Driven to distraction: Her obsession draws attention

Although nearly every unoccupied moment was consumed with thoughts of Grant, after our last encounter I couldn't bring myself to contact him, even after he left two messages on my communicator.

I couldn't trust myself to be around him. My desires overwhelmed me, the urge to touch him too strong.

For days, upon waking in the morning and before falling to sleep, I brought myself to release, his likeness burned into my mind. One night I discovered that if I kept going, it was possible to crest again and again, until I was too sensitive to continue. Never had I been so obsessed with my own body.

At work I grew absentminded, irritating Oliver more than ever. "You're not paid to daydream," he snapped one day after I was forced to call him because I had forgotten what errand he wanted me to run.

My friends noticed the change in me as well.

"I think you need to see a doctor," Xen insisted. "I know I would be a wreck if I had been trapped in a lift with a stranger."

Errol agreed. "You've been ... off balance ever since your emergence day."

Even as I promised my supervisor that I would pull it together and assured my friends all was well, I knew I was anything but fine. Before long, even sleep offered little reprieve as Grant crept into my dreams. I feared I was losing my mind, and nearly contacted Amelia out of desperation.

But what, exactly, was I going to tell the woman who raised me? That she had been right about me all along, that my refusal to stop touching everything barehanded all these years had transformed into a full-blown obsession? That I was consumed by a terrifying compulsion to touch a man I barely knew, to press my naked skin against his?

I could speak of it to no one. Growing up I heard whispers of defectives disappearing and never coming back. I didn't know what might happen to me if I were exposed, and I didn't want to find out.

One early morning I woke to the sound of my communicator chiming.

I scrambled to put on my clothing. When I finally answered I was startled to see a stranger, a man with perfectly groomed hair and eyes so light they resembled water in a glass.

"Astrid Sampson?"

"Yes?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes, I apologize for not answering sooner. How may I help you?"

"Dr. Blake, Ministry of Health. I understand you recently suffered from a traumatic experience."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

"I understand it is uncomfortable discussing medical matters remotely. Please report to the Center of Health and Wellness in forty minutes so we may meet in person."

I drew my hands into fists to stop their trembling. "But I feel fine."

"That may be. But after a stressful experience, many fail to recognize the symptoms of shock. It is best to have an examination, just to be safe."

I steadied my voice. "I have to work this morning."

"We have already contacted your supervisor. He is aware you may not be coming in today. I will see you in forty minutes." The screen went blank.

Shaking, I stood up slowly and made my way to the decontamination chamber. I peeled off my suit and placed it into the sanitizer and stepped inside the tiny room.

My legs wobbled as the air filled with mist.

How did they find out?

What was I going to do?

I opened my legs wide to allow the disinfectant to reach my most private areas, to eliminate the musky evidence of the previous night's activities.

Stay calm, I told myself. You don't know what they know. It was probably Xen. She's always worrying about something.

But what if they do know?

I gasped, fearful of the unknown, retching at once as my mouth and lungs burned. Though the cycle came to an end a few seconds later, I remained in the dim chamber, coughing and gagging.

I stepped into the blinding sunlight and turned east, the heels of my boots clicking on the sidewalk as I hurried to the Medical Center. I had just enough time to get there before my appointment.

People on their way to work passed, featureless as in a dream. I tried to quell my rising fear. Calm, calm, calm. There is nothing to fear. I repeated my mantra, though I scarcely believed it, until I arrived, breathless, at the sparkling white building so large it spanned the greater part of a block.

Welcome to the Center of Health and Wellness, a disembodied voice echoed the moment I stepped inside the entrance. Please proceed to the chamber to your right.

For the second time in an hour I removed my clothing, placing them, along with my boots, in the receptacle by the door. This time I managed to hold my breath for the duration of the cycle, though my stomach churned from the acrid taste already coating my mouth. I hated having to endure the cleansing process again so soon, but this was a medical facility and I had no choice.

Please retrieve your garments from the sanitizer at this time.

I dressed in haste, aware I was now late for my appointment. Almost immediately after I slipped on my gloves and pulled my ponytail out of the neck of my shirt, I received my next instruction.

Please proceed to the chamber on your right.

Step into the circle and remain still.

I did as I was told. Fans of light scanned the length of my body on all sides, from head to toe and back again.

No infectious agents detected. Please proceed to the reception area to your right. Thank you for visiting the Center of Health and Wellness, where the public's health is our priority and your wellness, our mission.

"Thank you for visiting the Center of Health and Wellness, where the public's health is our priority and your wellness, our mission," the young woman behind the counter rattled off at the speed of light. "Name and purpose of your visit."

"I have an appointment with Dr. Blake."

She clucked her tongue. "You're late. The doctor was expecting you three minutes ago."

"I'm sorry. I was just contacted and I suppose I'm still a little sleepy."

"I see. 'Fatigue'. I've added the symptom to your file. Please sit over there and I'll notify him of your arrival."

A woman in the typical uniform of a doctor's assistant—a slim-fitting white shirt and pants with the usual high neck, long sleeves and gloves, covered by a loose-fitting, light green jacket—approached a few minutes later. "Astrid Sampson? The doctor will see you now."

I followed her down a long corridor stinking of disinfectant and bathed in pale pink light. My reluctant feet growing heavier with every step, my heart pounded so hard I feared it could be felt reverberating off the cold sterile walls.

The woman stopped and gestured in silence, directing me to an examination room.

The soft light of the corridor gave way as I entered a large, brightly lit room.

"Please have a seat, Astrid."

I jumped at the sound of a voice so near without seeing the person it belonged to.

"Did I frighten you?"

The man with the startling eyes stepped out from behind a partition and walked toward me. He wore the same uniform as the assistant, only with the light blue jacket which identified him as a medical doctor.

"No," I answered as I climbed into a low-slung reclining chair. "I just didn't see you at first."

"I'm Dr. Blake. How are you feeling this morning, Astrid?" he asked, the edge of his lab coat brushing my cheek as he stood over me, sweeping a diagnostic scanner over the length of my body.

"I feel fine. Doctor, I don't understand why I am here."

"Scans indicate an elevated heart rate and a slight swelling in your genital region," the man went on, "and your file indicates you report symptoms of fatigue."

"I'm not suffering from fatigue. A woman in the waiting area just entered it into my file without asking me."

"Why would she do that?"

"I, I don't know. She wanted to know why I was little late, and I was trying to explain that I had just wakened."

"I see." Dr. Blake smiled, a smile which exposed his perfectly white teeth but did not reach his eyes. He sat down on a wheeled, three-legged stool. "A concerned citizen reported you have been exhibiting unusual behavior for the past two weeks, following a recent trauma."

"Who told you that?"

"I'm afraid that information is confidential," he replied. "Now, tell me what happened on June twenty-first."

"Are you talking about when I got stuck in the lift?"

"Indeed. Please, start at the beginning."

"Very well. I was returning to my workplace—" I began.

"You work at the ... Office of Historical Records?"

"Yes. I was going to the office—"

"Going, or returning?" he interrupted.

"Going back. I had forgotten my communicator and went back to retrieve it."

"Of course. Please continue."

"I was in the lift, and there was a jolt and the power went out."

"Trapping you inside."

"Yes."

"Were you injured in any way?"

I shook my head. "I was a bit shaken, but no, I wasn't hurt."

"Could you see at all?"

"It was dark, but only for a few seconds. The backup generators kicked in almost immediately."

"That's good. How long were you confined?"

"A little over an hour."

"That must have been difficult. Were you alone?"

"No. There was another person."

"Male or female?"

"Male."

"Do you know his name?"

I shifted in the hard, maddeningly uncomfortable chair. "No. He never said and I didn't ask."

"I see. Did he mention where he was going, what his business was in the building?"

I shook my head. "Not that I recall."

"What did he look like?"

"I don't really remember. He had dark hair, seemed average."

"Older or younger than you? No distinguishing features or marks?"

"About the same age as me, maybe a little older, and no, there was nothing remarkable about his appearance."

"You were trapped in a lift for an hour with this man and you don't remember what he looks like?" Dr. Blake asked, cocking his head.

"No sir. I was ... doing my best to remain calm, so I thought it best to stay on my side of the lift and wait it out," I explained.

"So you didn't speak with him?"

"We made sure the other was uninjured, of course, but I don't think either of us was in much of a talkative mood."

"Well, it's unfortunate you cannot identify this individual," the doctor remarked, leaning back as he laced his fingers behind his sleekly coiffed head. "I would have liked to speak with him."

"Why?" I asked.

He furrowed his brow and peered into my face. "Why, to ensure he was not negatively affected by the experience." He dropped his hands and leaned forward. "Now, about your symptoms. The report indicates you have been forgetful, irritable, not your 'usual self'."