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CHAPTER 31/2
PENIS INSPECTION DAY
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Before she knocked on the bedroom door Dr. Emmerson turned back to Mrs. Sommers and whispered something along the lines of
I'll take it from here
, with words such as
private
,
delicate situation
,
gynecological exam
or
building trust
. She wished this mother of two couldn't see through her; as however confused her rambling was (although rehearsed like the rest), this time she was telling the truth. Her long talk with the parents had been mostly downplaying on her part, and she worried that she would sound different now.
In any case, Camille Sommers went back to her mourning with only a ghostly "Fine." But she left hanging an eye on this strange doctor, this intruder, to mark and to promise unfinished thinking.
As a doctor, Emmerson came in, but it was as a worried woman, not wearing her white coat, that she closed the door behind her. Emilia found Gabrielle sitting up wide awake in a pull out sofa. Only her head peeked out from the covers.
Now at least she would tell nothing but the truth. That is until she would have not to lie but to stop talking.
She said, "Hi." Which only got a vague glance in response.
She picked the desk chair and rolled it to the head of the bed. Most of the carpeting had been hastily removed with a boxcutter. Wondering why made her finally notice the faint ammonia scent of precum lingering in the room despite the windows left opened. She took the time to sit, to put her case down at her feet. Got the time to see the girl's expression was steady, and cold, almost. And elsewhere.
"I believe saying it's nice to see you would be in bad taste."
No response. No interest.
"Your mother told me you haven't said a word all day."
Gabrielle confirmed it by not saying a word, looking at the sky outside.
"Me, I have so much to tell I don't really know where to begin."
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, like she had overheard a lame joke.
"How do you feel?" she was asked, and it made her twitch like someone who had been asked the same question all day. Her brows slumped into a frown. Gabrielle swiveled to a prone position, sighing. To then immediately—as if remembering she had sprained some part of her body—roll back to supine.
The silence had got a little heavier. Emilia almost apologized for it but she assumed it wouldn't reach Gabrielle's hidden mental place.
She opened her mouth but Gabrielle finally spoke:
"I don't want to be examined." Still without looking. And in a voice that was elsewhere too.
"Ok," Emilia replied and unconsciously relaxed in her chair. "We have much to discuss anyway. And it's not that imperative since I know you feel better than you ever felt in your whole life."
Three seconds of disbelief was what it took to Gabrielle to throw her gaze upon Emilia. She then considered remaining silent forever, but instead said, "You think you know how I feel?"
"Um... Yes, I..."
Wrong answer.
Wrong answer until Gabrielle got it wrong. "You mean you're like me?" Her eyes giving out only the possibility of glimmering.
Emilia cursed herself for having entangled things so fast and replied that no she wasn't. She even almost added that she had a vagina. And now it was back to step one. Or minus one.
She said, "Ok um... I suppose I should have introduced myself properly. My name is Emilia Emmerson. I'm twenty-eight. I'm a clinical sexologist from the University of Stanford. I also work for the organization studying and protecting the existence of the Rebz. I've been assigned as your Tutor. It means I'll be your personal physician, if you agree to. But you'll find that it mostly means I'm here to answer your questions."
She held out her hand and waited patiently, but not so long as to look dumb or annoying. And the hand lowered down; and stopped as Gabrielle moved; and then hid when a hand, struggling to come out from under the covers, appeared, holding a huge book, which the girl carelessly put next to her pillow. Gabrielle's face didn't alter but she was thinking, and not just for herself anymore. And her stare was ready for battle:
She asked, "You ever read Lovecraft?" That name was on the book cover.
"It's a romance novel?"
"Ever read the Bible?"
"As a kid."
"'
For no man can see my face and live?
'"
"Oh... um... I don't think I follow..."
"I hate quoting the Bible..."
"What's Lovecraft then?"
"'
I saw tentacles and now I'm insane.
'"
"And that's how you would say you feel?"
"No. I don't know. I can't put words on how I feel. Means you can't help me. Means you should leave."
Emilia couldn't conceal a soft sigh. Of empathy. Because she had just understood: "You didn't take the painkillers I gave you."
It wasn't a question.
It got a glance, like a surprise. Therefore a yes. So Emilia went on:
"You won't suffer from PTSD if that's what you're trying to say. Being conscious during your metamorphosis was like a psychedelic trip (or as you implied: a religious experience), and you felt a lot of things, probably even contradictory emotions, like fear and pleasure and shame and pride and now your brain has to adjust. You're not having a mental breakdown—"
"
How d'you know that?
I am... I..."
"I have my own literary quote."
"Oh please, do we have to—"
"'
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
'"
"It's from
Assassin's Creed
?"
"Nietzsche."
Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Big moustache guy? We don't have his books at home. Can we stop the pissing contest?"
Which she had started.
Emilia realized she forgot it was a teenager she was dealing with.
In the meantime, the latter had retreated back to pondering.
Looking around, Emilia saw a small shelf with a few hardcover books, neat and lined up. Next to it, on the desk, was an untidy pile of way more paperbacks and even more mangas. Worn. Dog-eared. Spines creased. Second-hand pricetags on some of them.
Gabrielle caught her looking.
She said, "It's my parents who like to read, I only inherited the gene."
"I haven't read a book that wasn't medical in...ten years, I gue—"
"You should have told me I would destroy my room like that."
"Would you have believed me?"
And then it wasn't silence, it was mild speechlessness. Something that didn't have the same weight and could go on without being awkward. And the longer it went, the more space for appeasement.
Gabrielle moved to her flank, this time eschewing the prone position, and nestled her face into the pillow.
Her voice muffled, she exhaled, "I'm sorry I laughed at you the other day."
"It's all right."
"I still think your story is sus."
"No cap?"
The laugh Gabrielle spat into the pillow was definitely of the same kind as the other day. "Doctor—"
"Emilia."
"Doctor, please don't ever say that again, like, ever. And don't ever try to coax me, or lie to me. Please."
"I won't. I promise. Actually as a Rebz you will have access to information only very few people do."
"Like what? I'm part of the Illuminati now?"
"Well, I must admit our organization has the attributes of a secret society, which is not uncommon in medicine. I mean, I was co-opted, I took an oath..."
Gabrielle blew air out of her nose. "This is insane."
"We're not really centralized though, we don't even have a name, we're Dr. Stewart's team. And I lied to you about that: we don't work with the UN, or with anyone for that matter—"
"So you
are
a cult. No oversight..."
"We don't have any religious agenda, or ideological for that matter. We don't do it for money either. But there is indeed a part of belief: we believe you are someone worth protecting."
"You don't get anything out of it? no new drugs to sell? no MK-Ultra business?"
"You spend too much time on the internet. But ok fine, we
did
find some interesting new molecules that could change the course of humanity."
"So you did experiment on us."
She had said
us
.
"If you call blood samples experimenting, then yea," Emilia said. "But I assure you: we have oversight. By none other than the Rebz themselves. It's been thirty years, they have seats on the Council. And also, precisely like a secret society, we are bound by honor. It's a word I think you understand given your upbringing."
Gabrielle looked like she wanted to reply
Fuck you
.
"The thing is," Emilia went on, "some aspects of your life will have to remain secret, you do realize it, don't you?"
"And if I refuse to see you again, you will, like, spy on me or something?"
"We do have an intelligence service. But we only monitor some of the people around you. School faculty, mostly. We're really here to protect you."
"From what?"
Poor choice of words. Emilia hesitated. But she did it, she dared to trust her patient's intelligence and brushed off any false threat of proverbial bad guys by nodding toward the obvious fact. This pelvis under the comforter. The thing to be protected.
Gabrielle slouched back into the pillow. "Am I going to be like this forever?"
"Yes. So far it proved to be irreversible."
"No, I mean..." she in turn nodded downward. "Being like this. It's been hours."
"Oh. Yes, the first erection can last up to three weeks."
"
Three weeks?
I'll be stuck here
three weeks
? You don't have another magic pill for that?"
"I'm afraid not."
"I can't go to school, I can't see my friends, I have to pee in the tub because of this..."
"...penis?"
"Don't play that game with me!"
"I'm sorry." Emilia paused, to emphasize the words. "Listen. You can use this time to organize your new life. I will help you do that."
"You're just here to study me like a guinea pig. And measure my..." Again the word got stuck. "And tell me how I feel."
"I know how the other Rebz feel. There's thirty years of literature about your condition."
"Do not tell me how I feel!"
