WARNING
This chapter contains scenes depicting conversion therapy, nudity, rape, and a mention of suicide.
8
I'm going to get better. I'm going to get better.
That's what Mirana has to keep telling herself over and over, hoping maybe one day it'll be true. Her first two sessions with Dr. Bumby haven't exactly been going very well.
He had started with attempting to find the root of the problem.
Angus Bumby strides into the room, a clipboard with a fresh sheaf of papers ready to make more notes towards the progression of Mirana's cure. After initially discussing Alice the day before, he had concluded that she was not too far gone to be saved — no patient was. The fact that she had rejected Miss Kingsleigh's advances was admirable and would make her all the more malleable to be rolled back into that perfect, straight rod he knew she was meant to be.
He settles himself at the foot of the glorified rock the patient must call a bed and makes a few scratches on the paper before beginning in his usual way.
"How are you today, Mirana?"
"Hopeful." she answers honestly. Hopeful to be cured, hopeful to go back to school stronger than ever, hopeful to be surrounded by her comforting flurry of white once more. Hopeful for lots of things.
"Good. Now, with cases such as yours, I have found that they are a result of a childhood trauma, a catalyst to the mental illness that is homosexuality. Can you recall anything in particular in that regard?"
Mirana frowns. As far as she can remember, aside from the spats with her sister, her childhood had been relatively happy. "Such as?"
"Do you remember being molested as a child?"
Mirana jerks back, eyes wide. "No! I never —!"
Dr. Bumby lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Shh, shh. That clearly means you have and your mind has blocked it out. However, we're going to have to bring that back to the surface to cure you, alright?"
Mirana nods slowly, suddenly feeling very ill, staring hard at the floor to maintain control.
The day after that, he had drilled her with a series of questions, trying to dredge up any memories of her alleged rapist. Though Mirana tried her best, she couldn't find anything in her past on the subject, and it had driven her to tears at having failed what was apparently the most basic part of the therapy. Dr. Bumby had held her in his arms and reassured her that this was only the beginning of a perfect process, and the first stage was not the end. Comforted, Mirana agreed to keep going.
The second part was the aversion component, perhaps the most damaging part and yet promised to be the most healing. It would help Mirana associate any homosexual tendencies with negative stimuli, but the stimuli themselves were a feat to endure and left her crying her eyes out every night for the three days it took place from the physical pain alone.
Dr. Bumby enters this time with an orderly following close behind, a coil of copper wire, cutters, and a lighter in a plastic bag in one hand, and in the other, a laptop. He follows with dead eyes, numbed to his surroundings from years in his scrubs.
"All right, Mirana. Since we could not unearth the source of your clear trauma, we're going to try aversion therapy."
Mirana watches as the orderly cuts a length of wire, winds several loops of it around her right wrist, then ties it off at the end. "What's that?"
"Oh, it's relatively simple. If we associate the feelings that come with your disorder with negative stimuli, then we will be able to eradicate it." The orderly boots up the computer; Dr. Bumby continues as the loading screen cycles through. "We used to use electroshock, but the effects proved more… er, damaging, than it was worth. Now we use copper bands."
The orderly taps something into the search bar, and when the website loads, Mirana realizes that it's a pornography website. Her chest tightens. She's never seen any pornography before, wanting to keep herself chaste while her sister did otherwise, and she's a little frightened, not quite knowing what she'll see. How does this have anything to do with her treatment?
"What's…?" Her voice comes out small and unsure. She can't even bring herself to say the filthy word and merely points to the screen. "What's that for?"
Dr. Bumby laughs at her trepidation. "Not to worry, my dear. This will help you, I promise."
The orderly clicks on a video half an hour long. Mirana blanches. Surely she won't be watching the entire thing? Upon unfortunately closer inspection, she sees that not only is it half an hour, it is also a scene between two women. She colors. No, this can't be happening! She's not ready!
"Now, you are aware that the pupils dilate when you are aroused, yes?"
Goodness, maybe she had sheltered herself too much. "No."
Dr. Bumby gives an amused smile. "Such an innocent girl. Well, they do. So, if I see your pupils dilate while watching this impure act, the orderly will apply heat to the copper at a signal from me. It will be painful, but it will help you. You must remember that at all times, no matter how much it hurts, understand?"
Mirana nods. "I understand."
Dr. Bumby nods to the orderly. "Proceed."
The orderly presses play.
Mirana's eyes are immediately assaulted with images of a half-naked blonde woman straddling a completely nude brunette lying on a bed. The blonde, wearing only a black lace bra and shorts, rolls her hips against the brunette, drawing out long, high moans from the woman beneath her. Watching, Mirana subconsciously imagines that she can feel the blonde grinding on top her, and heat pools between her legs at the sensation. As she's moving on top of her, the blonde trails her hands down the brunette's chest to cup full, pert breasts, before sliding down to take a dusky nipple into her mouth. Mirana can practically feel those full lips nipping and licking at her breast. She wants more, so much —
Searing hot pain attacks her right wrist, the metal heating, burning her flesh, like pressing a hot mug of tea to it, only so much worse. A scream rips from her throat. Mirana jerks her arm back, tears her eyes away from the screen. She fumbles with the wire but it's too hot to touch, too hot to even try to take off.
"Stop."
Mr. Bumby's voice cuts through everything, rising through the pain, the sounds from the laptop. The video is paused, and the orderly dutifully unwinds the copper. Mirana clutches her wrist, which is already blistering. The angry red band is physical evidence of her shame.
"Treat her wound." he says matter-of-factly, unfeeling. "We'll try again tomorrow." He kneels in front of Mirana. "I'm very proud of you Mirana. We're finally getting somewhere."
All Mirana can do is tell herself: This will help me.
They had alternated wrists, and after every time, Dr. Bumby would have the orderly treat her wrists, then praise her for a job well done. She was never burned badly enough to completely destroy her wrists, though she finds it hurts to bend them more than a little. They are wrapped in gauze now, but she knows what the marred skin looks like underneath. An imperfection to her once unblemished skin. That was what had made her cry the most. Still, she supposes the treatment has done its job. The idea of anything sexual, or anything involving touching at all, repulses her.
The third session would be taking place today. Mirana has high hopes for today. Today's session is called "encouragement". This can only mean positive reinforcement, no more pain. The thought is fueled by what little false hope remains, a flickering candle in a cave of darkness.
Dr. Bumby comes in with his usual clipboard and greets her in his usual way.
"How are you today, Mirana?"
Mirana sits at the head of her bed, back against her pillow, staring straight ahead at the wall ahead, legs huddled to her chest. Her arms rest atop her knees, keeping her wrists straight. "I'm alright." she says. "I… could be better." she adds a bit hesitantly.
Dr. Bumby smiles. "We all can be better. Every day is a chance to improve ourselves. Today, you are going to help improve another, and he will help improve you." He turns around, and, finding no one there, frowns. "Mason?" He spots his target and moves towards the doorframe. "Come now, you're here to help each other." he says with a beckoning hand.
A boy, looking not much younger than herself, limps into the room. He wears the same dirty white clothing as Mirana, but instead of only having gauze wrapped around his wrists, he has it wrapped around his ankles as well. His head is shaved close all around, black fuzz, and he looks at her with pained grey eyes.
Dr. Bumby gives the boy's shoulder a hearty clap, to which he winces and carefully wraps his arms around himself. "This is Mason Potter. He struggles with homosexual tendencies as well — a persistent, unhealthy attraction to men. He'll be a perfect match for you." He pushes Mason forward, but the light touch nearly knocks him over. He stumbles and almost falls. "Go on Mason, tell her she's pretty."
Mason looks up at her, unsure. "Um, you're pretty?"
"Good start, good start. Can you think of a better, more sensual adjective?"
Mason squirms. "I… I don't know, nice?"
Dr. Bumby sighs. "No, Mason. We'll have to go back to aversion tomorrow. Here, Mirana, why don't you help him along? Come over here and kiss him."
"What?" they both yelp.
"Dr. Bumby, I don't think I can!" Mirana protests. The thought of touching anyone, let alone kissing them, sends bile rising from her stomach. She struggles to push it down.
"I don't want her to!" Mason cries.
"Enough!" Dr. Bumby bellows, and both patients shrink back. "Enough. I'm trying to help both of you. The least you can do is cooperate." He takes a deep breath, calming himself. Now, Mirana, if you please."
Mason's eyes are pleading with her, but Mirana does her best to ignore them. She has to do this. She has to be cured. Yet as she gets closer to him, she finds herself dreading the moment.
She swallows hard, grabs his face, squeezes her eyes shut, and smashes her lips to his. Already she can feel Mason freezing under her touch, and the guilt tears at her heart, but she shoves it down, knowing that this is for their own good. She kisses him harder, trying to feel something, anything other than pain and disgust. When she finally pulls back, she finds that they're both crying. Before she can stop herself, she mouths "I'm sorry" to Mason. He nods. He understands, but he hates it.
Dr. Bumby sighs heavily. "No, no, no. Here, Mason. Let me show you how it's done."
Show him how it's—?
Before Mirana realizes what it means, Dr. Bumby has her in his arms. He kisses her forcefully, thrusting his tongue in her mouth. His facial hair scratches at her face, and his tongue tastes like cherry medicine. It's a sickening combination. Everything in her is screaming at her to run, to pull away, to shove him off, to hit him, hurt him, but she cannot move. She stands, stiff as a board, as his hands roam, pawing at her breasts. She prays for it to end soon.
She prays for death.
Finally, after what seems to be an eternity, Dr. Bumby is thrown back, away from her. Mirana crumples to the floor, relieved and yet broken at the same time. She feels disgusting, dirty, but she knows no amount of showering will wash his unwanted touch off her. She wants out of her body, to be anybody else, anywhere else. Hot, fresh tears stream down her cheeks, yet through her blurry vision, she can see Mason run after Dr. Bumby, fist raised. Mason had saved her, but she cannot feel gratitude now. All she feels is pain and sickness and despair.
Dr. Bumby flings Mason back as easily as if he were a rag doll. The boy howls and curls into himself. "Foolish boy!" he snarls. "I'm curing you, and this is the thanks I get?"
Mason raises his head, grey eyes darkening with rage. "You didn't even warn her! That's not fair!"
"It was merely a demonstration, designed to educate you!"
"Demonstration? Educate me?" Mason picks himself up off the floor. "That was sick and wrong! You know, all this time, you've been telling me I'm the one who's sick! I'm the one who's got something wrong with me!"
"You are!"
"No! It's you!" Mason jabs an accusatory finger at Dr. Bumby. "You're the one who's sick! You're the one who's—!"
SLAP!
Mason collapses but this time doesn't get up again. Dr. Bumby circles him. "You're worse off than I thought. We'll have to intensify the aversion, starting today." He grabs Mason by the scruff of his neck and begins to drag him away. "Very good, Mirana. I'll be the one handling your encouragement tomorrow. Alone."
The praise falls on deaf ears, but the promise tears her apart. She can't live through this. She's incurable.
Her eyes come to rest on the paper thin blanket. Just enough to make a noose, if she wants.
Mirana Marmoreal Underland, once purer than snow.
Now, she drowns in darkness, a thick tar pouring down her throat, choking her.