The French, too, remind us
how even in pleasure the body dies a little: la petite mort.
The furtive kiss on the earlobe, the flick of a tongue
at the base of the throat— thin blade of a shudder that rises
to the heart and nicks it like a wound, that attaches
like a shadow. It takes so little to upset the mechanism
of everyday life, the rapid adjustment and tumbling of gears
from one set of teeth to another.
From Trill and Mordant by Luisa A. Igloria (2005, Word Tech Editions.)
Prologue
May 2002
Draco listened rather irritably to the clatter of the Healer's heels on the linoleum floor. Here he was, lying on the bed in one of those god-awful bumless gowns, and she'd swanned off somewhere, leaving a cloud of perfume behind. She returned presently, her cheerful smile revealing lipsticked teeth, with a folder clutched to her breasts. She placed the folder on her desk, then turned to him.
"Can I get you to lie on your back, please? Legs bent, feet on the bed. I need to examine your testicles again," she said, as she stepped around the bed and arrived in the general area where his bum was protruding, naked for all the world to see, or at least for her to see; they were alone in the room.
Draco complied with her request, fiercely looking at the ceiling as the edge of the bed beneath his arse disappeared and the Healer stepped into the gap between his legs.
"So you've been seeing Eloise for a while now. Nearly a year. How's that going?"
The Healer had already asked this question, along with probing for details of his sexual and medical history and sticking things in his arse and cock. "I wouldn't be here if there wasn't a problem," Draco grunted; it was kind of hard to talk with someone's cold hands wrapped round his balls.
There was silence for a moment, then the Healer began to talk again. She seemed to need to fill the spaces, couldn't just let it be silent and humiliating. "Everything seems to be quite normal, no physical anomalies to be worried about." She waited for Draco to reply. When he didn't, she added, "No lingering signs of spell or physical damage to the rectum, everything in working order. Physically, you're healthy, extremely fit, though a little on the thin side."
Draco closed his eyes. This was what he had been dreading. "So what is it then? He bit me while…" he trailed off, trying not to remember.
The Healer had by now removed her hands and returned the bed to its normal state. She sat at her desk and motioned to Draco to do the same. He hopped off the bed, clutching at the gown as his arse briefly contacted cold vinyl where the mattress wasn't covered by sheets. The chair had a disposable paper wrapper on the seat, which crackled when he sat down. He shuddered, noticing how his arse felt kind of warm and slippery. Why couldn't she have spelled that muck away?
The Healer seemed to be watching him expectantly. Suddenly self conscious again, Draco rearranged the gown to cover his bits. "It must be the bites, right?" he asked.
The Healer said, "I don't think so. I think it's more likely the problem is psychosomatic-"
"I'm not doing this to myself," Draco replied impatiently. They'd already been over this. "There's a spell on me - I can feel it. It's not in my head. There's something physically there- sometimes- I don't know how to describe it. It's magic, something extra. It's from outside, it's not in my head."
The Healer smiled sympathetically. "It's natural to have this sort of response. You went through an extremely traumatising ordeal and it's to your credit that you are handling it so well-"
Draco snorted. "How else am I supposed to handle it?"
"Some people might say you're handling it a little too well. You've resumed work. Zealously, I might add. You've increased your fitness regime. Your relationship with your friends and co-workers is excellent. You're keeping the same hours, doing everything the same as before the kidnapping. The only problems you're encountering are sexual. That would suggest to me that-"
Draco started to interrupt but she cut him off, still smiling that pathetic pity smile. "You were raped and tortured for nearly a month. You endured intense pain and mental attack. You went through things that I can't even imagine. If that had happened to me, I would be a nervous wreck- I'd be in pieces, yet you attest that you are fine. You report no fear of other men, no fear of being alone in the dark, no problems at all. It's as if you have pushed the trauma to one side and pretended that it happened to someone else. And therein lies the reason for the dysfunction you've reported. You may have made yourself believe that you're alright, but somewhere in your mind you have not dealt with the rape-"
A wave of anger had been coursing through Draco's mind, growing stronger and stronger with each metre of psychobabble. She had no fucking idea. No idea at all. He couldn't even put into words what he was feeling or make up any argument to the contrary. He simply stood up, very slowly, turned and bolted from the room. He was halfway down the corridor before he remembered he was still dressed in the stupid gown.
