Primal Atavism

'Oh... Sorry to hear that.' I admonish myself for not being better at these kinds of conversations. She's so good at making me feel better when I'm down, and I wish I was able to draw on experiences to return the favour.

'No need to be sorry. I'm glad in a weird sort of way. He hurt me, but that doesn't mean I want him to be unhappy for the rest of his life.'

'So, who was the guy you err... you know.'

'Slept with? You can say it. A guy I met on the tube. We actually got on really well, believe it or not. I just wish I'd met him in different circumstances.'

'I see,' I say, desperately trying to find some appropriate words. 'Do you think you'll see him again?'

She shoots me a sarcastic look. 'Sure, we're going for afternoon tea later.'

'I was only asking.'

'I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bite your head off. It's just... I've been feeling a bit lonely lately.'

'How come?'

'I always thought I'd have settled down by now. I was convinced Jason was the right guy.' She sighs again. 'I just want to find someone, Dyl.'

She tilts her head back as her eyes well up, trying to stay strong for me like she always has. I cross the kitchen and give her a hug. She feels so small in my arms, something I always find strange after the opposite was true for so long.

'You will. You'll make someone really lucky.'

'Thanks.' She laughs through her tears as I let her go. 'Look at the state of me, why am I being so silly?'

'You're beinghonest. Why didn't you tell me before?'

'I didn't want to burden you with my problems. You're dealing with a lot yourself at the moment.'

'You can always talk to me, Rach, that's what I'm here for. Now sit down, I'll make us breakfast. You've barely touched your cereal, and it'll be soggy now anyway.'

'What did I do to deserve you, eh?' She ruffles my hair. 'If only you weren't my brother.'

'Shut up,' I say with a snort. 'You must be feeling better if you're back to annoying me.'

'I need something to distract me, don't I?'

*

'Rach! Rach!' I shout, stomping out of my room towards the living room.

'What is it? You started a fire or something?'

'Better.' I crash down next to her on the sofa and show her my laptop. 'Read it.'

Her bewilderment turns to excitement as she looks at the screen.'We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen for the next stage of the Primal Atavismtrial, which will commence next week on Saturday 1st July. Please reply to this email by midday on Tuesday 27th June if you still wish to participate... blah, blah, blah...Yours Sincerely, Natalie Hastings.' She turns to me. 'You got it. That's amazing.'

'Yeah,' I say. 'I honestly didn't think it would happen.'

'You didn't seem sure about it yesterday, how come you're so excited now?'

'I don't know. I guess I realised how big of an opportunity it is. It says only ten people have been selected.'

Rachel grins, seemingly as excited as me. 'Hey, if it works, maybe you'll be able to give me a few dating tips.'

I can't help but laugh. 'That'll be the day. You taking relationship advice from me.'

'Stranger things have happened. Right, get that reply sent, then we'll go out to celebrate.'

'Cinema?'

'Of course.'

As well as the theatre, films are something we both love, and going to the cinema was therapeutic in the aftermath of mum and dad's accident. They were a form of escapism that helped us cope after the loss, each title bringing us closer together, guiding us through the grief. We made sure to go at least once a month before I left for uni, and now we go a handful of times whenever I'm back for the holidays.

Rachel

'Okay, tell me everything,' Aleisha says. 'And I mean,everything.' She eyes me over her latte, mischief in her eyes.

'Now?'

She looks around the café. 'No one can hear. I want all the juicy details.'

I look over my shoulder. The only other people here are an old couple sitting by the window, spreading jam onto scones. 'Alright. I met up with Greg after I leftHelium.'

'And?'

I give her a look that says a thousand words.

'No,' she gasps, 'I didn't think you had it in you. How was it?'

'Nice.'

She raises an eyebrow. 'Nice? Is that all?'

'Yeah. It was nice. He was nice.'

'Sounds exciting,' she says sarcastically.

'It was exciting enough for me. He's asked me out for dinner next Friday.'

'Ooh, look who's moving fast. Where's he taking you?'

'I don't know. He said it's a surprise.'

'It had better be somewhere fabulous, or he'll have me to deal with. I'm happy for you though, it's about time you moved on from Jason.'

'Thanks, Leish. Anyway, how did it go with your rugby player?'

She grins, finally able to answer the question she's been dying for me to ask since we sat down. Her eyes glint with the memories of God knows what.

'He wasincredible. He knew exactly what he was doing. Kitchen table, sofa, bed, shower—we did it everywhere. I've never had so many orgasms in one night.'

'Sounds like a keeper,' I tease.

She snorts. 'If only. Great in bed, but dumb as a post. The conversation over breakfast wasn't exactly stimulating.'

'No one's perfect.'

'More's the pity. I think it's time I found somebody for the long-term.'

I splutter on my coffee. 'Settle down? You?' I reach out and place my palm on her forehead. 'Are you feeling okay?'

She bats it away in mock reproach. 'Don't looked so shocked. I know I can't keep doing this forever.'

'You literally just told me you had sex with a teenager on every conceivable surface in your flat,' I point out.

'He wastwenty, actually.'

'Oh, that's alright then.'

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?'

'I'm just surprised. The steady boyfriend was always my thing. You always said you hated the idea.'

'I know, but this isn't out of the blue. More and more of my friends are getting married, and a couple even have kids on the way.'

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. 'Kids?'

'Obviously I'm not at that point yet, but I need to start thinking long-term.'

'The way I'm going, you'll probably find someone before I do.'

'That'd be ironic. Greg was a step in the right direction, though.'

I laugh. 'If I'm lucky, he'll be more than just a step. I'll just have to make sure his boss is a straight guy.'

'Or that she looks like a bridge troll.'

'Considering the amount Jason said he drank, I don't think that would have stopped him.'

'Men...' she says with a resigned look. 'Speaking of which, how's Dylan. You mentioned he's been accepted for some sort of trial.'

'Yeah, it's calledPrimal Atavism. It's a drug designed to help men in their interactions with women.'

'Ooh, sounds interesting. How does it work?'

'They don't know exactly, that's the point of the trial. From what I've read, it's supposed to enhance characteristics that women find attractive—confidence, scent, that sort of thing.'

'It's amazing what science can do these days. I think it'll be good for him. He's a sweet guy, but he could do with a bit of confidence.'

'Yeah, I just hope it helps. I'm worried how it will affect him if it doesn't work.'

'He'll be fine either way. There's someone out there for everyone.'

I hum in agreement then sip my cappuccino. Dylan's issue is that he doesn't think there's anyone for him, and it hurts me that he feels that way. He could make it happen if he wasn't so hard on himself. I've told him it isn't necessarily about looks or muscles or being the life of the party, and I truly believe that. None of my exes were models, but theydid impress me in other ways. That's what most women want, but Dylan doesn't even try. I don't think he believes he can.

Dylan

My stomach churns as we pull intoPothos's car park. Rachel switches off the engine then smiles at me.

'I'll wait for you here,' she says.

'Are you sure? I'll be an hour.'

'That's fine. I brought a novel I've been meaning to finish for ages.'

'Okay,' I say, opening the door. 'I'll return a new man.'

She laughs, wishes me luck, then I make my way to the entrance. I walk more slowly than my usual pace, all of my internal organs vibrating with anxiety.

Natalie greets me at reception. She's still formal and detached, but seeing a familiar face provides some comfort. She takes me to the waiting area, and this time I pour myself a glass of lemon water to try and calm my nerves.

My appointment is at two, and I stare at the Bauhaus clock as the last few minutes tick by. Right on cue, footsteps approach from the lobby. It's not Natalie; absent is the tell-tale clacking of heels.

'Hi Dylan,' says Dr Monroe, 'if you would like to follow me.'

I nod and walk tentatively behind him, my feet at risk of going metaphorically cold. He leads me to his office and gestures for me to take a seat. It's a little more inviting than the rest of the building; a few trinkets decorate various shelves, and there are pictures of people I assume are his family on his desk.

'How are you?' he asks.

'Fine. A little nervous, but fine.'

'That's understandable. It's a big decision you've taken in coming here, but know that you haven't committed to anything yet. The object of today is to conduct a few tests to make sure you don't meet any of our exclusion criteria, and for you to ask any questions you may have. First things first, though, I'll need to take a blood sample. Are you okay with needles?'

'If I don't look.'

He smiles. 'That's fairly common.'

He unpacks a needle from a tray on his desk, and I roll up my left sleeve. After tying a tourniquet around my bicep, he prods my skin to find a vein.

'You'll feel a slight pinch,' he says as he positions the needle against my arm.

I look out of the window, say 'Ready', then wince as it goes in.

'All done.' He seals and labels my vial of blood, removes the tourniquet, then tapes cotton wool over the puncture site. He types something into a tablet, then a woman in a lab coat enters the office and collects my sample. 'We'll have the results in half an hour.'

'That quickly?'

'Yes. We have state of the art technology here. In the meantime, there are a few things I need to go over with you about howPrimal Atavism works. Don't hesitate if you have any questions.'

'I was wondering what made you select my application. I mean, how was it different to the ones that didn't get chosen?'

'Some were excluded due to their medical history, but for most it was because of motivations. We wanted to make sure people were here for the right reasons. You came across as very honest and sincere, making you an ideal candidate.'

'Oh. Glad to hear.'

For the next half hour, Dr Monroe goes through details of the drug: how it works, what traits it's meant to reawaken, and potential side effects. It's essentially a more detailed version of the previous week's presentation.

'How is it taken?' I ask. 'Will I have to keep coming back?'

'No. That's one of the best things aboutPrimal Atavism. It's taken once, orally. You'd take it here and go on your way.'

'And is there anything you want me to do after?'

'We require all our participants to complete weekly self-report forms on our secure server. Links to them will be sent via email.'

'What kind of stuff will you want to know?'

'As much as you can tell us: how you feel, your experiences, and any adverse effects you think you may be experiencing.'

'Experiences?'

'It will be important for you to be as detailed as possible so we can best understand howPrimal Atavism is working. This includes things that may be intimate in nature. If you have a sexual encounter, for example, we would ask that you include it. Everything you write will be confidential, of course.'

The prospect of a sexual encounter makes things seem a lot more real, although I have my doubts as to whether that could actually happen. I only half listen as he goes through the final details, torn between the future I want and fear of the unknown.

After he finishes, he receives a notification on his tablet. 'Good news. Your blood tests came back normal, which means you're eligible for the trial.'

'Great.'

He taps the tablet a few more times, then slides it over to my side of the desk. 'This is our consent form. Take your time to read it thoroughly, I'll be back in a few minutes.'

He leaves the room and I make a start on the form. To my relief, it's short and comprehensible, no legal or medical jargon. There's nothing I hadn't expected; the crux of it is to ensure thatPothos bears no legal responsibility should anything go wrong.

Twelve minutes and forty-six seconds later—keeping track helps steady my nerves—Dr Monroe re-enters and sits down. 'Have you decided? I'm obliged to remind you that you can still withdraw.'

My internal monologue screams its doubts. What if it makes you ill? What if it doesn't work anyway? A drug can't fixyour problems! I take a breath. For too long, those kind of thoughts have prevented me striving for good things in my life.

'I want to participate.'

'Excellent, just click the e-sign and type in your name.'

As I do so, he produces a box from his desk. I'm surprised at how innocuous it looks, like a pack of paracetamol but without any branding.

'Like I mentioned earlier,' he says, 'Primal Atavism is taken as a single dose.' He hands me the box. 'Would you like some water?'

'Yes please.'

I open the box as he goes to a water cooler in the corner of the office. There's a single white pill in the centre of a blister pack. Like many things these days, the size of the packaging is ridiculously excessive.

I take a swig of water and swallow the pill.

If I didn't know about adrenaline, I might have thoughtPrimal Atavism was having an instant effect. My heart races and my palms sweat, but as I put the cup down, calm descends. I've made a huge decision, and there's no going back now.

Dr Monroe smiles. 'How do you feel?'

'Excited... Nervous, but excited. How long will it take to work?'

'We can't say for certain as this is our first trial in humans. But if our predictions are correct, you should start noticing effects in a week to a fortnight.'

'A week to a fortnight,' I repeat.

'And with that, we're done for the day, unless you have any more questions.'

I shake my head.

He gets up and walks me back to the lobby. 'You'll be sent an email in a week with a link to your first self-report form. If you think of any questions or experience any problems at any time, don't hesitate to get in touch. A member of my team will always be on hand to help.'

'Thanks,' I say as we reach the exit.

'Best of luck, Dylan. Take care.'

A cool breeze greets me as I step outside. The last hour seems like a blur, and I feel a bit surreal as I make my way to Rachel's car, hyper-aware that a potential wonder-drug is coursing through me. I climb into the passenger seat.

'How did it go?' she asks.

'Good.'

'So...did you take it?'

'Yeah.'

'Ooh, congratulations,' she squeals. 'Do you feel any different?'

I appreciate her excitement, but the last thing I want is to get my hopes up. 'Not yet, but it should start to take effect in one to two weeks.'

'Not long then. I thought we could go to the cinema to celebrate. There's the newMission Impossible I've been wanting to see.'

'Sounds like a plan.'

'Great, and if you try to put your arm around me, I'll definitely know it's working.'

'Rach...you're my sister.'

She ruffles my hair. 'Just a joke. Now belt up and let's go.'

'A bad one, as usual,' I mutter as she starts the engine.

*

I'm almost bouncing off the walls of the flat. It's been four days since I tookPrimal Atavism, and Dr Monroe's estimation of one to two weeks for effects to manifest turned out to be an overestimation. While there have been no drastic changes yet, I've noticed little oddities I wouldn't normally associate with myself: my appetite has increased, my beard is growing faster, and I have a lot more energy to burn. A week ago I'd have been happy to spend a day alone in the flat; now it feels claustrophobic. Needing to go out, I put on my shoes while pondering the other, more embarrassing change.

I'm insanely horny.

I woke up with morning wood two days ago and initially thought little of it. Maybe that it was a bit more apparent than usual, but nothing too out of the ordinary. But even after I 'sorted it out', so to speak, I couldn't get sex off my mind. There was no post-nut calm, and the thoughts only grew more intense as the day wore on.

It's been much the same since, my mind wandering to the erotic whenever it has a spare moment. Almost every woman I see gets stripped and debauched by my thoughts. Nothing sinister or untoward, merely an intensified appreciation of the female form.

As I leave the front entrance to our block of flats, I see the woman who lives above Rachel with her arms full of shopping. I hold the door open and she thanks me. Last week, I'd have thought nothing more of her; I'd have enjoyed the brief satisfaction of doing a good deed and got on with my day. Today though, the good deed is secondary to the sweetness of her voice. Her simple words of thanks are like aural honey that flows to form a river of sordid thoughts. I imagine her soft, feminine tone orating more intimate things, losing control as we indulge in boundless passions while her husband is at work and her kids are at school.

I shake the scene from my head when I realise I'm at the end of the street, yet have no recollection of getting here. I turn right and, luckily for my road safety, pass no more women on the way to the tube.

I board the train and distract myself with a book, occasionally glancing up as people get on and off. There are women aplenty, each possessing qualities thatPrimal Atavism makes glaringly obvious. I stare at the pages without reading the words, too busy wondering if this is how men who are successful with women feel.

The thought keeps me occupied until the train gets to Central London, where I alight at Leicester Square. It's a great place for distractions, and the theatres, shops, and hustle and bustle of people help steer my mind towards more innocuous things. I escape the throng of tourists and, after turning down a side street, arrive atPapertrail, an old-fashioned book shop I frequent every now and again. A bell chimes as I step inside, and I take an intoxicating inhale of old book smell.

'Hello.'

I acknowledge the young woman behind the counter. I haven't seen her working here before, but I know it's a family business, so she could be the daughter of the guy who's usually there. I disappear into the floor-to-ceiling shelves, not paying her too much scrutiny lest my mind wander to carnal pastures.

After half an hour of perusing, the blurb of a whodunnit intrigues me enough to take it to a chair. They don't mind customers reading in store, in fact they encourage it. I sink into the comfortable wingback and take my time to read the first chapter, relaxing amid the ambiance of the old shop.

It's compelling enough to buy, so I get up and take it to the counter. As I join the queue, it hits me that I haven't thought about women in almost an hour. Hopefully it's a sign I'm getting used to the drug. There are two customers in front of me, and as the first leaves and the young shop assistant greets the second, I catch her mid-smile. I stare as she scans a thick volume on history and bags it. She's slight, petite, and—somewhat appropriately—bookishley cute. And then there's her...

'Wow, she has amazing tits.'

Everyone stares at me: the shop assistant, the man in front of me in the queue, and another woman behind.Shit! Did I really say that out loud? I couldn't have...surely. I think I did. The woman's face is a mortified pink, her eyes wide with incredulity.