I've touched the untouchable *snicker* This is actually the examination seen, but from her bed after Sister Julienne has tucked her in. I wanted to play with it, I hope I didn't take anything away for anyone. Hope you guys enjoy it!
The milk had gone cold a while ago and a film had started to form on top. Sister Bernadette didn't notice as she rolled the mug between her palms repeatedly. She pressed the scarred heel of her left hand harder in the ceramic than the right. She didn't even want the drink, she was holding it simply to keep her hands busy. She stared at the chipped corner on her dresser without seeing it.
Tuberculosis.
She had fought for the survival of the population of Polar never knowing she was carrying the disease herself. It wasn't the death sentence it had once been, but she could feel it rattle in her chest now. It was probably her imagination, but she could feel it, a crackling beast mocking her with tiny lesions. She didn't quite know the extent, but on the basic scan they had found 9 or 10, Doctor Turner had said. His concerned face came to mind and Sister Bernadette stopped rolling the mug. She put it back on her bedside table harder than she meant to and liquid sloshed over the rim.
Exasperated, she closed her eyes and prayed for patience, even if she was annoyed with herself. She stepped out of bed, took the mug and walked to the door. She had barely opened it when Jane walked up to her. "Can I help you, Sister?"
"No, I... I was just bringing this back to the kitchen."
"I'll take it for you."
Jane took the mug from Sister Bernadette's fingers. The look of endless sympathy touched with hint of pity on Jane's face put a hitch between her shoulder blades.
"Is there anything else I can do for you Sister?"
"No, no. Hum, thank you."
Sister Bernadette turned back and closed the door behind her, the hitch had spread and it was now in her throat, clogging it with tears she didn't want to shed. She sat on the edge of her bed and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and took a deep breath. The left was bumpier than the right and she eased the pressure, rubbing the scar again her eyebrow, the tickling soothing her. She knew Jane meant well, probably more than most people she had ever met, but the sympathy was too much bear. She didn't deserve it, not when she felt like this.
Further annoyed with herself, Sister Bernadette took off her dressing gown, put it at the foot of her bed and slid under the covers, intent on sleeping. She put her glasses on her bedside table, closed the light and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The darkness didn't help quiet her mind nor her wildly beating heart. She pressed her left hand against the traitorous organ and a tear slipped unnoticed along her temple.
Did she bring this on herself? Was that the punishment for the love that she felt blooming in her heart? She had prayed for it to stop and it hadn't, it only got stronger and stronger. Even now as the disease sat on her lungs, she could still feel that love digging deeper in her heart. She'd felt it grow in their common purpose today and that had been wonderful, it had felt positive and a good way to use it to give back to others. It had felt like a safe outlet for it and she had been so glad, so much so that she hadn't even recoiled from the lurch in her heart when he had smiled in greeting.
That brightening of his countenance every time he saw her and the answering gladness inside of her had been that first clue and she had dreaded it since she'd noticed. But not today, not even in the dispensary. It there had been flash of it before the concern engulfed his features. Its brevity had told her something was wrong more than anything else.
When he had asked her to sit, she had known, she hadn't wanted to believe it, but she had known. The x-ray card had only confirmed it for her. It was such a small image and her fate had been exposed on it.
In the dark of her room she could still see the innocent violet card she had filled in only this afternoon. How could she not have known before? How could she not have seen the symptoms? When he had asked her the very same question, she had felt awkward, there had been a little breathlessness, she couldn't deny it now, but she had come to associate it with him, with the butterflies in her stomach and the sweaty palms. He didn't even have to be there, her mind did all the work. Asleep or awake, the thoughts came and they sent her heart racing and it shortened her breath in a way she had never known existed.
Thinking back she knew she had witnessed hints of it during Chummy's romance with Constable Noakes, had even participated a bit and enjoyed it vicariously, but she had never realised how much space thoughts could take or how they could wreak havoc in her body. How could people live with so much inside? She didn't know what to do with all this. Sometimes she felt as if she would explode with all that was going on inside her heart and mind.
This evening had been one of those days. The only moment the never ending swirl of thoughts in her mind stopped mid motion was when he had spoken next. It hadn't been a quiet stillness. It had simply been a moment when all the motion had stopped to gather even more velocity and sweep her along with it. Even now, alone in her room, she could still feel as she'd felt, poised on the edge.
He would have to perform an examination.
The realisation had stolen her breath and she couldn't remember if she had answered him. It had taken them both a minute to move, the enormity of the situation bubbling between them. When she could not stand it any longer, she had stood up abruptly. "We'll need Sister Julienne."
The walk to her Sister's office had never seemed this long. Not when she had first entered as a novice, not even last month when she had gone to ask for help. Every step had been more than she could handle. He had matched her step for step and she had never felt so aware of another person before, not even the previous week in the car. She had been able to hear the rustle of his clothes, the faint squeaks of his case. She had heard him breathe, had matched her own rhythm to his. She had smelled the barely lingering smoke of the cigarette she knew he had smoked on the way over mixed with the remains of his shaving soap. She had felt how close to her he walked, as if electricity had come from him in tiny bolts and shocked her skin all over.
The memory of it, now in the dark, brought back an echo of the sensation and shivers settled low in her belly, so light and heavy it made her heart race and weakened her legs. It had been worse in the hallway. She had had to put a hand to her stomach, to try and calm the nerves, in hope of composing herself, but it had been as impossible then as it was now. She could only imagine what he must have thought because her discomfort had shown.
"Sister Bernadette?" The gently concerned tone of his voice had slipped like honey around the butterflies in her belly. She had closed her eyes, couldn't look at him and she had taken a shallow breath. She had been unable to tell him he was both too close and not close enough. The duality of feelings had left her dizzy and she had knocked on Sister Julienne's door gratefully.
Even hours from it, she could feel her heart beat faster. With a sigh, she turned on her side and grabbed one of her pillows tight, burying her face in it. She tried to block the thoughts but they came, they went back to Sister Julienne's office.
Her sister had shown such knowing concern, such kindness and she had felt so terribly guilty. Sister Bernadette had taken as deep a breath as she could while the tips of her fingers became numb. She had had dreams about Doctor Turner these last weeks, most made her feel deeply ashamed and weak. She wasn't ignorant of what happened between men and women in the dark, but she had never contemplated the act before or how she had given up the chance to feel those things when she took her vows, but her growing feelings for Doctor Turner had brought those thoughts to the forefront. More than once she had awakened with a racing heart and an ache that put her on edge.
Owning up to any of this would be breaking her vows, but in her heart of hearts, she knew that if this man ever had to see her in any state of undress, that wasn't how she would have wanted it to be. Not with her sister in the room, not wearing her habit, not in the simple slip she had owned for more years than she could remember. In all the dreams she'd had, awake or asleep, she had worn something Trixie might have owned, something womanly. Not this.
As she hugged her pillow closer to her chest, she could remember the agony of undressing. She had taken off her guimpe with shaking hands. The normally nimble fingers couldn't work the fasteners on her scapular. Sister Julienne had come to her rescue, making the younger nun feel even more awkward. The anxiety that had been building inside her chest had been almost too much. She had undone the first snap on her habit and she had taken a moment on the second, praying this was one more strange dream and that she would wake. When she hadn't, Sister Bernadette had quickly undone the others, her shallow breaths filling the office.
Doctor Turner had passed behind her and she wished he had started at the front. At least then she could have seen his touch coming, could have braced herself for it. She had instead been left with the anticipation, the intertwined dread and desire to feel his hand on her skin growing inside her. Their sharp edges had scraped her nerves raw until she had felt his hand pass under her coif and tug at her habit gently. Finally, the back of his fingers had rested against the pale skin of her back and her stomach had lurched. The stethoscope followed undetected.
All she had known was the warmth of his skin against her and the friction of his thumb as he rubbed it back and forth gently. To this moment, she was unable to tell if he was doing it on purpose, but her entire world had shrunk to the size of his hand. It had been so warm it felt as if it was searing her back. She knew it was impossible, but if she let herself think of it, she could feel it still, could feel exactly where it had rested on her, the phantom path of his thumb. It all lingered even if it was only in her mind. It haunted her in the same way her left fingers tingled when she thought about the kiss. Her heartbeat tripled now as it had in the office and she wondered how he could have heard her lungs over it.
She had exhaled at his request and the shakiness of her breath had terrified her. She marvelled at the fact that the other people in the room couldn't tell what she had been thinking. He had removed his hands and her stomach had felt bottomless. She had turned around to face him and was even now she was grateful that Sister Julienne had been at her back.
She had not dared look up to his face, concentrated instead on a point on his chin. It was insecurity that kept her from looking at him, what if she wasn't pleasing? What if he didn't like what he saw?
Discarding her pillow, she turned on her belly and groaned into her mattress. She felt vain and guilt sliced they her at the thought. She was not supposed to want to entice him or to please him, but she was a woman who was discovering herself in love for the very first time and while she knew it went against everything in her life, she wanted to know Doctor Turner found what he saw lovely. If she had looked at his face she knew she would not have found a hint of either like or dislike, he was too professional for that and she was well aware that something would have been crushed in her heart.
She inhaled sharply as she remembered how he had pushed aside her habit and then moved her cotton slip. Not seeing his face hadn't taken the feelings away. The swell of her breast had tingled and something coiled deep in her belly. He had switched side and she had turned her head further, praying it would be over soon, hoping she'd feel his hand there forever.
Doctor Turner had finished his examination and she had quickly started doing up the snaps of her tunic. She had wanted to hide herself back behind the mask, not only her body but also her feelings. It was much easier to hide as she was doing now, under the green covers of her bed than to give herself the right to see herself as a woman. The option had been taken away from her in any case. Tuberculosis was an unforgiving disease. Even if it didn't kill her, it would take her away from all those she loved for months.
Sister Bernadette turned on her back and raised her left hand to her face. She couldn't see the scar in the dark, but she could feel it on her lips as she passed it back and forth. The world could change in months. As she had discovered, it could change in moments, with a glance or a kiss. Perhaps this was the answer to her prayers, perhaps it wasn't a punishment so much as a chance to remove herself from the storm of feelings she could not control. As she made one last pas of the scar on her lips and lowered her fingers until they rested to the exact spot his lips had touched, she wondered if she truly wanted to.