That damn itch was back. She scratched the back of her neck for a moment's release, then the itch came right back, worse than before. She tried to ignore it, to focus on the layout work she needed to finish. She'd taken a lot more work since her partner had left without explanation. If she were too busy to feel lonely, maybe she could get over it. Forget.

But not if she couldn't go five minutes without this itch breaking her flow. She needed that flow to hit her deadlines, and she needed it to lose herself in work.

She gave in, scratching furiously. The bump on her neck opened and slippery fluid dribbled out. Memories flooded into her head.

Memories of her relationship crumbling. Of her infidelities, her lies, how they'd nearly driven her partner mad. Shame burned her cheeks, drove tears from her eyes. She also remembered the hidden, pre-loaded syringe. Reaching behind her neck, she injected the memory shunt.

When the fog cleared, she remembered a very satisfying scratching session. Her eyes were watering from the screen, but she needed to keep going to hit her deadlines. It took a lot of work to forget being lonely.