1
I can't see the stars anymore. Once my only companion through fitful nights, it's absence was the first thing that really made me realize I made it. During the Occupation, as the history nerds are calling it, you either lived a slave or died a rebel. I didn't believe it when they announced the Elders were dead - I had waited in my house for days, preparing for the moment the speaker would appear on the broadcast with a "Gotcha!" and announce all the traitors they had lined up.
I was perfectly content to remain there, cooped up in my cozy little pen, until some diehard loyalists took up residence in my neck of the woods. Got a wall blown out, trooper blood all over the walls, and a couple very savage men accusing me of some very serious crimes against humanity. Turns out puns can sound a lot like code when your recipient is very angry, very lethal, and very stupid. Hence living under the open skies, hence City 31. I figured the type of guys to shoot first and ask questions later wouldn't enter fifty miles of the perimeter.
Turns out, a lot of the recently liberated aliens had baggage and good money for a guy to confide in. Pops always figured your psych degree wouldn't pay, but he was dead and you were living in a one bed one bath. Many of the aliens that came in had similar issues, and you felt for them. Without exception, each alien you encountered was born a slave and bred to kill. Some were of a mind that they had no choice, and unburdened themselves by accepting their lack of agency. Those types were often easier to help, taking the first steps towards moving on. Others claimed they had simply been too weak willed, that perhaps if they had tried harder, if they had fought harder, had been better, there would be less blood on their hands. Those were generally harder, as they often became witnesses to themselves.
There was one particularly interesting case in which a hybrid claimed vivid memories of a past life he was sure he hadn't lived. I often thought of that case, as I didn't know enough to tell him if his memories were real. He ended up taking his own life, and I considered quitting. The only thing that kept me in my office was the knowledge that Mr. West would have blamed himself, and quitting was no way to honor his memory.
It was a clear night the day I caught wind of his death, and yet I could see no stars. I was aware of the depression I had carved into my couch, and that none of my behaviors were conducive to a healthy grieving process, but it was one thing to know and another to practice.
Turns out, two therapists are better than one. It felt a little odd explaining myself to someone who could by all accounts read my mind, but he told me that it was better for the patient to open up on their own. It was a little uncomfortable to be on the other side of the conversation, but it helped immensely. I came out of the session a fresh man, ready for a problem-free life.
Unfortunately, I wasn't yet aware that fate is a petty bitch.
2
I've been stalked for the better part of a month. Not sure who, definitely not sure why, but it's been happening. Flutters of cloth as I turn around, the scuffling of flesh to floor accompanying me as I stop in a secluded alley, and more subtle nods that someone is watching my every move. Pops used to go on about something called targeted individuals, but I'm going crazy; not every red car I see is part of a superspy network. Something is on my trail, and is amateurish to boot. I'd been willing to live and let live if it wasn't interfering with my commute - maybe it's getting to me more than I think it had been, but I'm starting to take more winding paths to wherever I plan to go. Everyone who enters the bus is a suspect, which is just good sense in it's own right, but even my patients are beginning to become suspect. Arnold, a victim of stalking himself, noted that he was moving to a new flat offhand. After updating his address and noticing that the building also had a floral name, I was momentarily struck with such panic I wasn't able to breathe. I spoke with him a mote about it and he ended up being the one to assure me that no, he was not my secret stalker and no, this was not some deep cover op. I apologized profusely apropos, but he appreciated the honesty and assured me that I would still be seeing him.
Despite this, I was well aware that the issue needed to stop. Mr. Nathan was incredibly supportive, but this incident would not be recurring. I survived the wilds, the Occupation, and my old college roommate. To let it all fall to specters in the wind is not an option I'm willing to take.
It was this resolve that allowed me to keep my bowels firmly in their place when I stared down the empty alley, halted halfway down the bend. The smell of garbage and waste mixed with evidence of rainfall to create a toxic must that filled my greedy lungs, but silenced my nausea. The wet squelch of what was hopefully drainwater made the walls feel smaller than they really are. The walls which were, apparently, enforced with that trademark ADVENT faux steel. Light spilled between the entrance and exit of what may end up an early grave, tauntingly jut out of the range where my eyes would adjust to the darkness, just far enough that my screams would be muffled by the various heaters and AC units lining the walls, just too far to grasp rooted to the spot. It was a palpable irony that I would die among the units that made life in the city so comfortable. No sooner had I registered that I accepted my end did a wet churning sound behind me - how long had I been rooted here, so absorbed in my thoughts that the reaper himself caught my trail?
The churning of wet filth reached a drowning staccato, and a memory surfaced. When the order came down from on high that pets would no longer be tolerated, many well-to-do homeowners tried to let their charges loose, hoping that they would survive in their stead. My neighbors mutt, whom I had a fondness for, couldn't understand why his master would turn him loose, and futilely approached the peacekeeper sent to dole the Elder's justice. If even he could look at the barrel that ended him, surely I could as well.
I turned to meet my stalker in the eyes. Then I looked up, and then a little more. Were it not such a stressful situation, I would have laughed at just how far I had to crane my neck to meet the beady reds staring into mine.
"H-hey, uh, hi." If I hadn't already lost my fine motor control, I would have bemoaned my subsequent loss of dignity. As it stands, I was amazed to have made any sound at all. My specter seemed to be a viper, early generation if the size and imposing aura was anything to go by. Momentarily, I was relieved that it wasn't a human that had haunted me - that was a can of worms I had no desire to open, so instead I waited. Then waited a bit more. A minute passed, or perhaps an hour. Fear gave to despair, despair gave to resignation, and resignation gave to annoyance. I had bothered to wax poetic in my mind for the better half of a day for this?
"You gonna, ah, kill me?" I wimply asked, yet she made no movement. My mind was going into overdrive analyzing the situation - here was a bioengineered hunter who had gone through the effort of tailing my every waking moment for so long, yet at the precipice of her victory she froze? There was conflict in her eyes, and I noticed the subtle twitches more characteristic of stage fright than barely-held rampage.
Oh.
"Come with me." I commanded, and walked past the towering body of scale and muscle. It was a little awkward, sure, but there were weirder things than a towering anthropomorphic snake following my steps like a duckling - not many, of course, but there were. Certainly beat one pretending not to be following me. I had thought about bringing her back to the office, but considering the circumstances, my flat would be a better choice.
After the most awkward elevator ride possible, we arrived at my flat. Didn't think the first time I brought a girl home would be like this, but here we are. I had the good mind to be sheepish about my living space - the couch was small and pressed towards an outdated television, the kitchenette was cramped, and the unpainted walls lead to what you could pretend were a luxurious bedroom and bathroom.
"How long have you been dealing with your anxiety?" I asked as we sat down at the one table I had to my name - rather, as I sat, and she did her best to make a facsimile of a sitting position. "Would you like a cushion, Miss…" I trailed.
"Veronica," She managed to hiss out. She sounded a bit like steam bursting from a pipe, and if it weren't for the severity of the situation I would have found it funny that those old movies got it right. That name was familiar, though. Where had I heard it before? I paused for her to continue all the same. "And if it's no trouble." She finished.
"It's a fitting name," I said, ripping the cushions from the couch with vigor. Her first words! "Do you mind telling me why you've been following me for so long? I have my theories, but I'd rather clear the air." I said earnestly - it's never easy dealing with anxiety disorders, but understanding is infallible.
"I'm sorry for that," She whispered. Before I could get a word in, she continued, "Perche spoke so highly of you. I wanted to approach you, but every time I got close, I just… couldn't." I felt stupid for not realizing it sooner - Perche was a viper I'd had the pleasure to help deal with her feelings of guilt from her time in the psionic network. She had mentioned her sisters often, but Veronica was the one she spoke of the most.
"Ah, her! So you're that Veronica - I was wondering when I'd be receiving a visit from you." I made a mental note to thank Perche for helping me acclimate to the viper population. It was one thing to get used to the more humanoid aliens, but a giant snake was quite another. "I'll admit, I was expecting more of a knock on my office door," She bowed her head and I instantly course-corrected "not that this is, ah, bad. Just peculiar - I hope the receptionist didn't scare you off."
"Actually," she said, and I had to strain to hear anything at all "I never got inside the building. Every time I got close, it was like a gun was pointed at my chest." Setting aside the gruesome imagery, I felt for the poor thing. Vipers often had an effect on people, being one of the most common non-humanoids the Elders deployed. Two decades of instilled fear was difficult to break for some, and discrimination was a common grievance from Perche.
"I'd like to think I'm not all that scary," I said with what I hoped was a convincing laugh, "do you feel this way often around others?" She nodded, and despite her earlier demeanor I could hear the air being cut by her head. "Can you give me any specifics?" I asked.
"I work for a law firm, translating documents. I get a lot of space, which is good, but…" she trailed off at that point - this is the hardest part of the job for me. Do I speak up, risking interrupting a patient's train of thought, or continue to remain silent and risk an awkward silence?
Just as I was about to risk it all, she continued. "It's a very social place - t-too social." After a beat, I spoke up.
"Too social?"
"Not that there's anything wrong with that." She hastened to add, poor girl. "When everybody is around the uh, water cooler? It's just outside of my workspace, and I always get a sense that I'm being watched, you know? Every time I look up I realize nobody is, but I'm on alert. Any time they say something that I think might be related to me and I freeze up." She started to speak a lot faster towards the end, and I worried for the cushion of my couch if she fidgeted any longer. She looked me in the eyes, expecting an answer to her woes.
"Well, that's certainly an issue… do you, by chance, think that they would do this intentionally?" I hoped she wouldn't take what I said out of context, because I was building to something I needed her to realize, rather than explicitly being told.
She shook her head, looking confused.
"Are they cordial with you? Not acting mean to the extraspecies in the office or anything?" She looked inquisitive for a moment, then shook her head - then abruptly stopped and nodded. She looked frustrated at her conflicting answers, then spoke again.
"They were a little anxious when I first arrived, but now they're very nice. Too nice, you know? I always feel so defeated when one of them asks me to join their group when they go out because I'm just too terrified to do it. What if I get weird? What if I misunderstand something? WhatiftheystarthatingeveryviperbecauseofsomethingIdidandoh-" I interrupted her fretting by placing a hand on her shoulder. I must have looked a fool stretching out across the table like that, but I wasn't here to look cool.
"I'm here for you - calm down." I said with as easy of a tone that my extended torso could muster. After she had calmed and I had situated myself on my own damn chair, I continued. "So the people you work with are nice to you, accepting of your biology, and even invite you out to group events? Why are you so worried about them talking behind your back and staring?" I asked - it was important to make a patient suffering from anxiety that their fears were irrational. The rest could come later, and it was certainly no all-encompassing solution, but every step that came after was predicated on this one. She looked down in thought, and took some time to think of some memory that wasn't found.
"I guess I have been a bit silly." She admitted sheepishly.
"You're suffering from what I imagine is an anxiety disorder - you shouldn't blame yourself for thinking this way." I paused to process what I should tell her next - I had instilled the correct thoughts, now I needed to provide advice on helpful behaviors. "Next time you're in your workspace and hear some chattering, I want you to do your best to imagine the people there. They aren't talking about you, looking at you, or even thinking about you. Imagine that you're in their shoes, and the only thoughts on their mind are about the person in front of them. Can you do that for me?"
"Yeah," She smiled for the first time since I had met her, "I can do that."
3
I yawned deeply on the subway. I had given Veronica my contact information as she left, and suggested that she should come to my office whenever she felt comfortable enough to talk again. It was a marvel that they had gotten this train up and running again after all that business with the Occupation. Could hardly tell it was new world technology with how rundown the shuttle looked, but maybe that was just the inevitable fate of public transportation. I was about to nod off standing up when I was bumped into by a haggard businessman.
"Fucgkin w-whatchit, man." He slurred out, and the stench of alcohol startled me.
"S-sorry." I stammered. I wasn't even sure it was my fault, but the guy seemed to be having a bad day. He didn't need me making it any worse, and I didn't feel like it was an important enough to hill to die on.
"What's your problem, asshole?" A deep voice rang beside me. I turned to see the commotion, because clearly I wasn't a part of it, and then for the second time in a week I was forced to look up.
"Holy shit, Bursqe?" I was amazed to see one of my patients here in the tram with me. He was a mutton that came to me because he was afraid he'd hurt his then-girlfriend. Apparently I did such a good job that he invited me to their wedding, and by all accounts they were very happily wedlock. "Haven't seen you in ages, how's the wife?" Perhaps my mind should have been on the altercation brewing beside me, but clearly that whole deal was over with and I could catch up with an old friend.
"Pretty great actually, just coming back from visiting the family when I saw this guy," He jabbed his thumb at the rapidly cowering salary man, "decided he wanted to pick a fight."
"Hey, now, guy's probably just had a bad day." I said, bemoaning internally what was now clearly my problem. "We can all just go on like it never happened, right?" I gave a look at the frazzled man, hopefully communicating this was about as good a shot he had at getting out as he'd get. The man nodded repeatedly and stumbled off to another car, murmuring things I couldn't hear but were sure were kind.
"How do you do that?" He asked, and in my tired haze it took a bit to understand what he meant.
"Oh, humans are really good at reading each other's faces, so it's pretty easy to communicate-" He cut me off with a wave of his hand.
"I know that bit alright," we both shared a good natured chuckle - he had mentioned that human facial expressions often eluded him. Apparently his wife had to actually hit him over the head to get it through that she liked him. I apologized for reiterating something that he clearly knew, and he snapped to attention. "That! You're just… ah, what's the word - nice? Kind? Too kind for your own good. If I didn't know you any better I'd say you were spineless!" He had a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and I sighed his meaning.
Bursqe had been mugged once on the way out the clinic - the would-be robber had probably assumed that even if he were to be attacked in self-defense that the city would side with the human over the big bad alien. Seeing the patient who had just come out of a session in which we had just been over his insecurity with his strength and the fear it instilled in those around him, something snapped. It was probably stupid to take a chair to a knife fight, but I was a very lucky man.
"I actually spoke with the guy while he was locked up - apparently he came from a very low-income neighborhood. ADVENT took everything he loved and then some. He's doing pretty alright now, especially for an ex-con." It was a shame that things were as they are, I thought.
"Hopefully life will turn around for all of us." Bursqe looked surprised.
"Holy shit, really?" He said
"Yeah." I replied
"You're amazing!" He cheered, clapping me on the back. I was taken aback - I had thought his first reaction would be a little more subdued than that. "Not only did you defend me, man, you even showed sympathy for, uh, shit, the devil! Was that right?"
"It was, your English is getting great!" From the stuttering man who needed me to repeat things thrice, he had come so far. "And I mean, it's nothing special. It's just a lot easier being nice than being mean, you know? I'm just lucky I have the means." I recalled the Occupation, and hoped it didn't show in my face. How many died due to the Elder's enslaving millions of minds.
We spoke more lightly afterwards. The wife was doing great; Apparently, they chose to adopt.