That sounded really, really far-fetched, almost as much as the horrible child psychologist who had suggested she needed some real life scares to overcome her fear of Bogeymen.
“But I’ve had them since I was a child,” she pointed out.
The doctor turned his body fully toward her, leaned forward, and held out one large hand, palm facing up in an inviting gesture.
Tentatively, she placed her right hand in his, glancing at his face.
“Selma...” His fingers constricted slightly around hers, making them appear ghostly against his olive skin. “I understand that you’ve been through many failed treatments and how that must have affected your life. That you have chosen to deal with this disorder on your own for an entire decade makes it very clear that you have little trust left for any part of the medical profession, which I cannot fault you for. But this... this will change your life, I can almost guarantee it.”
It wasn’t that she believed he was right, exactly, but the conviction on his handsome face was hard to ignore... or remain unaffected by. And he wasn’t going to use some experimental drugs on her, so what harm could there really be in giving it a try?
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” He closed his warm hand around hers again, firmer this time, before he let go and sat up straight. “The main goal is to even out your hormonal balance and encourage your brain to create new neurological pathways. That you see me as a monster will be helpful.”
Selma cocked her head. “Why?” The only thing his monstrous appearance helped her with was to refrain from acting like that giggly nurse.
His brilliant smile returned. “We’ll know if there is an improvement straight away.” He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a notebook and pen. “But first I need to ask you some questions about your general health so we can establish a baseline for the treatment.”
For a moment she’d feared he would be delving into electroshock therapy, but this sounded a lot more agreeable.
She returned his smile, lightness buoying her chest for the first time since that horrible incident the night before. Something about Dr. Hershey’s conviction penetrated her otherwise jaded experiences with doctors trying to help her, and just the slightest sliver of hope was starting to shine through the dark. He was nothing like the other psychiatrists she’d dealt with, and if there was even a remote chance that her condition could be improved, she was more than happy to give it a shot.
Sometimes, like last night, she was certain she saw the truth and everyone else was blind. The clammy feel of dark magic still clung to her like a bad memory. But now, in the light of day? She knew the monsters couldn’t have been anything but hallucinations. She was not a little girl anymore, and monsters and magic weren’t real.
“Are you a virgin?”
Selma blinked, taken aback. “Uh...“
But the doctor was all business, which made her able to fight off a blush. She was twenty-seven, after all—there was no need to get embarrassed about sharing her history with her doctor.
“No.”
“How many partners?”
“Three.” One drunken one-night stand and two attempts at dating that had lasted fewer than three weeks combined, but he hopefully wouldn’t need the specifics.
He moved the pen elegantly across the page of his notebook, creating beautifully curled script. Selma found herself mesmerized by the movement. He seemed to be adding a whole lot more detail than her one-word answers.
“Have you ever been, or tried to become, pregnant?”
“No.” She had made her peace with never getting to bring a baby into the world long ago; no one deserved a mother who struggled with this kind of illness.
“Are you on birth control?”
One would have to have a sex life for that to be relevant. “No.”
“How long since you were last sexually active?”
Selma blinked. Professional setting aside, admitting to a probably-rather-attractive-without-those-horns male that she had the sex life of a nun was still pretty humiliating.
“Two years.”
Dr. Hershey looked up. “How often do you masturbate?”
There was no fighting the blood rushing to her face this time. “I... do you really need to know that?”
“I need to know everything that affects your hormonal production,” he replied.
