Day 593. My Friday has finally gotten used to me. She doesn't try to attack me, but she's less afraid of me too. She spends the whole day doing small household chores, such as scrubbing blood off the floor and walls of the capsule, taping up loose sheets of insulation, collecting trash, and organizing things. Perhaps it's in women's blood. She tries to help me when I pull another body out of the cryocapsule. She joins me for meals and watching movies, and hardly resists when I decide to fuck her in the evening. True, she still crawls away to sleep on her rags.
Strangely, in all this time, she has never once tried to talk to me. Maybe it's the result of psychological trauma? Or an unsuccessful cryogenic awakening? Or did I hit her too hard on the head back then? She may even be deaf and mute. Why not? After the morons on Earth shoved a couple of faggots into the ship, nothing surprises me anymore. An invalid person in space — how tolerant. However, she has every reason to think the same about me, because I'm not very talkative either. Maybe I've already forgotten how to talk.