He cried, during those middle
sessions. I started to worry that I had
inadvertently damaged something when removing the upper lateral cartilages of
the nose. Exposing the lacrimal canal
for a looksee without permanently blinding the patient is beyond my skill,
however, and I wanted to *open* his eyes. Not close them for good. Blood
loss was indeed a worry, but not quite so much as nutrition. Severus suffered
from loss of appetite. I suspected that
he was becoming depressed. I did not
have to speculate for long as to why. All
of his illusions . . . all of the lies he had come to believe and depend on,
where being stripped away from him. He
*wanted* that, of course, but it frightened him. As it would any of us, in his position. Still, the depression concerned me. Depression and despair can
drive us to terrible depths. I was worried that he might become suicidal, and
that his refusals to eat were a sign of that . . . All of my fears were
confirmed when he began to beg me to kill him . . . Don't look at me like that.
I would *never* kill Severus. I love
him. I've said that. Where are you going? Come back . . . You haven't heard the whole
-- What are you doing? He's not in
*there.* That's the supply room. I told you. Now, come back and let me finish. This will all become quite clear . . . And I promise that I'll
take you to Severus when I'm finished. . . .Of course he's all right. Haven't I told you enough times that he's
fine? Please, sit down.
Now, Severus tried to convince
me to kill him, yes. He even tried to
provoke me! As though I would kill
someone out of anger! I was his doctor,
his soon-to-be lover, and he really should have known better. Well, deep down he *did* know better, I'm
sure. After all, none of his bites were
strong enough to break the skin. All of
his struggles seemed half-hearted at best. Still, I was worried that the depression might obscure even his
feelings for me, his understanding of what I was trying to do for him, just
enough to allow him to hurt others as well as himself. So I was obliged to
remove his teeth.
There were two steps which I
took in order to go about this . . . the first would be to pull the complete
set, and hope that the entire tooth, including nerve, was removed to prevent
the need of digging. . . There is the chance that a tooth -- even a permanent
adult tooth -- can re-grow, however. So
I decided to not only pull the teeth, but *also* to saw a layer off of the
aveolar bearing process of the mandible and maxilla, respectively. This meant
scraping away the gum tissue in order to get *at* the mandible and maxilla
bones, and it was very messy work. Severus was unconscious for most of it...
what? Are you mad? Why would I let him
be awake for such a tedious operation? ...Again, you misunderstand. I waited
for him to regain consciousness before I finished his hands because they were a
demonstration. A *loving* demonstration. Removing his teeth was simply a
precaution. He didn't have to bear witness to that. Of course he survived it.
There are no major -- *now* where are you going? Are you really so impatient? Such atrocious manners! I'm
in the middle of --. . . Fine. Fine, if
you insist. But I am warning you, he is
in a very stable and content state of mind right now, and dredging up these
less-than-pleasant memories will do him no good. I can't be responsible for the damage that will result from our
discussing all this in his presence. But *if* you insist, then . . . follow me.
He's right in here. Go ahead. Severus? My dear? You have company
. . . are you awake? I told you that it was late. He's there -- see? Sleeping on the bed, there. Go on and wake him -- but be gentle. Be very
--
