Wednesday, September 20, 2006


A thin spike of nausea rose through his body. What am I doing? Brian asked himself.

He was seeing her under perfectly legitimate circumstances. A follow up interview. She had left a message, there was more to talk about, things she hadn't considered when they first spoke. Maybe she had seen the man at the cafe. Not that it mattered to Brian, it was just another reason to see her.

Like all kids of his generation he had a list of childhood diagnoses he carried round like a notebook of prewritten excuses. Protanomaly. High metabolism. Something on the very fringes of the broadest spectrum definition of Aspergers. Well that's what the doctor had said. His mum had said he shouldn't worry about being a little awkward, that even she was a little awkward. But he was back in that wheel within a wheel, watching himself thinking. Did everyone do this? Analysing his emotions, root causes. A network of paranoia, fears and worries that extended back even before puberty. Empricising every decision, the reactions of those around him. Breaking them down into threads and repeating patterns. This cold calculating was psychopathic behavior, surely?

He hadn't seen Rachel in nine days.