The Only

Chapter Five - Neima

Neima looked down at her new hands. She had morphed in the car, soon after their arrival in Glasgow. Travel always resulted in a change of appearance to that of her environment. The carprovided the ideal haven. No one could see through the dark tint on the windows.

Her new fingers were long and slender with oval-shaped nails. Unconsciously, she bent each finger back and felt the relief of the loud pop that came with the cracking of each knuckle. With a cringe, she suddenly stopped her nervous habit, remembering how much Alex hated the strong, snapping sound.

It served as more of an acclimation exercise than a jittery obsession. Neima had to do something to establish order in her chaotic world. Having no control over when or how she morphed caused her to put a few steps in place. What she did to stay sane was a complicated process.

If Sigmund were still around, he would encourage her to talk openly about her feelings to uncover what was happening in her unconscious mind. How the hell was she supposed to do that? Her unconscious mind was even crazier than her conscious one. During their conversations, she'd had to edit much of what she was thinking so as not to divulge her secret. Humans didn't take well to her truth.

Sigmund. He always was an insufferable man, thinking her know-it-all demeanor was a latent attempt at trying to be the center of attention. She could smell the lingering smoke from his cigars. The stench always made itself at home in her clothes and hair after every visit to his office.

"Sit," he said. "Tell me what you know, Camilla."

Camilla. That was the name she used back then. She was in a flower phase for a few decades. Poppy. Rose. Lilly. Violet. Camilla.

"Please," he gestured to the couch, "sit."

He knew she wouldn't lie down on that damn couch, so he would always ask her to sit. Sit and try his cocaine laced water. Terrible stuff. Not that it had a bad effect on her. Drugs never did. But the taste of that cloudy liquid was horrible.

"You are very bright, Camilla," he said.

"Thank you." She placed the glass on a nearby table, and shifted slightly in her seat, the stay of her corset was digging into her side. She was probably bleeding.

"But you take too much pleasure in showing it." He puffed away at his cigar. Rings of smoke drifted up over his head, creating an odd-looking halo. "You should cease with the need to be the smartest person in the room."

But she was the smartest person in the room. She couldn't help it.

"Perhaps that is what drives your need to seek physical affection from whoever will provide it?" He sucked harder on his cigar.

Of course, he would steer the conversation back to her sex life. One slight slip of the tongue of her enjoying the company of both men and women, and he was fascinated.

"You of course suffer from no illness with your frequent homosexual encounters. Lesbianism is nothing to cure you of. It is however, possible to activate the more heterosexual side of your personality and encourage that behavior. But even that won't do much to stop your deep seeded need for validation through your intellect. You are quite the complicated case, Camellia."

Neima laughed and it instantly broke up the memory and propelled her back to the present. She didn't want to admit it then, but Sigmund was right. Her intellect did sometimes get in the way of her interacting well with humans, very much like the baby doctor.

The years had helped her to be better, not so impulsive or impatient. It didn't do much to deter the obsessive-compulsive tendencies that tended to pop out from time to time. Sigmund's approach couldn't be applied. It took her a while to spot the irrational behavior.