“Fine by me,” I announce, gripping his hand as hard as he is mine, making both of our bones creak and tendons strain.
The doctor gives me a faint frown as I sit. “Would you prefer to be seen separately?”
I shake my head, welding a smile in place. “It’s fine. Just embarrassed.”
She relaxes, folding her hands together on top of her desk. “No need for that. Would you like to take me through what’s brought you here today?”
“Just wanting to be thorough,” I say as a standard noncommittal answer.
Meanwhile, Seb launches into a fairy tale romance beneath the stars involving too much wine and a broken condom. The fantasy sure sounds nicer than the truth: that he made my life a misery, then, just as I was healing from those scars, turned up out of the blue to give me a new dose of deep anxiety and blackmailed me into having sex with him.
The florid answer annoys me so much that when he falls silent, I say, “Aren’t you going to ask her about the other thing?” When Seb looks perplexed, I turn to the doctor, scrunching my nose. “It wasn’t very hard. Do you offer advice on male sexual dysfunction?”
Instead of embarrassment or discomfort, he sports an enormous grin. “It was hard enough for you to come on it.”
“Yeah. But I have a fertile imagination to fall back on.” I share a broad smile with the doctor. “And my fingers did a lot of the heavy lifting.”
“Right.” The doctor frowns at her computer keyboard, hands poised to type but not yet moving. “We do have some pamphlets you can take away with you, but I’d prefer to schedule a separate consultation.”
“Should I be there, to provide context?” I ask like butter wouldn’t melt, then I turn to him, gleefully meeting his gaze. “Or would you prefer to discuss it on your own?”
“I don’t have a problem,” Seb bursts out, finally looking like I’ve got under his skin.
“There’s all kinds of treatments nowadays,” I continue, happy to mine the subject until the seam is completely tapped. “Little blue pills for starters. Isn’t that right, doc?”
She clears her throat. “As I said, I’d prefer to schedule a separate appointment if you wish to discuss any problems of that nature.” Seb clenches his jaw so hard I’m surprised his teeth don’t crumble into dust. “But yes. There are plenty of treatments. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s more common than you think.”
“I do not have—”
“Also, I stuck my finger up your butt when you were having trouble coming,” I say with a straight face. Then frown at the doctor. “Does that involve an extra test?”
“There’s a swab we can—”
Seb has a nasty glint in his eye, and I can imagine the horrendous payback he’s planning in his head. But we’re no longer at a party with shock clouding my mind and everyone I know gathered in a couple of rooms downstairs.
In a few days, he’ll shoot back to wherever he belongs. Even if he catches me before he goes and makes me pay for it, right now the levelling of my anxiety levels is worth it.
About time he was the one forced to take a joke.
“He didn’t touch me anally at all,” I say, interrupting the doctor before turning back to him. “But you should definitely get a swab taken.”
“Urine sample first,” the doctor says, her eyes bouncing between us, a crinkled brow testament that she doesn’t understand our dynamic any better than we do. “And then I’ll take a rectal swab.”
She holds out a sample jar for Seb and when I stretch my hand out for one, too, she shakes her head. “It’ll be more thorough if I can take a vaginal swab. Just pop through the curtain, take off your jeans and get on the table. Bottom on the disposable paper and there’s a vanity sheet to put across your lap.”
I hesitate for a moment too long. Seb’s grin returns as my discomfort becomes clearer.
The doctor shoos him out the door and closes it firmly. “Have you had an internal examination before?”
I give a stiff nod, all the fun sucked out of the day as I follow her instructions.
“Press the soles of your feet together and let your knees fall to either side. That’s it.”
My eyes fix on the ceiling tiles, counting the holes in the sound dampening material while she inserts a speculum and collects a sample with a cotton bud at least half a foot long. My scars are fully exposed, but she says nothing.
I know she sees them. With my thighs this wide apart, she’d have to be blind not to. I clench my teeth to hold my face steady while my body cringes with embarrassment, praying she won’t ask.
“Have you had unprotected sex before last night?” she asks like that’s a routine question but my shoulders hunch at a subtext behind the words that I can’t identify.
