The very second the coffee hits my tastebuds is as close to ecstasy I can get these days. I know this cup isn’t going to help the headache brewing behind my temples, but I can’t help it. I need it if I’m going to get through the rest of the day.
The first two sessions had gone alright, as they always do. Momo is always a pleasure to have, and I will never turn her away from my office doors. Chronic anxiety is her demon, and though she does have medication prescribed by a psychiatrist back on Space Station Kermit (funny, I know; it took me three years to stop laughing every time I heard it), it’s easy to forget things down here as days blur together and work piles up. I have a similar struggle to her own, as when our work piles up we get more stressed and overwhelmed, and then more work piles up, more stress, etcetera. Today was a session where she let me know how things were going, and I ended up printing off a few routines that I really think will do her good. She left my office looking a lot brighter than when she came in.
My second session was an older gentleman in his mid-forties. Jed works in maitenance, and hops between working on the shuttles that come down and the base itself. He is a large part of what keeps this place running behind the scenes, but the pressure seems to do a number on him. He has only recently started coming to me, and as I’ve worked with him I’ve found that beneath his sweet manner and disposition is a deep lake of hollowness and empty. It’s something he suffered with even back on Earth, but only after entering space and arriving here has it really made itself pronounce. I am thinking that it is the big change that has really brought out these depressive episodes in full force as his mind and body deal with the stress of it. For him, I am still trying to find the best intervention that will give him the results and change he wants. Jed always tips his cap in farewell as he leaves, bringing a smile to my face without fail.
The sessions after those two though, they can get a bit trying. There is a girl, a botanist that is in the same lab as Ritika, that is still working through a lot of the trauma inflicted on her by her parents on Earth. After her is a guy in IT who I suspect has an emerging personality disorder. The list goes on.
Suddenly, my office feels all too stuffy. The window behind my desk is bare, blinds tucked away fully, but it can’t open and right now I just need some fresh air. Tucking away my files and locking the filing cabinet they live in, I rise from behind the desk and make my way to the door, stretching as I do so. My fingers press upon the keypad and the door slides open.
… Revealing the very last person I want to see right now.
Glaring, I step out and allow the sliding door to close and lock behind me. As an extra measure, I use my pin to engage the full security lock.
“What, don’t trust me, Peppa?”
I take off in a hasty stride, unable to help the tension that has made its way into my shoulders. “I thought I told you to stop loitering around my workplace. You make my patients uncomfortable.”
“It’s my workplace too,” his voice has an annoying note to it, but in all this time having the displeasure of knowing him you haven’t managed to figure out what it is. He seems to think my refusal to acknowledge his presence is funny. “I’m just doing my rounds, sugar.”
It is so, so hard to staunch the disgusted shudder that attempts to roll down my spine.
Incensed, and with my headache now in full swing, I halt in place and spin to face him.
“Listen, Davis. No matter how small it is, I know there is a brain knocking around in there. I’ve told you that I don’t want to be called that.”
Colonel Davis is a stocky man, built like a brick shithouse with all of the personality that analogy implies. He looms above me by half a head, but acts with the gall of a six foot bodybuilder. His hair is cropped short, and with his square jaw and a strong nose between two dark eyes, he might be considered attractive, were it not for the fact that, well… he’s him.
“Oh, I do so love it when you’re feisty with me, Peppa.” He grins, and I’m stuck struggling not to visibly recoil in disgust. “But you’re right, you have said that before. My bad, must have forgotten.”
I sincerely doubt it. Fighting to keep the snarl off my face, I instead choose to turn and make my way to the closest break room. It’s just around the corner, and its location at the corner of the building means that two of its four walls are fully glass. It’s where I like to come when I’m missing the jungle but don’t want to go outside. I’m walking fast in the hopes that I’ll lose Davis, but unfortunately he has the persistence and social sensitivity of a leech. He follows me all the way inside to the snack station by the first window.
“What do you want, Davis?” I ask after he hovers for a few good moments longer than I’m comfortable with. I’m scared to grab a snack in front of him lest he decide he’s going to use them as an excuse to court me by bringing them to me.
“The usual,” he answers, grin still there. I want so badly to smack it off his face. “To wine and dine a beautiful lady.”
“You’re going to have to look elsewhere,” I deadpan. “I don’t have sex on the first date.”
It was meant to insult him, but he merely guffaws. Choosing to take the opportunity to leave, I grab a blueberry pull-apart pastry and turn to the windows; he’s blocking the other path to the door.
“Always such a crack-up, Peppa.” I ignore him, continuing on my way. I have just passed the corner where the glass walls meet when there is a sudden, sharp pain in my free wrist and I’m yanked to a stop.
My heart drops before leaping up into my throat, something akin to a flight response making the hair at the back of my neck rise, electrified. I whip my head around, catching his gaze; all of that ‘friendly’ demeanour has melted away and I catch a glimpse of the true Davis in the cold, dark pit of his eyes.
“You don’t turn your back on me when I’m talking to you,” he says, voice low but as far as it can get from soft. After a moment, he attempts a thin smile. The grip he has on my wrist hurts, but I’m not about to let him know. Does he think me someone who scares into submission so easily? Fucking moron.
“You,” I almost spit the word at him. “Do not lay your hands on me without permission.”
For the barest moment, he is stunned. It’s all I need to rip my wrist from his hold, ignoring the burn. I consider spitting a scathing farewell, but ultimately decide that he isn’t worth it. I turn on my heel and march away.
For some reason, it feels like there is more than one gaze burning into me from the empty room as I leave.
Comments (0)
See all