know how annoying it is to have these drained out up at the hospital? I’m gonna have to either wear my glasses or…”

Suddenly Emily is on her feet, her bones creaking at the sudden movement. I back away in fright, her body about as tall as a skyscraper to me. My voice catches in my throat. Emily doesn’t make a move for me, though. She rushes across the room to her bedside and flicks on a lamp. Suddenly, the giant room is enveloped in a dimmed light. I can see my own shadow reflected across the carpet, its size contrasting scarily to Emily’s.

“Glasses, glasses, glasses… aha!” She plucks them off her desk with a clutter, her IV pole jingling about behind her. I watch a little nervously as she slides the small wire frames up to the bridge of her nose and waves a hand in front of her face to test her sight. Is this girl all there?

I don’t have time to consider the question before she’s kneeling in front of me again, this time with the light casting shadows about the room and clad with her glasses. I have a feeling she’s just confirmed that I am in fact, legitimate.

“Holy shit!”

I bite my lip and hold out both hands in protest. “It isn’t what you think, I swear.”

“Then what is it?” Emily asks, a little too loudly for my ears. Man. Why do girls always have to have miniature panic attacks when they see me? I reckon that tiny guys are cool! If they aren’t kept as pets, that is… which reminds me…

“Before I tell you, will you promise not to get all hyped up and put me in a jar or something…?” I ask, glancing wearily over at my previous glass prison, now lying forgotten under the bed. “I’m not some kind of pet…”

Emily scrutinises me for a few seconds. “Why would I put the guy in a jar? Holy crap, do you know how famous you are???!”

I shake my head.

But my suspicions are confirmed.

Emily was dropped on her head as a child.

“Can I show you how famous you are, Tiny Guy?” She asks, resting her chin on her hands and smiling. I chew on the inside of my mouth.

“Um, it’s Andrew and…” I shrug. “Alright.” This is not going well…

Emily grins wider and grips the bottom of her IV to help her back into standing, but pauses at the sight of me. “How do I ask something like this…?” She mutters. “Okay. Andrew. Can I pick you up… please?”

How did this get from a nice ‘hello’ to ‘I wanna hold you now’?

Screw it. She said please.

I try a smile of my own. “I guess, just be careful, okay? I’ve never well, done this before.”

“But you’re the guy!” Emily giggles.

“I’m Andrew. And you’re probably the first girl I’ve talked to without my exterior-“ I break off awkwardly. That was not the best thing to say. I can’t just admit to this chick that over the years, I’ve adopted the ‘interior’ ‘exterior’ nicknaming system. It just sounds like I’ve got a thing for interior designing, or something absolutely irrelevant.

Emily nods slowly and extends her hand. But without grabbing at me, like I’d expected, she places her hand flat on the carpet in front of me, with her palm up. I swallow back my nausea. Her hand is the size of a queen bed. Tentatively, I step up onto her straightened fingers and settle into the centre of her palm. My body freezes up with goose bumps. I shiver. Sitting like this, without Andrew Jr…

I’m scared.

“You’re tiny!” Emily laughs, beginning to stand up. She holds her hand steady as I sit in the centre of her palm with my legs crossed. As she rises from the ground, my stomach drops and I feel strangely lightheaded. It’s lucky I’m not scared of heights, because if I was, the drop from Emily’s hand to the ground would probably send me into shock.

“I told you. It’s a curse.” I say once the hand has stopped moving and Emily’s feet are planted firmly on the ground. “The only way I can return to normal is for someone to love me… as the tiny guy. As Andrew Lawson and not…” Andrew Jr.

“This is so weird…” Emily mutters, inspecting me from her hand. “You know that, right?” I bring my legs up to my chest, feeling exposed again.

“Of course.”

She begins a slow walk towards a desk and computer by the door to our unit. I can tell her movements are subdued due to my being with her, but Emily’s slow with her IV pole anyways. It isn’t that much of a difference.

She sits down at the desk, parks her IV beside her and places her hand gently atop the polished wood. I clamber off instantly as Emily turns on the computer monitor. She wiggles the mouse around to speed up the process. I sit down with my back propped up against the screen of the computer.

“Is that why you were with my sister?” She says softly, her eyes still focussed on the computer. “To get her to love you?”

“Yeah.” I reply. “Hasn’t worked though, has it?”

Emily bites her lip, probably recalling the cases of my so called disorder spreading across Australia. “I guess not.” She says.

“I wanted to ask you something.” I tell her, as she begins typing up ‘Andrew Lawson Disorder’ into the search browser of google.

“What’s that?”

I let out a deep breath. “Why aren’t you scared of me?” I ask. “Why aren’t you screaming?”

Emily shrugs. “You’re not exactly something I should be scared of… no offence. You’re the tiny guy! What could you do to me?” Her cheery expression fades. “Besides screw me up even more than I already am.”

Her slender fingers are like chickens feet across the keyboard, scaly and dry. Her nails are brittle. You can tell at a glance that Emily Sharpe is sick. But there’s something about her that I can relate to. If you get to know her a little, see beneath her exterior, then she’s true to herself and genuine. She isn’t afraid of me, because she knows what it’s like to be different. I don’t know what to think of it anymore.

Emily’s eyes trail from the keyboard to the screen of the computer. She purses her enormous lips. “Look at this, Andrew.” She says.

I stand up and take a few steps backwards so I can see the cinema sized screen better… and convey a yelp of shock.

My face flashes across the screen, under the heading:

‘Andrew Lawson.’

“Oh shit.” I whisper.