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“It hurts, but not too much.” I close my eyes and wait for the pain to get worse. It does. Zandik holds my arm in place and injects something into the vein of my forearm. I keep my eyes closed, because the sight of the syringe makes me feel ill.
“An intravenous injection. It will induce a fast delivery of the substance into your bloodstream, as opposed to other routes of administration.” He covers it with a bandage when he is done. “One to ten?”
“Five.” Not too painful. I open my eyes, and his mouth is split into an eerie grin. My body feels cold when he looks at me like that. “What was it?” It felt like a large amount of liquid, but it was difficult to be sure.
“I can’t tell you yet.” He tenderly brushes my hair out of my face. “The integrity of the experiment is already threatened due to the lack of a control group.” He takes my hand into his gentle grasp and presses my palm to his lips. A weak smile spreads across my face. He continues, “If I tell you what treatment you’ve received, your expectations of a certain result could entirely jeopardize the experiment.” He sighs, and I hear a hint of frustration in his voice.
“Treatment,” I repeat. I laugh quietly. It hurts to laugh. “Is that what this is?”
He looks down at me. He is not smiling anymore. “No.” His hand caresses my face, and he feels so gentle. Even when he hurts me, it feels so gentle, so soft. The chirps of the heart rate monitor get faster.
“You can call it what it is. You can tell me you’re just experimenting on me.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I know I’m more of a test subject than a patient.” It hurts to speak.
“I would beg to differ.” His fingertip traces the curve of my jawline. “I’ve done this all for you. Of course, I would like to extend my own lifespan, as well, but I would choose you first.” His thumb brushes against my lips. “I will do anything for you.”
“I know.” I smile. “I know, Zandik.” I open my eyes, and his face looks concerned and apprehensive. “Something is troubling you.” I want to reach out and touch him, but he has told me that I can’t do that while he operates on my body. Instead, I stare at his lips, and I imagine kissing him. I will kiss him when this is over.
“I’m only thinking,” he says. I miss the touch of his bare skin. I do not like the latex gloves. “How bad is the pain?”
“Tolerable.” I watch his lips curve into a slight smile. “Seven,” I add. A seven out of ten on the pain scale, whatever that means.
“Describe the pain.” He looks at me with something like hunger in his eyes, and the look on his face makes my heart beat harder. This is when he looks most beautiful, when he wears gloves spotted with my blood and gazes down at me from above the operating table with an expression that makes me feel like captured prey moments away from being eaten alive.
“Burning. Through my whole arm, and it’s spreading. It burns.”
He smiles at me, and is the same way he looks at me when he holds me in bed in the morning. “You’re doing very well.” He takes his hands away from me and turns his attention to a paper, where he writes something down. He is intently focused, and he looks beautiful.
“I’m going to smoke after this,” I say resolutely. Is it a threat? I’m not sure, but I smile as I say it.
He looks down at me through narrowed eyes. “Why are you so insistent on ruining my hard work?” he hisses.
“Perhaps I want you to cut me open again.” Something sparks in my eyes, and I know he sees it. I lower my voice. “Next time, we should forgo the anesthesia.” It’s the same voice in which I speak to him when we are alone in my bedroom.
He stares at me with a slight smile. “How bold of you.” He lowers a gloved hand to my chest and rests it over my heart. “ I don’t think you know what you’re asking for. It would be much more painful than what you’re anticipating.”
“I want to know how the scalpel really feels.” I’m not supposed to touch him while he operates, but I can’t resist it now. I lay my hand over his and feel the coldness of his hand through the glove. “I want to watch you take something away from me and then make me whole again.” It would be romantic.
He slowly smiles, and then he laughs. “I can’t do that, Feofan.” He holds my hand and squeezes it gently. “You’ll distract me the entire time.”
“Just like I’m doing now?” I ask coyly. My heart flutters at the idea that I could distract the Doctor from his work just by being conscious on the table.
“Yes.” He looks down at our hands. “Just like you’re doing now.” He withdraws his hand, and when he does, I see that he has left blood on my skin. I dip my finger into it and raise it to my face. The light shines off of it; it smells like metal. “Do you taste my blood when I’m not looking?”
“Yes.” He smirks, and his cheeks are a bit red. “How did you know?”
“I taste it on your lips when you kiss me.” His eyes are bright, and his gaze burns into my skin. “Do you like the taste of it?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.” He turns away from me and handles some medical supplies.
I sigh. I can’t see his hands now. “Tell me what you’re doing.” I like to know what he puts into me. When he talks to me, I feel safe.
He shows me a needle, one that is empty and terrifyingly long. “Biopsy.”
“Again?” I feel a lump in my throat.
“It’s been a while since the last one. If you smoked less, I would do it less often.”
I close my eyes. “I don’t like the needles.” My voice is shaking now.
“I know.” His voice softens, and I feel his hand caress my cheek. “I can give you anesthesia first.”
I shake my head. “The pain isn’t what bothers me.” I open my eyes, and he meets my gaze with a soft smile.
“What is it that bothers you, then?” His face looks so gentle and kind now. I wonder if he looks at other test subjects this way, and I feel a pang of jealousy at the thought.
“The fear.” I take a deep breath and steady my shaking voice. “At least kiss me first.”
He leans down and kisses me, and his lips taste like blood. “I love you,” I whisper when he pulls away.
He braces his hand against my skin and plunges the needle into my chest. I whimper, and when he withdraws the needle, tears are streaming down my face onto the operating table. I know he likes to see me this way. “It’s done now.” His hand rubs my chest gently. “You’re okay, Feofan.” At the sound of his voice, I take a slow breath. “You tolerated it better than you usually do.” He steps back and takes some notes.
“Did I?”
“Last time, you hyperventilated so much it was almost impossible to place the needle. This time, you only cried.” He smiles down at me. He looks proud of me, and this look of pride is one which he usually reserves for his own accomplishments. My chest feels warm.
“I tried my best to make it easier for you.” Even though I was scared.
“I know you did.” His smile makes my heart beat faster. “And you did very well, Feofan.”
I would do it all again just to hear him praise me once more.
“Is there more?” I ask. “More procedures?” I’m not sure what answer I want to hear.
“I only need to do some standard examination procedures now.” He picks up his stethoscope. “Then, we’ll be done.” I nod. He already measured my vital signs, but he prefers to do it both before and after the experiments. He writes down the result of each measurement, and he occasionally speaks to me, telling me that I’m doing well, telling me that my vitals are good. I have been taking my medicine diligently, because I like the smile on his face when he measures my vital signs and likes what he finds.
“It’s done now,” he says. He gets a tissue and gently wipes my chest and every other place where my blood clings to my skin. I watch him. Then, he removes my glasses, and for a moment, everything is blurry.
“Hey,” I object, “you said I could wear them.” He quietly shushes me, and he wipes my face, removing tears and blood. Then, he places the glasses back on my face, and I can see him smiling at me. My voice softens. “It’s really done now?” The pain from the injection has diminished to a tolerable level. It is still there, but it no longer occupies the forefront of my thoughts. He nods and kisses me tenderly.
“I’m done for today. I promise.” He discards his gloves and removes his lab coat. “You need to rest now.” He takes me into his arms and lifts me off of the operating table. I’m always a bit surprised that he can pick me up, but I suppose my original Zandik must have given his Segments a bit more physical strength than his own body had. I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. When I open my eyes again, I’m in his bed.
“Get in bed with me.” My voice is quiet but demanding. He lays a blanket over me and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“I’ll be back in a moment. I need to clean up and process your results.”
I close my eyes. “Surely the other ones can handle it.”
“Only if they felt compelled to help me, but they rarely do.”
“Tell them it’s for me.” My pained body relaxes into his mattress.
“We’ll see.” He turns toward the door. “I’ll tell them.”
Despite the exhaustion of my body and mind, I manage to keep myself awake until he returns. I watch him undress, and when he’s done, he takes my glasses off and sets them on the table. “You’ll need to rest for a while,” he tells me. He gets in bed, and I wrap my arms around his waist as soon as he is close to me.
“Will you stay?” I kiss his shoulder.
“As long as I can. I’ll stay in the room.” He combs his fingers through my hair. “I can do my work in here.”
I nod, satisfied with his response. His fabricated body always feels cold against my skin, and I hope the warmth of my body provides him some comfort. Under the heavy blanket he covered me with, the cool touch of his bare skin is refreshing. The softness of his skin is comforting.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks.
“Yes, but the level of pain has decreased.” He nods, and his hand gently rubs my back. The feeling of his bare hands— his skin against mine, unobstructed by a layer of latex gloves— makes my entire body feel warm. “Am I your favorite test subject?” I ask quietly.
“By far.” His voice is soft.
“I love you, Zandik.” I mumble the words against his skin and kiss his shoulder. I tilt my head up, and he meets my eye. Then, his soft lips meet mine. When he pulls away from the kiss, our faces stay close together. I can feel his breath against my skin, and it feels like love.
“And I love you, Feofan.”