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Clinic St.

Lawrence

"Chu'lak says you won't tell him why you're here."

Her face, which had been fixed on the floor for the entirety of the session, snapped up. "He told you
that?"

"I asked." Assured the counselor. "Part of the treatment here is getting to know your roommate -
learning to trust them. Our hope is that outside of these sessions you'll have someone to assist you
through your recovery. A mutual relationship of support. How can he help you if he doesn't even what
brought you here in the first place?"

The patient, a human woman no more than 25 years of age, let out a sardonic 'Ha!'

"Him? Help me? With this?" She motioned to her physique. "He won't understand. This... it doesn't
happen on Vulcan. And I don't just mean that it's rare. It doesn't happen. There's never been even a
single case as far as I can tell. Not even in the times before they became all, you know, all logical and
boring."

The counselor tilted her head to the side. The patient had observed the Betazoid counselor do this many
times and she found the habit annoying. "That may be true, but that doesn't automatically mean he's
incapable of understanding."

The human woman’s hands twisted in her lap. She unconsciously never allowed herself to lean back
against her chair. Every bit of her exuberated discomfort. "What he went through, what he's going
through... It’s understandable to anyone. Maybe even inevitable after facing all that war and death.
What's my excuse?"

Again, the head tilt. "We both know that's not how it works." The patient didn't respond. Her eyes
dropped to the floor once more.

"Eden, for your homework (the patient despised how the counselor called her goals for therapy
'homework') this week I want you to find a way to tell Chu'lak about your disorder. You don't have to
insure he understands, you just have to tell him. Do you think you can do that?"

Eden truly didn't know if she could but she nodded anyway. The counselor put down the electronic
tablet she had been taking notes on. "Very good. I'll see you next week."

"Thank you, Dr. Lynn." There was a tone of defeat in Eden's voice. She stood and the pace with which she
walked back to her lodgings indicated dread.

--

When she returned to her quarters, the automatic doors opening without a sound, Chu'lak was sitting in
the common area reading something on his PADD with the same expression (or rather lack-there-of) on
his face as always. He did not look up or acknowledge her entry. She, in turn, said nothing as she
disappeared into her private room.

The quarters were divided into bedrooms to the left and right with adjacent private bathrooms. The
bedrooms were separated by a small common area that included seating gathered around a coffee table
and a replicator that allowed certain approved replications was placed against the center back wall.
All of the rooms, including the bathrooms, were monitored at all times.

This was strictly for security purposes. It was considered counter-productive to the relationship between
the various medical staff and patients for anyone but security personnel (and authorized administrative
staff, should any incident occur) to have access to these cameras.

It surprised Eden at first that Chu'lak spent little to no time isolating himself in his private bedroom. She
hadn't anticipated that Vulcans would be the most social of creatures. After learning more about his stiff,
heavily regimented culture she surmised that he viewed a bedroom as a place to sleep and prepare for
the day and nothing else. She, on the other hand, spent nearly all her free time behind a closed door in
her room.

Being at ease around others had never been one of her strengths to begin with and the vast differences
in Vulcan and human culture, beliefs and social habits coupled with the constant awareness she felt of
exactly where they were and why made it unbearably awkward to spend much time in Chu'laks
presence. Lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, Eden tried to rehearse what she might say to inform
him of her 'little problem,' (a horribly inadequate phrase her mother had often used to refer to her
disorder). She mentally restarted the scene again and again, each time feeling it was all wrong. This
occupied her time until she heard a chime from the intercom imbedded in the wall followed by a robotic
female voice announcing 'meal time.'

Meals were served in a dining hall three times a day with the variety of other patients. The meal times
were split into shifts, both so that the patients could be carefully monitored and attended to in small
groups and to keep conflicts between various species and mental illnesses unsuited to one another
limited. This was the last meal of the day.

She grimaced. Meals were her least favorite time of day and certainly the most difficult. She squeezed
her eyes shut and willed herself away from this place, this moment. After several minutes a sharp 'beep'
sounded at her door, the sound that usually meant someone was requesting entry. Chu'lak. Roommates
were to walk down to the dining hall together. They were all trusted to make their own way about the
building as every inch of it was monitored.

"Coming!" She called out to him. She lifted herself from her bed and grabbed a black, poncho-like jacket
from where she had carelessly tossed it on the floor, and threw it over her head, poking her arms
through the large bell-sleeves. She was always cold anywhere outside of her quarters and was glad that
Chu'lak preferred a warm atmosphere as well; one of the very few things they had in common. She
didn't dare wear her jacket to her counseling sessions. Its oversized, baggy appearance was considered a
'red flag' and was always commented on. It wasn't much baggier than the clothes she usually wore
anyhow. She couldn't stand clothes that held too tightly to her figure.

She took only a moment to check herself over in the bathroom mirror. The mirror was purposefully tiny
and high up on the wall, leaving her with only the ability to see herself from the neck up. She had no
access to any other mirror. She smoothed her blonde, curly hair where it had become disheveled from
lying down before exiting her room. Chu'lak was waiting for her by the door in the common room that
led into the hallway.

"Meals are served at the same time each day." He commented. Although his face and posture depicted
no particular attitude, she understood his meaning. Schedules were solid and should remain
uninterrupted without good cause in the mind of a Vulcan. No doubt he found the instances where he
was made to retrieve her all too frequent.

"I know." Was her only response. They spoke to each other no further as they made their way through
the corridors.

--

The dining hall, accessible through two large floor-to-ceiling automatic doors, was brightly lit with
gleaming white walls and floors made of a hard linoleum-type material. It was one of the larger rooms in
the facility, but a great deal smaller than the dining halls she had seen in other medical facilities. This
particular clinic was smaller than most as a whole. It was designed for personalized care of the most
severe cases and available spots for treatment were scarce and required several recommendations.

The center of the room featured three round tables intimately clustered together, with an attendant at
each table. Two attendants were standing by the replicator at the far end of the room and were
responsible for handing out meals. Eden noticed, with some curiosity, that almost all attendants were
humans. That was to be somewhat expected on an Earth clinic, she supposed.

This was the earliest meal-shift, with the smallest group of patients and the strictest set of rules. The
rules had been verbally cited to them on their first day, at the first meal. They were also placed on the
center of each table on a folded, standing plastic card. They read as follows:
1. Sit in your assigned seat.
2. No personal items allowed in the dining hall during meal times.
3. No discussion of food, eating or accompanying topics. (This includes physical
gestures.)
4. Be respectful of the other diners space and keep conversations polite.
5. Set utensils aside and place appendages in your lap when you are finished
eating.
6. Remain seated until excused.

Each chair set around the table had a tag indicating who was to sit where and the assigned seating was
always the same. There were twelve diners altogether, four at a table. Her table included Chu'lak, a male
Bajoran named Kiron and a female Klingon named L'utrah. Eden and Kiron were the friendliest of the
four-some, but they were not a chatty group by any means. The other tables consisted of three male
humans, two female Bajorans, one who was one-fourth Cardassian, the other pure Bajoran, a male trill,
a male Ferengi-human hybrid, and an androgynous creature named Yanner whose ethnicity remained a
mystery to Eden.

She had once asked Chu'lak and he said he believed them to be a mix of several species, engineered as
opposed to natural breeding. He also noted that there may be correlation between the mixing of species
and mental instability, as many of the patients here were of mixed blood. She had found the concept
interesting, but she was once again left feeling that those around her had a good reason for being as
they were while she fell short of any at all.
Chu'lak and Eden took their seats in their usual spots, Kiron and L'utrah were already seated. Eden
greeted them. Kiron, a pudgy man in his forties, offered a friendly hello and L'utrah, whose age Eden
never could quite pin down, nodded in her direction silently. No one bothered to greet Chu'lak as he was
not likely to respond with anything more than an acknowledgement statement, if at all. The rest of the
patients who were not already present filed in and took their places.

The two attendants responsible for meals busied themselves with the replicator and she felt a familiar
anxiety curl up in her stomach and travel throughout the rest of her body, stopping at her lips, making
them tremble. She willed herself to calm down, taking a deep breath as the various dishes, including her
own, were placed at the table. As everyone began to eat, she sipped her water and picked up her fork.
She pushed the food around, cut it into pieces, brought it up to her mouth as though she were going to
take a bite, set it back down again and took another drink.

"Replicated garbage, barely edible, as usual." Complained the half-Ferengi at the table opposite hers.

An attendant stepped in and sharply replied "Please adhere to rule #3."

"Why can't we talk about the food? What could that possibly hurt? Stupid rule." He grumbled.

Before the attendant could reply, the Bajoran woman, the one who was one-fourth Cardassian, cut in.
"Shut up, Ehn."

Eden, absorbing the conversation, froze in her seat. The Bajoran woman who had spoken up was named
Eldenia. She was here because she had gone mad and brutally murdered her husband after years of
physical and psychological torture at his hands. The incident was the only display of violence she had
ever presented, but the madness caused by severe abuse remained. It might be a wonder that a tiny
human such as herself could bear to be surrounded by the once-homicidal (and possibly still-homicidal)
without fear until her own self-destructive behaviors were considered. Eldenia was one of the few
people here Eden had outright told about her condition, although there were others in the group that
surely suspected.

She remembered Eldenia wrinkling her already-wrinkled nose and replying "I remember when my
husband forbade me to eat for two days. It was horrible. How can you stand it?" Eldenia had
undoubtedly correctly guessed that rule # 3 was for Eden’s benefit.

"Rule #4, Eldenia. Please, the both of you, continue your meals in silence or you will be escorted back to
your quarters." The two fell silent, shooting hateful glances at one another, and continued to eat.

Usually Eden could stomach at least a little food, but she found herself unable to take even a bite after
such an exchange. Meal-time ended without any further eventfulness and they were dismissed back to
their rooms. She was glad, for once, that Chu'lak insisted on a brisk pace. She wanted nothing more than
to hide as soon as she could. When they reached their quarters she made a beeline for her bedroom and
flung herself on the bed.

She buried her head in her pillow and began to cry as quietly as she could. Her stomach growled irritably.
She had been here for months and made almost no progress. There were others, she was sure, waiting
for a spot in this facility. She ought to leave and make way for someone more deserving, someone who
put in effort instead of wallowing in their room crying. She sobbed harder. Give up, she told herself. Just
give up and get out of the way.
She was torn from her self-pitying thoughts by her doors chime. Her still tear filled eyes squinted in
confusion. She wasn't due to receive anyone at the present.

"Wh-who is it?" She tried and failed to keep the telltale signs of crying from her voice.

"It is I, Chu'lak." Came the calm reply. 'Chu'lak?' He hardly spoke to her (not that she ever really tried to
engage him in conversation either), let alone disturbed her while she was tucked away in her room. She
cautiously made her way to her door and pressed the key to open it. Chu'lak was standing there, no
particular expression as usual, no signs of immediate trouble in the common room.

"What's wrong?" She asked him, perplexed.

"It was my intention to inquire the same of you."

It occurred to her she was probably a sight with tear-stained, red cheeks and mussed hair. She decided to
play dumb all the same. "... Me?"

"Yes. You were crying. This is a human sign of distress, is it not?"

She was dumbstruck. He appeared to ignore any and all emotion from the various patients in the facility,
including herself and she couldn't imagine why he was taking notice now.

"So you heard that, huh?" She said. She should have guessed that he could hear her in their quarters at
any given moment due to superior Vulcan auditory processing.

"So I did." His lips formed a thin line and as though the words were forced from him he explained: "The
attending doctor believes it’s necessary, due to the circumstances of my previous behaviors, that I make
an effort to endure understand the emotions of others when given the opportunity. Please inform me as
to why you were crying so that I might meet this requirement."

He was the last person in the galaxy she wanted to talk to, but she remembered her early line of thinking
that there were others more deserving. Chu'lak wasn't like her, he still had potential. He had things in life
to get back to, a career, maybe even a family. It was wrong of her to stand in his way when he was so
willing to try. She then remembered her promise to Dr. Lynn to tell him what was wrong with her and
why she was here.

"Actually I've been meaning to tell you, I mean, I've got orders of my own to follow that say to tell you..."
She trailed off and remained silent for some time. He waited patiently. "Maybe," she said at long last
"maybe it would be easier to just show you."

With that, she began to remove articles of clothing, one-by-one, starting with her overly large poncho,
until she was standing in nothing but her boy-shorts and sports bra. It was warm in their quarters - well
past what was considered comfortable to most humans, but she shivered without her layers of clothing
on. Her body had lost a great deal of its ability to regulate temperature. Her under clothes were hardly
revealing but she crossed her arms over her chest in embarrassment anyhow.

Her ribs were countable, her chest bones protruded and you could cut your hands on the sharp,
angularness of her hip bones and shoulder blades. She stood with her feet together and no part of her
legs touched.
She wasn't thin.

She had lost any semblance of 'thin' 20 pounds ago. She was positively skeletal, grotesquely so. She was
careful to dress herself in wide pants and loose, large tops. She used makeup and framed her hair
around her face to hide its gauntness. She pushed her hair out of her face now to let him see.

If the sight of her fully revealed frame, or the sudden removal of her clothes shocked Chu'lak, he didn't
show it. Instead, he carefully observed her, walking a circle around her.

"How did this happen?" He asked finally.

"I don't eat." Was all she offered, slowly shrugging her shoulders.

"Why?"

"It's called anorexia nervosa." Her short replies weren’t going to give him much information so he picked
up his nearby PADD and, typing in the name of the disorder, sat and began to read. She realized there
was no real purpose in standing there half-naked any longer and blushingly dressed herself. She sat
across from him, watching his eyes flick from left-to-right, feeling unsure. After some time, he set his
PADD on the coffee table between them. He regarded her for a moment.

"Are you about to tell me how illogical I am? Please don't, I already know it." He ignored her comment,
knowing there was a natural tendency for emotional beings to become defensive when confronted.

"I had not heard of this particular condition before, but it seems many humans and humanoid species
suffer from it. Under those given circumstances, are there not facilities specifically for this particular
illness?"

A fair question, she thought. "Well, there used to be, a long time ago. It was discovered that anorectics
have a tendency to make each other worse. They learn additional disordered behaviors from one
another, and constantly compare themselves. If there's someone thinner than everyone else... there's a
certain deniability. If they can survive and be that thin, so can you."

He considered this information. "There are many fatal complications that lack of adequate energy intake
can cause. You cannot ‘survive and be that thin' as you put it."

She looked down at her bony hands. The tips of her fingers were blue from lack of proper circulation.
"Yeah, I know."

"And yet you persist to starve yourself."

The comment irritated her. What she would give to just not starve herself, as though it were that simple!
"Well," she snapped "that's the whole 'mental illness' part, isn't it?"

Again, he ignored her defensive rhetoric. "When did the illness first present itself?"

She sighed, already tired of the questions. "The behaviors started around when I was 19 or 20, but I
remember the associated feelings always being there."

"If humans embraced logic and learned to repress their emotions as the Vulcans do, perhaps the
detrimental behaviors would never have begun."
Her initial reaction was to reject his statement, but she thought better of it. "Well, maybe." After a pause
she added, "I wish I were a Vulcan."

"An understandable sentiment." He replied, and she laughed, finding his comment genuinely funny. A
sudden realization struck her.

"A moment ago I was crying in my room, and now I'm laughing. Do you know what that means, Chu'lak?"

His brow furrowed, the most expressive face he had ever made in her presence. He shook his head.

"It means you made me feel better." She smiled at him. Perhaps she was not so far beyond help after all.

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