Chapter 2 #2
I look him over, but I don’t see anything that looks defective. He just looks like a grotesque demon, not much different than some of the ones I’ve seen in horror movies, even if he says this isn’t one.
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“One of my horns is shorter than the other.” He leans forward, and even looking directly at them, I can’t tell the difference.
“They look the same to me,” I mutter.
“You’re too kind,” he says dryly, leaning down to examine my eyes. “Vision is perfect. No defects there. I like how blue they are. Reminds of the Corinthian Ocean from my world. You’d have to see it to understand what I mean.”
“Um, thank you… I think,” I say, still apprehensive and concerned.
He glances at his screen, then he drags a talon from the edge of my eye to my ear. “Turn your head, please.”
I do as he asks and he pushes the talon into my ear. Just enough to tickle, but not enough to hurt. I endure it the best I can, then let him examine the other ear.
“Hearing is perfect. No defects there,” he says. “Have you ever broken any of your bones? Wait, oh. I see your bones can be broken rather easily. Yes, please answer the question.”
“No, never,” I answer truthfully.
“I see you’ve already provided a blood sample,” he murmurs, tapping his screen. “Not enough for a full reading, though. You’ll feel a pinch.”
Before I can ask what kind of pinch he means, he digs a talon into my neck and I cry out. “Ow!”
“You’re a sensitive little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, something that resembles a smirk twisting the edge of his lips.
Blood trickles from my neck and as soon as it hits the table, the metal absorbs it. He doesn’t do anything about the wound on my neck. He just lets it continue bleeding as he studies his screen, but thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be much more than a scratch.
“No concerns with your bloodwork,” he says, then he cups a hand around my right breast, squeezing and kneading it. “Normal response to stimulation, good, good.”
He moves his hand to my left breast and caresses it. His eyes remain focused on the screen. This time, he runs the tip of his finger over my nipple, which causes it to pebble. I can’t help squirming in response. Apparently, I really am a sensitive little thing.
“What are you even checking for?” I mutter.
“Human women can have… lumps? You don’t have any,” he says, moving his hand to my stomach. “Any stowaways in here? Extra passengers?”
“Extra… no, I’m not pregnant!” I say quickly.
“Good, most planets worth living on won’t take a pregnant refugee,” he says. “I’d have to extract the stowaway and send it to the incinerator. Hate when I have to do that. It always upsets my patients.”
“Yeah, killing babies has a way of upsetting people,” I mutter, feeling even more uneasy with how casually he says it.
“Not where I’m from. We sacrifice every third offspring to our sun,” he says. “Well, we used to, before our sun expanded and swallowed our planet. Now those of us who survived realize how silly it was.”
He walks along the side of the table, then turns, until there’s only one thing he could be staring at.
Tension tightens my muscles. My toes curl and uncurl anxiously.
Part of me wants to stop him before he examines me further, but that means I get incinerated.
The examination is invasive, but not bad enough for me to choose a fiery death over it after being saved from one.
“Humans don’t like being touched here, according to my chart, so I’ll try to make this quick,” he says, leaning down. I feel his talons against my folds and I whimper, then whimper louder when he spreads them. “No defects here. You’re still a virgin, hmm?”
“Yes,” I answer, my hips twitching from the contact. “How can you tell?”
“You don’t smell like dick,” he replies. “Wait, is that the right word? Penis. You don’t smell like a penis.”
“I sure hope not,” I say.
“Engaging in reproductive activities leaves an odor behind, no matter how long it’s been since you were last inseminated,” he explains. “But you have a pure scent. Very good. That’ll help with your placement.”
His talon moves along my folds, up to my clit. He presses the tip into it, and it makes me whimper from a mixture of discomfort and reluctant pleasure. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don’t like this part of the examination at all, but I feel myself getting wetter.
“Clear arousal, interesting,” he says, tracing his finger down the other fold until the metal tip is against my entrance. “It’s red for the women from my planet, similar to your blood.”
“Do you really have to document the color of… of that?” I whisper, my body shuddering. “Please, this is very uncomfortable.”
“Document? No. I’m done with your examination. This is just my own curiosity,” he says. “I haven’t been doing this long. You’re the first human I’ve had on my table. I’m a scientist, Avery. I will not hurt you.”
I shudder again as his talon rubs the outside of my entrance, parting it just slightly. I ball my fists, toes clenching and unclenching. Now there’s a rattle. My body rattling against this table.
As usual, my first response turns into humor between the please stop and no, no, no echoing in my head.
“Where I’m from, the scientists probably say that to the rats before they reach for the scalpel,” I whimper.
He stops rubbing and pulls his finger away, the redness in his eyes darkening for a moment. “My apologies,” he says, standing up and walking to the wall. “You’re not a rat, Avery. You’ll be placed somewhere wonderful. Best of luck.”
The door opens and he exits the room. I look away from the bright light, and then the room begins to transform.
The clamps release. The metal table I’m on morphs, with me staying pressed against it as it turns into a soft chair that resembles a beanbag but feels like I’m sitting on a cloud.
I’ve never broken a bone, but I hurt my knee playing softball in high school.
It hurts sometimes when I sit, but in this chair, I can’t even feel an ache.
Then the walls begin changing. The cold, sterile tile sinks into panels that spin until the walls are a soft, pale gray, the same color as the bedroom I grew up in. The one I still live in, but I’ve made a few changes since the meteor appeared in the sky. Some I’m not proud of.
Then pictures appear on the walls and the walls expand. Posters. Artwork. I recognize all of it.
“It’s re-creating my childhood bedroom,” I gasp as I watch a bed rise from the floor. One that looks identical to the one I’ve slept in for most of my life. The covers are even casually tossed, the way I always leave them.
I stare in awe as the transformation continues; clothes appear on my body like threads being woven together until I’m wearing my favorite Taylor Swift t-shirt and jeans. Exactly what I was wearing for the end of the world.
Suddenly, the examination doesn’t seem as concerning as I thought it was.