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Jacie went to extreme lengths to help a pretty girl struggling with her past. The result was an unexpected twist of fate.

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Battle of the Bangs

Copyright © 2018 Shauna J. Rousseau
All Rights Reserved.
All image originals sourced from Creative Commons.
All movie-related references made in this novel are trademarked by Paramount Pictures, Disney, Universal Pictures, or Marvel. All other characters are completely fictitious and any similarities with actual persons are purely coincidental.

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Author’s Note: OK, I’ve taken a step back and made some edits to my third part. My overall storyline is the same, but I have tweaked some things a bit. I know it’s taken a while, but I am also in the midst of trying times, myself. Anyway, I’ll continue to keep a thumb on the pulse of responses (comments and kudos) moving forward and will gauge whether continuing the story is something that seems to be desired, or not.

Thanks for everyone’s support!

HUGS!
Shauna

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Part Three

I look at the figure and stand frozen in abject fear—and exasperation.

Something is not right.

What? Of course, a person standing in my way, wearing a Klingon mask isn’t right! That’s not what I mean!

That never happened. I mean, I think it didn’t. My subconscious is telling me that this isn’t right.

I’m like totally confused and don’t know what’s going on…

That doesn’t stop my abject fear from completely paralyzing me. I can’t move. I can’t run—in either direction. Not away from the figure and not towards it either. My heart is pounding. I want to scream!

Why would Momma drop me off alone and in the open like this? It makes no sense!

More than confused—I’m like hurt.

What? No! No I’m not bleeding or anything. I mean psychologically hurt! Duh!

I’m likely going to die because my mother abandoned me to the enemy—there’s no amount of Borg technology that will protect me in this situation.

I feel betrayed; stabbed in the back—again. My mother turned out to be a Cardassian, after-all…

I steel myself for the death shot. I can’t move, so I may as well just give into the fact that I’m going to die.

I wish I could say that I get all Zen and accept my fate with cool calm.

No, nothing like that, at all. I like totally freaked and my heart is racing!

Just as I know the end is here, the figure makes a surprise move and starts to pull its mask off.

Then…

I hear the ‘snap’ of someone’s fingers and I blink just as I catch the briefest of glimpses of the figure’s face and gasp.

I blink again as I am suddenly transported from the scene into a somehow familiar room.

I’m thoroughly confused and I’m sure my Borg technology is failing. Whether it’s still functioning enough to save me, or not, is up for grabs, right not now. There’s no like doubt, however, that it’s certainly faulty. But it seems to have somehow transported me out of there.

I feel myself start to hyperventilate—still certain this is the end as I struggle to breathe. I don’t trust anything that I see—or think is real, right now. Everything seems…off… Wherever I am is probably still just as dangerous.

I feel someone press a bag up to my face. I breathe in and out into it…

I feel light-headed and see spots in front of my eyes. In spite of the bag over my face, I still feel panicked!

In and out…

The spots get dimmer and I feel the beginnings of a light headache behind my eyes.

In and out…

Slowly, my vision clears and the pressure from the newly-formed cotton candy clogging my brain starts to lesson.

Ever so slowly, reality becomes clearer and the world comes back into focus.

I look over at the two females sitting in the room with me and slowly push at the well-manicured hand holding the paper bag over my face.

I actually glare at them and almost have to start using the bag again.

I sigh and feel my glare at Rita and Gina soften as I lose my focus on them and refocus on my breathing. I take a deep and very shaky breath, then shake my head to try and break apart the still very real-feeling cotton candy that continues to thoroughly clog it up with fuzzy thoughts and sticky uncertainty.

I slowly start remembering what was actually going on and feel…pissed…

Rita looks at me intently and with obvious concern. She was obviously the one that had pressed the bag to my face, since she is right there and ready to press it to my face again at a moment’s notice. Not to be outdone, though, Gina is ogling me with palpable consternation. Rita is holding my trembling hand and I fight the urge to jerk it loose so that I can ball up the paper bag and throw it at them!

She quietly lets go of my hand and hands me a tissue. I blot my brow—it’s covered with a cold sweat. My heart is still pounding, but reality continues to slowly eke its way back into my consciousness as the terrifying scene just as slowly fades from my mind.

I continue to fight the urge to crumble the paper bag—but I honestly don’t know if I will like actually need it again.

I curse the Borg Queen—or is that Queens?—that has—have?— just invaded—no violated—my mind. I find my center of focus once again and glare at the two in front of me with unvarnished and swirling emotions. I lose the battle with myself and loudly crush the bag in a fit of rage.

Finally, I break the further silence that is still permeating the room, “Well, that was interesting—not! Remind me to politely, or otherwise, decline your invitation to like hypnotize me next time you want to.”

I feel myself start to shake again—less in fury now, but more because of unspent adrenalin vacating my body after prepping my body for a futile fight or flight situation.

One that wasn’t even close to real. Did I mention that I am pissed? If not—well, I am!

That was terrifying! My heart starts pounding again, just thinking about it.

Gina shakes her head and says, “I think we got enough out of that session for ten psychiatry students to write their dissertations. We need to talk about some of the immediate things, then Rita and I need to confer—and then we’ll all three need to reconvene and talk some more.”

I sit there, seething. I about sh…err cra… err…pooped in my pants and all she can think about are dissertations?

I don’t get a chance to retort in a less-than-respectful manner before Rita takes my hand again and says, “I think we made some real progress here, Hon. I know you don’t think so—but there was some powerful stuff in there.”

My roiling blood doesn’t settle.

I shake my head—it still like feels fuzzy with cotton candy—and get my chance now to retort, “Powerful? I don’t get it! I like only recounted what has happened since I went to school the first time as Jacie. You know what happened—even if I was supposed to act like you didn’t! We’ve gone over it all again and again before, in our sessions. The only thing that I like don’t get was there at the end with the Klingon. That never happened! And it like freaked me out!”

There! I showed them! Phasers set to full!

What? I know it’s a lame response—but, I’m like honestly still totally freaked out!!!

Gina seems to be oblivious to my freaked-outness and just nods. Rita also seems to be in La-La-Land and simply gets up and goes to the small refrigerator in her office. She pulls out a Diet Pepsi and hands it to me with the question, “Unless you’d rather have coffee? I just love hot coffee on a cold day, don’t you?”

I want to explode in frustration, but like forcefully blow the air out of my lungs and shake my head.

Coffee? Really? Who… I mean…it does sort of sound good…

I grimace and open the Diet and the pop of the can opening is reminiscent of what I feel like my head should be doing—letting off a ton of pressure before it explodes and sends cotton candy into space.

I take a big gulp of the Diet while she refreshes their coffee, but it like somehow doesn’t taste right. I notice the coffee smells really good, though. Something isn’t right…

Again.

Before I can process that, though, Gina says, “Ok, Hon. Just settle your nerves. I know you have questions, but let’s start at the beginning, shall we? We’ll get to that scene at the end in a bit. I have some ideas, but I want to let them percolate a little before I come to any sort of final conclusions.”

Rita just nods and takes a sip of her coffee after blowing the steam in my direction.

I get a strong whiff of the steam and suddenly the siren song of hot coffee short-circuits my Borg implants and they betray me. It just smells so good and I like just have to have some.

What? I have no idea why? I feel like some addict that needs her fix. I am actually salivating—like some sort of Pavlov’s dog!

What? Oh…yeah… I like did just say ‘her’…

Huh! Like whatever!

Anyway, I sigh, totally confused. I don’t know what’s going on in my brain, right now and it pushes me further into the abyss of unknown—and terrifying—deep space. To take my mind off of those paralyzing thoughts, I focus on my immediate need and ask, “Rita, could I have some coffee, too? I appreciate the Diet, but… Umm, I like just have this sudden craving for coffee.”

She looks surprised—well, sort of— and shakes her head as she inquires, “So, that was a true part of your story? Cindy really lets you have coffee? But you actually like it—contrary to what you recounted in your story? That was there at the end where things were getting muddled with what I know to be true. You had me a tad bit confused. I mean you seemed to not really like it, no?”

I pinch my eyes and squeeze them hard to keep the pressure from blowing them out of my head. Where is the real Deanna Troi when you need her? I thought they were like here to help me?! I’m like so confused, right now! All that is happening here is that I’m getting more and more confused!

I shrug and retort, “Well, no. I mean, at least not like in the way that I remember telling it, just now. Like, she does occasionally let me have some, though. I’m not sure why I’m craving it now… This is like all so weird! It’s got me freaked out, to be honest!”

Gina seems ever-so-slightly amused—although, she is trying really hard to hide it—and I hear the whine of a phaser overloading—it must be my head getting ready to explode.

She seems to get herself under control and her face turns into a blank mask as she innocently says, “I think it would be OK to let you have some—you obviously had a craving for caffeine while you were under hypnosis and folded that into your dream. Now, that craving you crafted under hypnosis is just carrying over to a craving in reality. It’s like we told you before we put you under, hypnosis is sort of like a guided dream—but we can only guide you so far. Just like with any navigation system, you’re still at the helm of the dream.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose again. I’m sure the pressure is going to have me hemorrhaging cotton candy again. I thought I was immune to CC-Bola after my last bout with it.

Navigation system? I’m pretty sure I just got transported to the Voyager right as it was thrown into the depths of the Delta Quadrant. What good is a navigation system now that we’re nowhere in the known universe?

Rita fights a smirk and hands me a cup of freshly poured coffee.

I’m beginning to feel like the butt-end of a bad joke to the them. I give her an acidic glare and take the cup with a mumbled ‘Thanks’. I take a sip of the vile liquid—black as Darth Vader’s cape—just like in my ‘dream’. And, just like in my dream, I grimace like a Klingon dreaming of Tribbles and give an involuntary and uncontrollable shudder.

I withhold the Klingon curse that threatens to come to my lips and once again wonder what is going on with me.

What? They wouldn’t understand the curse, anyway! No more than I understand what on Hoth is going on with me. Craving this vile scum isn’t helping my confusion any! It’s not like I need to wake up…

Or do I? Am I still dreaming?

I pinch myself and hiss at the pain.

Rita gives me a questioning look and nods towards the cream and sugar with a knowing grin. I get the feeling she’s taunting me, but I just stare at the coffee resolutely and take another sip—as if it’s some life-sustaining elixir.

I shudder uncontrollably again. I think they may feel the shockwaves hundreds of miles away. There may be imminent tsunami warnings…

It’s the strangest sense of déjà vu. But, something is like compelling me to drink it.

What? Like I can’t help myself—it’s just so good.

I shudder again. This more like an after-shock, though.

I look into the ebony depths of the cup and feel like I’m staring into a distillation of my current mood.

Again, before I can really process the contradictions this whole thing elicits, Rita jumps in, “So, there are a couple of basic things that I noticed as you were recounting your story. As you know, we took you back about two months—to the first day you went to school as Jacie and had you relate what has transpired as if we had no knowledge of the events. The first big thing I noticed, is that you would often get really agitated if we would ask you any sort of follow-up or follow-on questions. Your language would, at times, get a little rough—and you certainly didn’t like it if we called you on that.”

I look at her, still like totally confused, and hiccup in frustration.

What? They have an issue with my ‘language’? I’ll show them language!

I stare harder into the cup and could swear that it just got blacker! The liquid must be a mirror of my soul. I’m getting pretty convinced of that!

Before I can further react, though, she winks and takes a sip of coffee, then continues, “The second thing I noticed is that you were—mostly—short and concise with your statements. For the most part, they were devoid of any emotion—almost clinical in nature.”

I blink. I mean… Umm…

Huh? Like, I have emotions!

What? I do.

Err… Right? What is this I’m feeling right now—if not emotional? I mean I was just talking about how my mood is as black as the coffee. That I’m confused. That I was—still am—terrified.

Those like don’t count? Really?

Gina jumps in, “Except when we would ask questions, as Rita already mentioned.”

I feel my face burn! They need to get over this issue of them interrupting me—they were wanting me to tell the story, after-all! How was I like supposed to that with all of those interruptions?

Wait! I’m pissed! That’s like an emotion! Right? Right?

Rita nods and continues, “The third thing I noticed, is that you seemed to struggle with yourself when you got more emotional—you would default to your more clinical ‘self’ and would quickly return to it when you seemed to stray from that path.”

I blink and then look hard at Rita to make sure she hasn’t turned into a Cardassian—or worse. She’s like portraying me as some sort of robot. I’m not Data… Have I really become an emotionless Borg drone?

What? I’m human, dammit! Not some android or cyborg controlled by others. I mean just because I let kids keep me from wearing panties so long ago doesn’t mean…

Oh…

What? I didn’t say I agree! I just like sort of see what she is saying.

Anyway, Gina just nods with pursed lips.

I deflate—semi-defeated—and sigh as Rita asks, “Does that make sense, Jacie? Do you agree with what I just outlined? Is that you?”

I take a sip of the still-steaming coffee and shudder. I’m not sure which is steaming more—me or the coffee. I’m like also still not really sure why I’m drinking the shudder-inducing pond scum, to begin with.

Perplexed, pissed, and…intrigued, I further ponder her question as I take another shudder-inducing sip.

I contemplate and sigh.

I look at the same angles and from a different direction sigh again.

Try as I might, I still come to the same conclusion—I am human and I have emotions. I just don’t like showing them because that has always been a recipe for disaster as a guy. I decide to deflect.

What? It like makes the most sense! I know they won’t take silence as an answer for much longer.

I retort more than a little petulantly, “I guess what you were saying like makes sense, but I don’t know how to answer whether that like describes me, or not. Isn’t that like what you are supposed to tell me?”

Both Rita and Gina laugh and Rita exclaims, “Touché!”

I giggle in spite of myself and sip more pond scum—although, it’s beginning to taste more like warp reactor coolant now.

What? That’s an upgrade! What did you think? At least coolant fluid has a purpose! What good is pond scum?

What? An android should know that? Go away! I’m human dammit!

Anyway, Rita takes a sip of her own pond…umm…warp reac…ummm…coffee and like seems to reflect on my, …well…my accusation, a moment and then says, “OK, let me see if I can put this in your terms…”

I look at her and feel the pressure in my brain increase. I’m not sure if it’s cotton candy—or something much worse.

My terms? Why wouldn’t she do that in the first place? Is she like calling me stupid, or something?

She takes another sip of…coffee and then slowly starts, “So, let’s see… In Star Trek, Mr. Spock is half-Vulcan, half-Human, right?”

Spock? What does he like have anything to do with…?

I cough, surprised, and nod—completely baffled about where this is like going. I’m sure the consternation is visible on my ‘unemotional’ Borg face as I stare at her like she is the Borg.

She mocks me with a ‘stupid face’ and smiles, “Bear with me. So, he was raised on Vulcan and trained to take a place in the Vulcan Science Academy. He was conditioned from early childhood to embrace logic as a way of life—to repress his emotions. But he innately had them—as any other Vulcan would. The difference being that his mother often would encourage him to make use of them. Are you with me, so far?”

I want to be snarky, I really do. I know that’s not the best course of action, though, so I simply nod.

For now…

What? Of course, I’m still like highly confused!

Anyway, she smiles and nods as she continues, “Now, back to you. What I’m about to say is highly stereotypical and not what I believe, but it will illustrate my point, OK?”

I nod and smirk as I feel my eyes cross with impatience as to where this going.

What? The smirk? She just admitted that she’s flawed! So what if I have ‘emotional’ issues?

Anyway, she continues, “So, in your case, you were raised from early childhood as a boy—and discouraged from exhibiting any sort of feminine behavior. Not so much from your parents, but from your peers. Much like Vulcans are discouraged from allowing their emotions to rise to the surface.”

I feel the cotton candy expand in my skull and squeeze my brain. I nod slowly at her questioning look, but want to say something snarky so badly. The problem is that I actually am following her.

And I’m not sure I like where this is going—even if I still don’t know where that is.

She nods back and continues, “So, this is the stereotypical part. Boys or—more accurately—men tend to be less emotional, while girls, in general, tend to embrace their emotions more and even use them to their advantage. Again, I’m not saying that’s always the case, but that’s sort of the prevailing opinion. Am I right? You know—Guys are the Vulcans and girls are the Humans in this case.”

I look at her suspiciously. I sense a Klingon trap, but can’t deny her words and so I nod. I am, however, still lost as Voyager in the Delta Quadrant.

Rita ignores my confounded look and my steadfast silence. She plunges on, “So, this is where it gets a little complicated, but I think you’ll be able to keep up.”

She winks…

I feel like throwing up.

What? Maybe it’s the pond scum? It couldn’t be her affront on my intelligence, now could it? Of course, the desire to throw up also couldn’t be emotions, right?

Anyway, she continues, “OK. Spock had a choice to make, right? He ultimately chose sort of a hybrid solution to fit his hybrid nature. He was born with both Vulcan and Human traits and was raised being pulled in both directions—even if Mother usually ‘played nice’ and let the Vulcans heavily influence his psyche. Ultimately, though, he spurned the Science Academy and joined Star Fleet to make it work as best he could. Even so, he still chose logic over emotion in the end. The thing is, you see, that Vulcans can’t completely ignore their emotions, right? They undergo ‘pon-far’ every seven years.”

I nod, still not getting it. Pon-far? I mean that’s common knowledge—but what’s that like got to do with me? It’s not like I’m about to go into a murderous rampage if I don’t have sex…

On the other hand, I do feel a little like I am about to enter pon-far and strangle her. Maybe just not kill her…

Nope! At least it won’t be a murderous rampage!

She forges on, unfettered, and the few surviving, but endangered Tribbles in my head hungrily start eating the abundant cotton candy that’s clogging it up, “If we apply that to you, then you were born a genetic male—but, at the very least, with strong female tendencies; but, more likely, fully transgendered. That means you have a choice to make, like Spock. And, like Spock, you’re struggling with that choice—especially when your ‘other’ nature rises up and exhibits itself. The one that you have so long been conditioned to suppress.”

I blink and a familiar star—our Earth’s sun—in the alpha quadrant pops up on the navigation computer, but it’s still like 70,000 light years away—roughly seventy-five years at warp ten.

What? I mean it like actually makes a little sense. Well sort of—in a warped sort of way.

What? No! Not ‘warp’ like in ‘warp engine’! I mean, like really?

Gina perks up and nods enthusiastically. It’s her turn to take over the conversation, “I see where you’re going with this, Rita. I’ve said before, I’m not a Trekkie, but I’m still following you. That was a genius analogy. So, if I understand what you’re saying, the dichotomy that Jacie is showing is akin to that likeness. The clinical Jacie—or, the logical one, using your analogy—is her conditioned male side. And the emotional side she exhibits is her repressed female one!”

I look back and forth between the two—at the moment I like really can’t fathom what planet they must be from. It can’t be an advanced one, though! What was the name of that one that the Enterprise visited at the beginning of ‘Into the Darkness’? You know—where Spock goes into the volcano and Kirk gets demoted…

What? Of course, the rebranded Star Trek movies aren’t as good as the old ones! But, that doesn’t mean I won’t watch them. I just don’t remember the details as well…

What? Why did I think that to begin with? This whole gibberish is very akin to balderdash—not to mention outright witchcraft. Those aborigines on that planet would be idolizing these two by now. Back in Salem, here on Earth, I think they would like be burning at the stake!

Of course, the Borg Queen whispers in my mind that there is no such thing as witchcraft and that would be just another witch hunt…

Anyway, Gina continues to nod to herself and continues to dominate the session for a minute, “So, Jacie, under hypnosis, you still exhibited your strong male conditioning as your ‘default’ mode—but at times you went through this ‘pon-far’-thing and your ‘female’ emotions took over. I agree with Rita—that’s a very stereotypical representation, but a very effective way to portray it.”

I’m close to screaming! Who cares about stereos? Who listens to mono, anymore! Can you even like still get it? Well…maybe the cheaper Bluetooth speakers, but…

What? That’s what you use? Really? Ummm… I have some Borg technology that I can ‘donate’ that will certainly help…

Rita nods, “So, now to the Borg.”

I do a double-take and she giggles.

What? Maybe she can read minds! I think she must be part Betazoid, after-all! And like why does everything always have to come back to the Borg?

I sigh and feel drained.

Gina refreshes everyone’s pond scum…err…coffee and Rita continues after I take another shudder-inducing sip of piping-hot pond sc…err…coffee. “There are two main species that suppress emotion on Star Trek, the Vulcans and the Borg. Although, technically, I guess the Borg aren’t really a species—and, well, the Queen has emotions. But, anyway, I digress…”

I sigh as I think about the Queen. She certainly does have her emotions—and she keeps forcing them on me. Although, that’s not normal for just any drone. She must be taking a special interest in me… Am I the new Piccard? He escaped the whole mess.

So, can I?

Rita shrugs and takes a sip of coffee after blowing the steam off of her cup in my direction—causing me to have another uncontrollable urge to take another sip myself.

She continues, seemingly oblivious to the effect on me, “The main difference is that it’s the Vulcans’ choice, while it’s forced on the Borg drones.”

I nod to show my understanding, but, in reality, I’m once again thrown further into the Delta Quadrant. I am starting to have problems focusing on this whole thing. My mind starts to wander, but I do my best to act like I’m paying full attention.

What? I can’t show weakness now! I don’t like understand a frickin’ word she’s saying?

What? Are you really going to start on that ‘language’ thing again?

OK, then! I like thought not!

Jillie wants me to get that pair of boots with the four-inch heels, but they just didn’t feel right…

Rita plunges on and sort of half hear her, “You seem to be identifying more with the Borg than with the Vulcans in that regard. I don’t think that’s a fluke—you’re sub-consciously processing the suppression of your female side as forced. And rightfully so—just like a Borg drone would if the Queen would allow them to process it, that is. Anyway, that suppression is so ingrained in you now that when it’s being removed, you perceive that as by force, as well. Just like a Borg drone would inherently resist the removal of its implants.”

Wait! What? I watch my eyes blow through the glass in the window from the antimatter-explosion in my head. Even just paying half attention blew my mind completely. Just think if I had been paying full!

I can’t help myself, a very astute response escapes my lips. “Huh?”

Gina giggles, “I get it, Rita. Jacie, you feel as if the choice to be a girl was taken from you when those kids taunted you, so long ago. That forced you into the repression of those memories and the suppression of your true inborn female self. That then became your new norm—just like when a person is ‘assimilated’ by the Borg and they embrace the hive mentality. Now, that your free will has been returned to you—like when the Borg implants are removed from a drone and the hive mentality is neutralized—you don’t know how to deal with reality. Your mind defaults back to its ‘comfort zone’—its conditioning—and you think it’s being forced on you.”

I see that dim star again and know that I’m back to just seventy-five years away from home—if I can maintain warp ten in the right direction. That’s a very big ‘if’ though.

What? I’m not saying I agree with their cra…ummm, animal excrements—but, at least I’m starting to see the path they’re following.

Or—at least I think I am. This whole thing is still giving me a headache, though. I think I can cross off becoming a shrink from my list of dream jobs. You have to be too sadistic…

Rita blows more coffee-scented steam my way and I have the urge to take another sip of my own pond sc…err, coffee.

She nods in thought and takes the conversation back over, “So, you see, Jacie. Your clinical—or logical—delivery is just your sub-consciousness at work. The session clearly showed your dichotomy and inner turmoil. It also clearly shows that you still have a long way to go to be comfortable in your skin. I don’t think that’s news to you—or us, for that matter—though.”

I feel my nose scrunch up and I reach up to pinch it. I really want to scream right now. I feel my face start to burn and the pressure in my head sky-rockets.

What? I’m frustrated! I went through all of this and all they get out of it is that I’m not ‘comfortable in my own skin’?

I cool the phasers that are powering up in my eyes and sigh deeply. I also hold my tongue—for now.

Barely. Anything I would say would not be like productive.

Not that anything in this session has been!

Gina looks at me with seeming understanding and adds, “I know you think this was somehow wasted effort.”

I catch my eyes before they leave again. I guess she must be part Betazoid, too.

What? My face? Yeah that could like be a dead giveaway, I guess.

She continues on, oblivious to my inner musings, “I promise you it wasn’t. Rita and I learned a lot about you that we wouldn’t have, otherwise—now we can work on a better plan to help you on your personal trek.”

I blink. Was the supposed to be a pun? I barely keep the groan from escaping my lips. Of course, I think my face screwing up into another grimace may be another giveaway…

She takes a sip of her coffee and hides a slight grin behind her cup, then turns serious again and continues, “And I want to comment on one specific statement that you made—which should accurately reflect your memory of the actual conversation. You are not ‘so screwed up’ that you ‘need two shrinks’. How you’re processing this is a very normal reaction to what you’ve gone through, young lady. Am I clear on that?”

I feel my face turn bright pink as the cotton candy forces itself back into my head and nod.

I don’t feel any better, though. I’ve still been attacked by the Klingons, knifed in the back by the Cardassians, sold by the Ferengi, and assimilated by the Borg. How is that supposed to make me feel?

What? Oh… Yeah, I guess that’s her point…

Who wouldn’t need two shrinks?

Like, huh!

Rita chimes in again, “Absolutely! I’ll also add that I won’t mention your language usage to your Momma. However, I don’t want to hear any of it again. Am I clear, young lady?”

I can’t help myself, “Bite me!”

What? No, I don’t say it—but I certainly think it! That’s good enough, right?

I do, however, blush deeper and hold my tongue. My reflexive response would likely not suit me well, here, so I just nod. I can barely reign in my phasers, though.

Rita registers my annoyance and blows more steam my way—I take another sip of coffee. I don’t shudder—as much—anymore.

I let the bitter acid settle in my stomach and chew furiously on the inside of my cheek.

What? No, it doesn’t taste like cotton candy!

After a few seconds of complete silence in the room—and me still thinking about those boots—I inquire about the one thing that really bothers me about the whole episode, “But what about that part at the end? Momma abandoning me on my own like that—and the Klingon mask?”

What? I want to know! That part really bothers me. Who cares if the Betazoid witches that conjured up the scene have to try and explain it to me?

Gina nods and says, “I may not be a Trekkie, but I am a Star Wars fan. You mentioned watching it lately in your recounting. I assume that’s factual?”

My head jerks around to her so hard I feel the cotton candy rattle in my brain.

What? I know cotton candy shouldn’t rattle—unless it’s old and hard…

Anyway, that non-sequitur leaves me so confused that the familiar star is like quickly shrinking in size again as I’m thrown back deeper into the Delta Quadrant. This one lightyear forward, ten lightyears back thing in my understanding is getting monotonous.

I almost forget to nod that it’s correct that I had been watching ‘Star Wars’.

What? There is no crime in liking both!

She nods, “I’m going out on a limb here, but did you by any chance catch a glimpse of who was under that mask before we woke you up from the session? I think you may have…”

My mind forcefully returns to those last moments of my dream state and I blush as I see the face as plain as day.

I timidly nod. I like really don’t want to go down that galaxy and try to hide behind the steam escaping from my own coffee, but it just stabs me in the back and entices me into taking another sip.

I struggle with the revelation and fight the confession that will have to come to get any sort of answers. If I hide the truth and tell a lie, it won’t do any good.

Err, right? Saving face here is not the wise course of action. Right?

I give in and sigh. I take a deep breath and blow it out as I say in a resigned and confused tone, “It was, ummm… Well, it was… Me…”

She nods, “As I postulated. I want you to understand that this is just a working hypothesis, Jacie—I want to discuss it more with Rita. There’s actually a lot the two of us need to discuss—then the three of us after that.”

I nod impatiently. I feel my whole body shaking with fear, anticipation, and anger at her stalling. Who cares about the long list of possible side effects? I mean this is as annoying as those drug advertisements on TV!

“Don’t take XYZ if you are allergic to it…”

I mean, like duh!

Anyway, I really want to shout, “Get on with it!”

I feel my phasers powering up to the ‘kill’ setting but hold my tongue and my phasers—for now. I take a sip of coffee, instead.

What? I don’t know why! Haven’t we already established that? At least I’m not allergic to it!

She smiles as she watches the emotions play across my face. I want to set my phasers loose, but then I wouldn’t get an answer!

Finally, she continues, “Do you remember when Luke went into the cave on Dagobah? How Darth Vader turned out to be Luke? I think this is a similar thing—only your fear is not the Dark Side—not as Luke would see it, anyway. Your fear is setting your emotional ‘female’ self free. What’s more naturally emotional than a Klingon? You were basically telling yourself you’re your own worst enemy. Our questions about your emotional state at the end of the session prompted you down that path.”

My eyes widen and I chase them down as they escape and try to get back to familiar territory ahead of me.

What? It must be some part of their evolving Borg technology—being to finally escape again. Anyway, the familiar star is getting larger, again—maybe down to just seventy years at warp ten, now…

Could that be right? I mean it sort of makes sense. This whole session has become so weird—Psychology by the word of Kirk and Vader…

I feel my head nod slowly and I say pensively, my thoughts still in a turmoil, “But what about Momma basically throwing me to the Klingon…? Myself, if that’s what you’re saying? How does that make any sense?”

Gina hits me dead-center with a photon torpedo, then follows it up with her ship’s phasers set to ‘obliterate’. I can’t tell if hers is a Klingon ship, or friendly fire, though.

She responds, “Remember when we said you perceive yourself as a Borg drone that is being ripped from the hive and you’re fighting to stay, because it’s all you know—or remember. Basically, it’s what you’re most comfortable with?”

I nod—the star is fading again. I get the feeling I’m not going to like where she’s going. I am literally running out of steam, though, and can’t find the energy to get my phasers loaded.

She keeps relentlessly pounding my useless shields with her weapons, “Well, your subconscious self is blaming your Momma for your plight. She’s the one that originally put the thought in your mind that it’s OK to wear girls’ panties after your repressed memories were jogged loose. That is the point from which everything else sort of snow-balled and has thrown your life into the Delta Quadrant. I think you owe your Momma an apology. It’s not her fault, Sweetheart! You know she would never throw you to the wolves—Klingon or otherwise.”

I don’t even catch the Delta Quadrant piece as the volley of photon torpedoes hit me square in my Borg breasts and blow through them with a horrific blast to pierce my heart and shatter it.

What? I know she’s like right. I mean—it suddenly makes sense!

What? No, I didn’t say I like it—at all…

I feel all anger drain from me into space—left behind at warp ten.

I blink twice as I sit there, completely emotionally obliterated—and start sobbing.

Rita takes me into a tight hug and lets me cry it out.

After several minutes of uncontrollable sobbing, I push back from Rita and use the tissue she hands me to wipe the tears from my face and eyes. My makeup may be waterproof, but I know it’s completely ruined by the fact that a large portion of it wipes off on the new handful of tissues she gives me to replace the soaked and disintegrating first one.

What? Of course, I have an emergency makeup kit with me. What did you think? Kate would have my pretty little Borg-infested head on a silver platter, if I didn’t! I don’t get what your point is, though? Like I should be worried about that, right now? It was simply an observation!

Oh…right… Clinical thinking again…

Anyway, a thought hits me and I ask, maybe just a little petulantly, “So, how do you know the hypnosis actually worked? I could have been like making it all up. You know, on purpose—or, or…not.”

Gina just smiles this semi-evil smile and blows out over the cup of coffee in her hand—like she’s cooling it down. The steam hits my nostrils and I automatically reach out for my own cup and take a sip of the stuff that’s now tasting more like a bitter beverage that I should be drinking and less like pond scum that I should be avoiding.

Rita just grins—a little evilly, too—and says with a wink, “Oh, we have our ways, Hon. Trust me. We have our ways…”

She makes a point of taking a sip of her coffee.

I want to scream! Hit her with my phasers set to obliterate! Curse her in Klingon! Anything!

What? I want to know! She seems so sure. I mean I know I’m not making anything up—but how do they know?

But she remains infuriatingly silent on what those ‘ways’ are and says instead, “Now, I think you may want to go fix your makeup before your Momma comes to pick you up. Here, why don’t I get you some ice for this Diet Pepsi? I can’t stand hot Pepsi. Can you? I think the cold fizzy drink will taste much better than coffee on ice—although, there’s nothing wrong with a good cup of hot coffee. Especially on a cold day. Don’t you agree?”

I give her a bewildered look and take the cup of ice and the can of Diet with me towards the powder room. I leave the cup of coffee on the table—forgotten. As I pass Gina, she blows steam from her cup my way and I walk right through it.

I’m looking forward to my fizzy Diet on ice.

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