Can I get
you anything? Yes? No? Perhaps you should just stay sitting down until I've
finished, and then I'll let you in to see him.
I've found that, underneath
our many layers of deceptions, illusions . . . our many masks, if you will,
that we are all in fact very much alike. This is the fact that must be driven home to people like Severus. The ones that feel so alone, alienated . . .
they really only want to be a part of something. That's why their world
revolves around them, in their heads. Very
egocentric . . . because they desire *so* much to belong. They crave the acceptance of others. When
they feel as though they've failed at that in their real lives, they panic . .
. start imagining that everyone is against them, because even *that* would be
better than being ignored outright. They feel alone in the universe . . . and
they need to be constantly reassured that they *are* accepted. I like to show
them that they are like everyone else.
The median and ulnar nerves
were a necessary sacrifice to that end, I felt. Severus was a well of deep feelings. Anyone could see that. Too
much sensory input was only aggravating his condition. I wanted to be careful
about it, of course. The hand is full of veins and arteries. I peeled back the outer layers of skin to
expose them, like tiny, pulsing, beautiful serpents. Oh, he protested. He
didn't even try to hear me out, really. Removing *just* the outer-most layers of the epidermis takes great
skill and a very steady hand. Especially
with the tools I have to work with! The veins are so delicate . . . and you can
imagine how difficult it is to work while the patient is bleeding and
protesting. The restraints work to some
degree, but I'd like to get a machine for suctioning the excess fluids. This hospital is notoriously slow at granting
requests . . . Anyway, where was I? Ah,
yes. I lay bare both of the hands, to
the wrists but not beyond them. It was
trying work, and he did his best to make it much more difficult than it should
have been. Some muscle tissue was
sliced, exposing one of the phalanges to the bone. Once I severed the nerves, he stopped struggling. His hands lay
perfectly complacent on the arms of the chair. He was still protesting verbally quite a lot, but I listened to
the grateful relief that lay in those hands. They were peaceful. Even
while he was screaming . . . throwing his little fits . . . I could tell that,
ultimately, he would appreciate what I was doing for him. He understood . . . In fact, it was around
that time that I think he began to become infatuated with me. Not that I would respond to that right away. I am, of course, a professional. But there is
a distinct beauty within Severus that I could not deny. We both knew our relationship would become
something more . . . something lasting . . . but we had to wait. Severus had to come to terms with himself,
first.
