Chapter 3 Selma
Selma
The excess blood—and then some—immediately drained from her face. Oh god, how did he…?
“No.” It came out as a squeak.
Dr. Hershey raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Selma... I thought we had an understanding about telling the truth?”
Her brown eyes widened. Did he honestly expect her to explain that yes, she saw him as some form of nightmare creature—albeit a handsome one?
His defiant stare suggested that that was very much the case.
Shame hadn’t rested this heavily on her since she’d been forced to apologize to Mr. Hubert, the physics teacher she’d confessed to suspecting was some form of demon. Gaze resting firmly on her knees, she nodded shortly.
“What do I look like? Please, describe what you see.”
Defeated, she lifted a hand and made a vague gesture toward his head. “Horns, pointed ears...”
“Is that all?” He sounded idly amused, which really wasn’t very polite.
Selma shot him an annoyed glare—she didn’t enjoy feeling like the butt of a joke, having spent much of her life as one. However, his flaming eyes caught hers the second she looked up again, and the interest in them far overshadowed any indication of humor.
“Your eyes are like fire, but apart from that, you look... normal.” She grimaced, feeling several shades of ridiculous.
It was always uncomfortable to talk about her illness, but the fact that he was so.
.. intrigued just made everything worse.
Maybe it was his age—Dr. Hershey couldn’t have been out of college for many years, and she was possibly his first non-standard patient.
He was, at least, looking at her as if she was some kind of rare and valuable find. “What color are my horns, then?”
Selma blinked, glancing up at said horns. “Er... black, with a bit of gray. Why?”
Something shifted in his eyes, as if he’d reached some conclusion in their depths. Then he smiled, turning his attention back to the computer that had gone into sleep mode, and moved the mouse to revive it.
“Simple curiosity. Now...” He tapped on the keyboard and looked at what she assumed was her file. “Have you ever heard of Sigmund Freud, Selma?”
“Yes.” Who hadn’t heard of that nut ball?
Her apprehensive tone drew another wry smile from his defined features. “I take from your expression that you aren’t a fan. I hope you will keep an open mind, though, because there is a very good chance that we can help you by applying some newer theories that have their origins in his philosophy.”
“Help me?” She had heard those airy words before, and each time had been a letdown. “Is there a new drug?”
Dr. Hershey shook his head, clicking his tongue disapprovingly.
“Pharmaceuticals... It may be unorthodox, given my profession, but I rarely support attempts at altering brain chemistry with the use of drugs. The human mind is such a fascinating organism, and so much can be done just by finding a way to balance a patient’s hormones. ”
Selma frowned—that was certainly unorthodox thinking for a psychiatrist.
“The paramedics took some blood samples from you last night. Do you remember?” he continued, ignoring her obvious doubt.
Hazily she remembered being pricked with a needle, but she’d not realized they’d done anything other than sedate her. She nodded anyway.
“There is an indication of a pretty rare hormonal imbalance in your results, one we haven’t been able to test for until about four years ago. I suspect, and new research supports, that this could be the primary cause of your hallucinations.”
That sounded really, really far-fetched, almost as much as the horrible child psychologist who had suggested she needed some real life scares to overcome her fear of Bogeymen.
“But I’ve had them since I was a child,” she pointed out.
The doctor turned his body fully toward her, leaned forward, and held out one large hand, palm facing up in an inviting gesture.
Tentatively, she placed her right hand in his, glancing at his face.
“Selma...” His fingers constricted slightly around hers, making them appear ghostly against his olive skin.
“I understand that you’ve been through many failed treatments and how that must have affected your life.
That you have chosen to deal with this disorder on your own for an entire decade makes it very clear that you have little trust left for any part of the medical profession, which I cannot fault you for.
But this... this will change your life, I can almost guarantee it. ”
It wasn’t that she believed he was right, exactly, but the conviction on his handsome face was hard to ignore... or remain unaffected by. And he wasn’t going to use some experimental drugs on her, so what harm could there really be in giving it a try?
“Okay.”
“Good girl.” He closed his warm hand around hers again, firmer this time, before he let go and sat up straight. “The main goal is to even out your hormonal balance and encourage your brain to create new neurological pathways. That you see me as a monster will be helpful.”
Selma cocked her head. “Why?” The only thing his monstrous appearance helped her with was to refrain from acting like that giggly nurse.
His brilliant smile returned. “We’ll know if there is an improvement straight away.” He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a notebook and pen. “But first I need to ask you some questions about your general health so we can establish a baseline for the treatment.”
For a moment she’d feared he would be delving into electroshock therapy, but this sounded a lot more agreeable.
She returned his smile, lightness buoying her chest for the first time since that horrible incident the night before.
Something about Dr. Hershey’s conviction penetrated her otherwise jaded experiences with doctors trying to help her, and just the slightest sliver of hope was starting to shine through the dark.
He was nothing like the other psychiatrists she’d dealt with, and if there was even a remote chance that her condition could be improved, she was more than happy to give it a shot.
Sometimes, like last night, she was certain she saw the truth and everyone else was blind.
The clammy feel of dark magic still clung to her like a bad memory.
But now, in the light of day? She knew the monsters couldn’t have been anything but hallucinations.
She was not a little girl anymore, and monsters and magic weren’t real.
“Are you a virgin?”
Selma blinked, taken aback. “Uh...“
But the doctor was all business, which made her able to fight off a blush. She was twenty-seven, after all—there was no need to get embarrassed about sharing her history with her doctor.
“No.”
“How many partners?”
“Three.” One drunken one-night stand and two attempts at dating that had lasted fewer than three weeks combined, but he hopefully wouldn’t need the specifics.
He moved the pen elegantly across the page of his notebook, creating beautifully curled script. Selma found herself mesmerized by the movement. He seemed to be adding a whole lot more detail than her one-word answers.
“Have you ever been, or tried to become, pregnant?”
“No.” She had made her peace with never getting to bring a baby into the world long ago; no one deserved a mother who struggled with this kind of illness.
“Are you on birth control?”
One would have to have a sex life for that to be relevant. “No.”
“How long since you were last sexually active?”
Selma blinked. Professional setting aside, admitting to a probably-rather-attractive-without-those-horns male that she had the sex life of a nun was still pretty humiliating.
“Two years.”
Dr. Hershey looked up. “How often do you masturbate?”
There was no fighting the blood rushing to her face this time. “I... do you really need to know that?”
“I need to know everything that affects your hormonal production,” he replied.
Well! Selma rubbed her suddenly clammy hands against her pants, wishing he’d look down at the paper again. “Maybe... uh, maybe... three times a... week?”
His forehead furrowed, and she managed to feel like a complete pervert before he said, “That won’t do. Make sure you increase it—your body needs the surge in hormones. Do you have a healthy diet?”
Did he really just prescribe orgasms? She managed a weak nod to his question about eating right, as well as answering if she exercised.
“Excellent.” Dr. Hershey snapped the notebook shut and got to his feet, gesturing toward a sofa half-hidden behind his book-laden shelves. “Please, come sit with me.”
A bit apprehensive of why they might need to change their seating arrangements, Selma nevertheless got up and followed him to the sofa.
He sat down first and patted the cushion next to him, rewarding her with a smile when she obeyed.
“Now, Selma, I want to explain the procedure to you first. I know from previous patients that it can be… somewhat uncomfortable to submit to this sort of treatment, which is why we’ve adapted the methods a bit.
I want you to know that you can ask for the standard procedure, but given what almost happened to you last night, I strongly urge you to let me make this as pleasant as I can for you, okay? ”
Selma frowned, some of her hope dimming. “It’s not… it’s not electroshock, right? I’ve… it doesn’t work on me.”
Dr. Hershey grimaced and put a gentle hand on her arm.
“My dear girl, no. I would never subject a patient to something so barbaric, and I’m so sorry that someone did.
It’s a sad truth that some doctors will resort to the most archaic and vile treatments when they’re faced with a patient whose illness they can’t cure, almost in some twisted act of revenge for putting their skills and reputation in question.
I promise if you put your trust in my hands, you won’t be harmed. ”
She shouldn’t have trusted him—he was one of them, after all—but as she looked into his fiery eyes, she knew he meant every word. It went a long way to soothing both her fears and the painful memories of the experimental treatments she’d endured in the past.
Dr. Hershey must have picked up on her acceptance, because he continued, “For the first step, I will give you a pill. It’s nothing but a concentrated dose of progesterone, and it will help your body accept the treatment. Now, have you heard of birth control implants?”
Selma nodded.
“Excellent. The device I’ll be fitting you with works in a somewhat similar fashion. It’s a small metal circle that fastens around your clitoris, where it will be able to constantly monitor your body’s delicate hormonal balance and regulate it as necessary.”
He said it as if there was nothing to be remotely alarmed about, but Selma jerked back from him with a start.
“You’re—on my… Are you serious? No, I don’t want that!”
Apart from the incredibly unsettling idea of having him touch her down there, his suggestion that her delusions could be cured by a piece of metal around her clit, of all places, sounded absurd.
Where only a moment ago she’d felt overwhelming trust in him, her initial fear of what he looked like came rushing back on a flood of adrenaline.
“I know it’s a lot to ask that you trust me on this, Selma,” Dr. Hershey said, his face never betraying anything but patience. “And I know you’ve had little reason to believe in my kind before. But this procedure will change your life, and you need to be brave.”
“Your kind?” she asked, eyes darting to his horns.
His smile widened a little. “Doctors. I’m just a man, Selma. One who wants to help you.”
“And… and how would this procedure be done? Would you…?” She fidgeted on the chair, trying to not imagine him between her spread legs.
“Yes, it would be me. Attaching the ring requires some expertise—and a delicate touch. The way I strongly suggest you let me do this is in the privacy of my office. I’ll help you get comfortable on the couch before we coax your body to allow me to place it. I promise it will be pleasant.
“Now, if you are uncomfortable with that, you do have the right to ask for a more formal procedure. That would be… less pleasant. There would be three doctors and a few nurses present, and I would have to put you in an examination chair in one of the procedure rooms. Instead of gentle stimuli, I would be using steel tools, and if I may be blunt—there’s a strong chance you’d be tied down.
Patients who’ve opted for this route in the past haven’t been able to keep still, and with the tools, any wrong movement could injure the patient.
“I don’t want that for you, Selma. I don’t think it would help your healing process, especially not after your assault last night. I urge you to choose the gentle way.”
Selma swallowed thickly, gaze darting to the door on instinct, then back to him.
The image he painted had her heart thudding unevenly.
She didn’t want him to attach anything down there, not even a supposedly medicinal ring that would cure her hallucinations, but she especially didn’t want to be tied down and gawked at by multiple people.
She’d been in a straitjacket once, and the memory of being helpless while she was prodded at was nauseating.
“I… Can’t I choose neither? Look, it was a one-time relapse; I’ve been doing fine for the past ten years. Please, I just want to go home.”
Dr. Hershey put a large hand on her knee, and squeezed.
“I know, sweetheart. But I can’t let you go home while you’re still seeing these monsters.
If you were honest with yourself, you’d know you weren’t doing fine this past decade.
It was only a matter of time before your condition would flare up again.
I don’t want you to get hurt, so you have to stay with us until we’ve got a handle on this.
“Please, Selma. Please let me help you. I don’t want to hand you back to the hacks who’ll torture you with their electroshock treatments and drug you with pills that will leave you a walking vegetable.”
She stared at him as the images he conjured sank into her mind’s eye.
Years of torture. Years of being too drugged to even think.
She’d escaped that future when she convinced her previous doctors that she was cured, but now Dr. Hershey knew she’d been lying.
There would be no escape from being permanently institutionalized—unless she submitted to this treatment.
If it didn’t work, she could fake it. What was a few uncomfortable moments in the face of a much bleaker lifetime? He may have looked like a monster, but he was her only hope.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Okay, I’ll do it.”