Doctor's Orders: The Exam by Chloe Cox Page B

my mouth automatically. It was his voice over the
speaker. There’s something primal about it. He studies me, as though evaluating
me. I push my chest out ever so slightly, suck my tummy in a little. I look for
a glimmer of a smile on his lips, but find nothing.
    “I am the Doctor.” He finally says, like he’s giving me a
gift. “Follow me.”
    And without waiting for a response, he turns and strides
down the hall, away from me.
    I hurry up to follow, hearing his footsteps recede into the
darkness. It takes me a moment to collect myself, to smooth down my skirt and
my hair, to feel presentable. Then I have to hurry after him, tottering in my
new black pumps, heels clicking on the marble floor.
    I rush out into a great hall, and pause in front of a grand,
sweeping staircase. I would see him if he’d gone up that staircase. It spirals
lazily up at least four stories. Confused and slightly panicked – what if
I’ve lost him already? – I look around wildly until I see another door.
This leads to another staircase, going down, and I can hear the last of his
steps at the bottom. I clatter down the steps in a hurry, anxious to catch up
to him. It’s only later that I’ll think about how eager I am to please him.
    When I find him, he’s seated behind a desk in a long, low
room. There’s medical looking equipment along the sides of the room, a table on
wheels with the familiar stirrups – I shiver at the sight of those
stirrups, and look away quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice my reaction –
various straps and things on the walls. There’s a single chair placed in front
of his desk, a standing lamp next to it, beaming down a spotlight.
    “Sit down.” He says.
    I do. I can’t figure out what to do with my legs. I try
crossing them, but that feels too seductive. Eventually I settle for crossing
them at the ankle, in a demure fashion. He watches all this with curiosity.
    “Why are you here, Claire?”
    Confused, I stutter a little. “I, um...I received an
invitation?”
    “Why did you receive an invitation, Claire?”
    I look down at my hands.
    “I don’t know.”
    “That will be the last time you lie to me, Claire, or you
will never see me again.”
    I look up with obvious worry. I can’t bear the thought of
that. Ridiculous, I know, but already this has been the only thing in my life
that’s truly mine, the only thing that’s the least bit special. No one even
knows I’m here.
    “Because there’s something wrong with me.” I whisper.
    He cocks his head to the side, as though listening for
something only he can hear. Finally he puts his hands together, finger tip to
finger tip, and looks down at me.
    “That is one way of putting it. You are trapped, Claire. You
are unhappy. You are not free. The only path to freedom is through surrender.
Did you know that, Claire?”
    I shake my head. I have no idea what he’s talking about,
except that he’s right about one thing: I do feel trapped.
    “Different people find freedom in different ways. They
surrender to different things. I suspect that your way, Claire, is to surrender
to me. That will be your treatment, if you choose to pursue it.”
    On some level, I know that this is insane. But it’s a very
far away, abstract kind of awareness. The rest of me, the flesh and blood and
driving animal part of me, the part that can still feel things, wants to scream
its relief: finally, something feels right. It’s like he’s in my head already.
    “Yes.” I say.
    “You will submit to me completely during the course of your
treatment, Claire. I will give you a safeword. If you choose to use it, treatment
will immediately, and permanently, cease. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “You will submit to me completely. ”
    This is the first thing he’s said with any sense of urgency,
and I feel the stirrings of nerves in my belly. It’s as though he’s warning me.
My curiosity is overwhelming, but in these few minutes I realize that I’m tired
of being scared