Raiya had never been so busy. She was now back at her desk, having been out for a half hour lunch, feeling an afternoon weariness. Her console was displaying the background record for her next patient. In recent weeks she had noticed a pattern emerge. It wasn’t the usual anxieties, the troubled relationships, the feeling of inadequacy, or work-related stress.
No, many – and increasingly those who told her they would never consider seeing a psychiatrist – were talking about something deeper. In most cases never directly, but when the word future had occurred repeatedly or at least alluded to, ranging from: ‘I don’t see there being any future in my career/relationship.’ To the more philosophical: ‘I can’t see where it’s all going; every day just feels the same; I am trapped in what feels like a never ending routine like a part in a machine.’ Commonly they talked (in variously troubled ways) about wanting to break out, escape from a suffocating existence. Many people over the years had expressed feelings of being trapped in their lives, but rarely in such stark terms and with such commonality. It was like the reverse effect of during a time of a world war where the collective spirit was towards survival. Instead, these were times when most people had only ever experienced a world of peace and almost global prosperity. It was still a struggle to have That Career, even though achieved in a meritocracy that brooked no barriers of social class. But only recently this egalitarian ultra democratic society was no longer keeping its citizens satisfied. It was like something, or someone, was making them feel that there should be more to their lives. She tried to think of a time in history when this collective malaise had happened, but no research into old case records brought any significant findings.
Her next patient was a member of the Interstar crew, who had been scheduled to be on a mission to Mars to work on the solar array. But since the disappearance of the architects’ ship, and its passengers presumed dead, all space agencies had agreed to halt their manned programs. A Mars trip would have taken no more than a few hours, but until the space agency had concluded their investigation, all ships were grounded.
The man shambled into her office, wearing a casual top, workman jeans and a sour expression.
She invited him to take a seat. On the moment he sat down he said, ‘I wouldn’t normally visit a shrink, unless it’s by management protocol. It’s just.’ His face took on a genuine pained expression.
‘Yes, I remember when you visited for your post assignment debrief. You seemed to make it quite clear that you were absolutely fine. But it may come as no surprise to you to know that most express how unnecessary they find these mandatory visits. Yet, it is not so uncommon for anyone who leaves the planet for a work assignment to return with problems.’
‘My problem is the lack of an assignment. It’s my life and they’ve taken it away from me. I heard rumours they’re going to foreclose the entire project, even that all Mars construction will cease.’
‘But they’ll compensate you, surely?’
‘If you call a third of my salary guaranteed for only a year compensation, then yes. I can survive it. But there’s no prospect of any other work.’
‘This situation may only be temporary.’
‘I need to be working.’ He looked up at her with a desperate earnestness.
‘Don’t you have any hobbies?’
‘These work assignments don’t really leave much time for a hobby.’
‘A family?’
‘I’m divorced, and the kids have a new father now.’
‘But you have friends.’
‘Workmates. But they have families. In any case, if we meet up, conversation only turns to work; moaning about the lack of it.’
‘Do you feel you’re depressed?’ she asked gently.
‘You tell me … you’re the shrink.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ she told him. ‘We all get a bit down from time to time. But when your thoughts---’
‘I just feel, now … what’s the point?’
Normally Raiya would know what to say, to at least make some kind of resolution statement – some spiel out of the standard text. But now she had no words to offer him, nothing that wouldn’t seem like anything other than shrink-speak, signing him off with a medication prescription.
Instead she got up, walked behind the reclined chair he was sat in and put her hands on his shoulders. She said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.’ She got the sense that he was about to cry.
As she began to give him a gentle massage he gave out a quick breath and seemed to relax down. Of course, she knew this was wrong: there should never be any physical interaction with clients or patients, at least beyond a polite hand shake, it was the most basic protocol.
He started speaking. ‘I need to be with someone, Dr Fortenski.’
Raiya swiftly removed her hands from his shoulders. But as she did so the man got up, approached her, then pulled her to him with a force so sudden it made her gasp. And before she had time for any other reaction he was kissing her – wildly, held in his grip so hard she felt more like the prey he wanted to devour than his intended lover.
She pushed him back eventually ... but he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. He undid her suit jacket, started to unbutton her blouse before ripping the rest apart. He then hiked her skirt up until the material began to tear at the seams. Holding her upper arms again in a firm grip he pushed her down onto the reclining chair; a mad intent on his face making Raiya in no doubt that she would be compliant.
Where was her internal voice, or at least some sense of rationality telling her to fight him? Instead her strength, her ability to move, had gone. Yet – though she could smell him, feel his mad ravenous eyes boring into her – there was a curious sense of unreality to all this, even as he entered her. Was this the dissociation that those women had described? The ones that didn’t even cry for help?
One frenzied minute later it was over. The man drew himself back. As he looked down on her, at her messed up and partially removed clothing, the expression on his face was of disgust, self-disgust ... perhaps. Raiya could no longer read him with a psychiatrist’s scrutiny.
As he fastened his jeans, the man said. ‘I – I didn’t mean to take advantage of you. I’m sorry if I---’
‘Please,’ Raiya said, in not much more than a whisper. ‘Just leave.’
‘I’m sorry,’ He repeated in a soft voice as he hastily exited.
Raiya remained on the couch, trying to process what just happened: who exactly was to blame, and how she could have stopped him. She thought of the criticisms she’d held in her mind of those women who’d let such a thing happen to them, the silent contempt that was now her shame.
One of the stipulations she’d insisted on for her office was for no monitoring equipment. Some patients were very particular about confidentiality, and it was in the spirit of her practice that this be an immutable rule. The man was clearly racked with guilt, she tried to reassure herself; surely that alone would be enough even if he was culpable.
***