Chapter 2: Month Two
In one of our joint counseling sessions, I tell the counselor and Gres that what they want me to do feels a lot like what the Quarran doctors did when they mindwiped me. I'm not angry when I say it, but Gres flinches visibly. The counselor just asks me to "say more about that."
I explain - Gres has heard this before - about my mindwiping, how it went deep, down to my earliest, damaged neural networks, took everything but my oldest memories, built new mental programming on top of that. I say this counseling work seems to be aimed at stripping away everything I thought Gres and I had built together, going all the way down to older foundations, and rebuilding from there.
The counselor listens, with that calm and penetrating look of hers. She is watching Gres as I speak, not me. I look over and see him bowed, with his hands over his mouth. The counselor sees me see him and says, "Samantha, is there something you want to say to Gres about that?" He meets my eyes, a silent pleading that makes me want to apologize, take it back, reassure him.
Instead, I take a deep breath and ask, "Gres, how does it make you feel to hear me compare our marriage counseling to a mindwiping?"
His eyes widen and he blurts out, "It makes me feel like shit!"
The counselor leans back in her chair. I've noticed that she does that sometimes when I've made progress, when the balance has shifted and found a new settling point.
Gres has noticed it too. He explodes at her. "Oh, that makes you happy? I have to hear my wife say I'm torturing her and you get to feel self-satisfied with the progress she's making? Fuck you!" He is physically shaking.
The counselor looks at me. "Samantha, did you say that Gres is torturing you?"
"No, I didn't. And that's not what I meant, either."
He wrests himself back under control, shoots an apologetic glance at the counselor.
"OK. I'm sorry for … putting words in your mouth, Sam, and losing my temper. If you didn't mean that this is torture, what did you mean?"
"I meant that it's painful and difficult and it's tearing my world apart."
"That … sounds like torture to me."
"Nobody chooses to be tortured. I'm choosing this."
"Are you, though? Are you sure about that, Samantha? You're not doing this because I want you to, to try to make me happy?"
Now I am getting angry. "I'm sure. I'm not so dependent on you that I have to go through this just to try to keep you. If I didn't want to be here, I'd be gone by now, back on Earth with Naomi and our friends from Voyager. I'd be looking for a new posting with Starfleet. I have choices, Gres."
I fall silent and my last words hang in the air. Gres and I lock eyes, and there is admiration and hope in his as well as pain and anger. I am suddenly reminded of Joe Carey, when I told him about my mother. My own anger fades, and I am newly strengthened.
Gres sighs. "I know you do, Sam. Thank you for choosing to stay here and work with me on our marriage. Thank you." He suddenly seems exhausted.