Big Chicago

Big Chicago Part 18...by Samayel


This is more like it. The good life. Waking up with Harry, even if I am a little sticky and sore, followed by a shower and breakfast in his pajamas…my favorite pair, of course. Omelets with tiny slivers of onion, ham and red and green peppers, smothered with good cheese. Fresh juice and coffee. Thick slices of toast with sweet cream butter from Wisconsin. This is the way to take the edge off of a hangover.

All of which makes it a lot easier to cope with facing the fearsome Doctor Vampire today. At least he’s supposed to just give me a check up and look at my butt to tell me how long it will be until he can remove the scar. He doesn’t have any excuse to drain the blood out of me this time. The slight embarrassment of showing off my scarred ass is a lot easier to deal with than being poked with needles and tested for everything he can imagine.

Go figure? I spend years giving up my ass to everyone who wanted it and could afford it or had the strength to take it, but now that I’m free and happy, I blush at the thought of letting a stranger see it. Who understands these things?

Harry is in a good mood today. He seems energetic and even more chipper than usual. He was out of bed an hour before I was, exercising and using the sauna before showering and dressing. Per the usual, I loafed in bed until I felt like having coffee, then cleaned myself up and came to breakfast in his pajamas. I’m pretty sure the sight of me wearing them is part of his good mood. I like that.

Ron is en route with car, so he’ll be hanging out with Harry for a few minutes while I dress informally for the appointment. I have some comfy jeans and T-shirts, somewhere among the things Harry bought me. Sandals, a tiny, silver, hoop earring in my left ear, and a little gel for the scruffy look. Cute. Very cute. Poor Harry. The way I look, everyone will think he’s having his wicked, wealthy way with a teenaged boy!

It’s still weird. Looking in a mirror and seeing myself healthy and clean and well-dressed. You couldn’t tell by looking at me that I’ve been the places that I have…or that I’ve done the things I’ve done. The cute guy in the mirror doesn’t look anything like a prostitute or a junkie…but he was that and more.

Of course, at a glance, Harry doesn’t look like the kind of guy who kills a half a dozen people over the weekend…so there you go. Appearances count for precisely jack and shit. It’s what we do that really defines us, not how we look. I still like looking good, but I haven’t done a lot of things that could be called good with my life. Am I really different? Now…with opportunity in my grasp…am I really anything better than a self-serving little tart who was blessed with good looks?

These aren’t comforting thoughts, but Harry appears in the mirror behind me and speaks, taking my mind off of heavier things. Just gotta love his timing.

“Hey, love. Ready yet? Ron’s here and…damn…those are…nice jeans.”

Ha! He can’t help himself. Staring because my ass looks great in these. I lean over the counter and sink, letting my hips roll a little, taunting him with the view.

“You like? You know…you could just…peel them off of me…if you wanted…and maybe…show me what you think of them…and me…by-”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD! Are you two always like that!? I can hear you from the fucking hall! Give it a freaking rest!”

Thank you, Ron. Always the buzz kill. Harry is red in the face from my little show, so at least I had the impact I wanted to before Mr. Driver shouted from the hall. Fucker must have ears like a goddamn marmoset! I snatch my shades off the counter and take Harry’s hand on the way out the door.

“Want a rain check on that?”

“Yeah. Definitely. We’ll see how those jeans look in a pile on the floor later. Right now, Ron’s right. Nobody will be happy if we’re late getting to Snape’s office. If he’s unhappy, everyone’s unhappy.”

“God…look at you snap to attention for a doctor! You could break him like a twig, but you treat him like the Second Coming.”

“He’s the best at what he does. He might be all crusty and mean on the outside, but you have to know him. He means well…really.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Harry, but the man gives me the shivers. It’s like he’s staring right through me. Ugh!”

Ron’s still blushing from hearing my conversation with Harry. He stomps down the hall with the air of one aggrieved. His discomfort is just as amusing as ever. Still, we get to the car without undue hassle, and Ron looks happy when he’s in the driver’s seat and on the road. Maybe that’s his ‘security blanket’. I wonder if I look like that when I play the piano…or when I’m painting?

Nah…I know what makes me look like that. I’m holding his hand and sitting beside him, and he has an arm curled around one of my shoulders while he lounges in the back seat. That’s my sense of security…Harry.

Doc Snape has a discreet townhouse in the suburbs. One of those rental types that costs an arm and a leg to lease. It doesn’t look like an actual office of any kind, and there are no signs or anything. He really must be a private doctor, working only for the company. If he had a practice, he’d have a normal office…right?

I only feel the faintest bit edgy while Harry and Ron lead me in. To my surprise, the place is remarkably modern and tasteful, in a minimalist kind of way. It looks like it was designed to feel stark and airy, full of room but still functional. Black and white dominate the color scheme completely, with occasional small hints of red here and there to add life. Hmm…from an artistic standpoint…it is kind of medical. Red…blood…life. God! Is he a vampire? I never met a real hit man until I met Harry…and I didn’t know anything about global conspiracies and warring factions until this week.

I’m just being stupid. No matter how uncomfortable he makes me, the man isn’t supernatural. What he is…is intimidating, and I can deal with that. At least he has good taste. I can cope with anyone civilized, and this place is as nice as Harry’s.

“You’re late.” The words come like sizzling acid, disdain in every syllable. Ron cracks immediately.

“I told you! One minute late! I swear to fucking God! I warned them.”

He’s standing in the door to an examination room. I still can’t believe he has one in his house! How convenient is that? We’re in a well appointed living room with gorgeous black leather couches and chairs, and he’s standing there with a scowl and an air of complete exasperation.

“Never mind. Let’s just dispense with the frivolities, shall we? You…Malfoy…in here. You two…take a seat…and try not to break anything or be particularly annoying while you wait.”

Harry lets go of my hand and gives me a kiss on the head, which sends Ron off to the corner to stare at magazines that probably don’t interest him.

“Alright, love. Go ahead…and don’t skimp on the details…it’ll help if you just tell him what you’re feeling point blank. Ignore the sarcasm, he’ll be like that no matter what you do…okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank-”

“Oh, for the love of God! You two are revolting! Mr. Malfoy…get in here and stop your snibbling. You’re supposed to be the sick one, but don’t afflict the rest of us with nausea by making us watch all of that. Move! Now!”

I hustle into the room, just loathing the way he makes me feel like I’m back in school. Sheesh! No wonder this guy doesn’t have a practice of his own. No bedside manner at all! The door shuts behind me, and I stand by the exam table quietly, waiting for orders, trying not to piss him off while he flips through some papers.

“I already had you down for a meeting later this week. A matter of scar removal, wasn’t it? Now you’re experiencing panic attacks. Excess anxiety? Well?”

“Yes. Yes…and yes.”

“Hmmph. I saw that coming from a mile away. Tell me…have you been exercising?”

“Well…uh…some.”

“Some?! How fucking much is some?”

“Very little. Some walking on treadmills. A couple of times.”

“Yeah. As I thought. And the dietary recommendations I gave you? You ignored those too, right?”

I can’t answer. My last words came out like a bashful kid’s. I just nod yes to avoid the inevitable insults that silence would bring.

“I even know why! You’ve got your freedom. You’re living it up and enjoying it. Why suffer any inconvenience with luxury close at hand? You didn’t listen, because I’m sure you know what’s best for you…proven amply by the fact that you’re here…with me…again!”

He flops the clipboard onto the table and grabs his stethoscope and a blood pressure tester. I keep quiet and just follow his orders while he runs through the standard checks. I try to give clear yes and no answers to the rapid fire questions, and then he’s done, scribbling notes on paper again before he rounds on me once more.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of Doctor Phil? Daytime TV is usually a preoccupation for your age group.”

I have…I hate the fat, smarmy, fraudulent bastard, but I have heard of him, so I nod.

“WELL, I’M NOT HIM! I’m not here to kiss your sorry ass or stroke your pathetic ego! I recommended a diet that wouldn’t aggravate the tension that is natural for you to feel! I recommended exercise, which is the healthiest natural way to alleviate or at least mitigate the symptoms of stress! Ever wonder why stress tics manifest as involuntary muscle movement? Stress is energy…it has to go somewhere. If you bottle it up, it leaks out. You ignored what I told you…because it wasn’t ‘fun’ or ‘cool’…and now you’re reaping the results.

“All the advice in the world is useless if you don’t follow it. Medical science could advance a thousand years overnight, and it would mean nothing! People would still poison their bodies, permit their limbs to atrophy from disuse, and generally just fuck up the wet dream of life! You are no exception!”

He stomps to a cabinet and unlocks it. There are bottles and bottles of pills and liquids. He snatches one and I can’t help flinching when he turns.

“This…this is the lowest dose I can give you and still call them drugs. These aren’t very powerful, and they aren’t addictive. They will level off your moods a bit, and you should feel calm without losing coherence or clarity. One in the late morning after a meal, and one early in the evening, likewise after a meal.”

I get handed the pills while he taps at a keyboard and a printer starts humming. He snatches the sheet of paper that emerges and hands it to me with a sneer.

“A list of potential side effects, so read them this time. At this dosage, most of them are unlikely to trouble you, but you should know what you’re putting into your body, and you should know what it might do. Idiot. Now…drop your pants and turn around…facing the table. We’ll see what we can do about this scarring of yours.”

Normally I’d make a smart remark to break the tension, but I can’t even imagine what he’d say if I said, ‘What? No candles or wine first?’ I’ve been known to make the occasional bad call in my life…but even I wouldn’t do anything as stupid as baiting this guy. It would be like rubbing myself in bacon grease and slapping a starving, rabid bear with my belt!

I just turn and numbly let my jeans drop. Lucky thing my thong doesn’t interrupt the view…the back of it is just a string, so there’s no reason to take it off. I can tell he’s irritable, but he’s so stiff and uncaring when his hand is on my skin. There’s nothing gross or sensual about it. Purely clinical. I still shudder a little. Couldn’t help it. It isn’t Harry, and in my book, nobody else should be touching me.

“Pants up and take a seat. It can be dealt with. It isn’t that deep or that serious. You said this was done with heated wire. It’s surface level only. We can do this today. It’ll take a little time, and we can deal with this right here, but I can say with certainty that, in a few weeks, it will be like it never existed. There may be a…what?”

“Today? Here? You have an operating room?”

“Yes! This place was furnished with what I required. I need assistance only for certain tasks. The rest I can do alone. A few local shots to guarantee you won’t feel anything and we can do this and have it out of the way before you go home. You’ll be sore for a while as you heal, but if you follow my instructions there shouldn’t be any complications afterwards. Besides…I‘d rather do this before you take any other medications.”

“Oh…okay.” I hadn’t imagined it happening this fast. I guess it doesn’t matter…and since the scar is high enough up on my ass cheek I can still sort of sit down after this is over. Wow. Outpatient surgery AND same day treatment! Try getting that at the local hospital!

“Lose the pants and the shirt. Leave them here and go into the other room. Lay down on the table…on your side, keeping the scarred tissue up. I’ll be in after I prep a few things. I’ll need local anesthetic and a few other items.”

And that’s that. He walks out of the room and I’m left here looking at the door to the operating room, wondering what the fuck I just got myself into. Today I lose my scar. I peel off my pants and T-shirt and leave them on the exam table. My sandals are still on the floor. The temperature is comfortable but cool, and I’m nearly naked in a stranger’s house, but Harry is one room over and everything will be fine. Nothing is wrong…except that this is a really fucking surreal situation.

The operating room is stark and clean, with a tiled floor that is absolutely seamless. Everything is white or metal, and there’s a clean sheet across the operating table. There are powerful lamps and portable monitors plugged into the wall, but none of them are on. No beeps or hisses or anything. Just clean and sterile emptiness. I get on the table and try to get into position properly, but I still feel horribly awkward. The wait feels unending. Nothing to do except think…and I do too much of that normally!

When he comes in he has a mask and latex gloves on, and he already has a cart full of equipment waiting beside this table, so I guess it’s about to happen. I get swabbed with cold medical gel that disinfects and makes sure the skin surrounding the scar is pretty much sterile, then patted dry. I feel the small pinpricks of a needle, handled so carefully that I barely notice it. He’s careful and precise, and each step is done with the same cold and clinical air that he showed earlier.

“You’re nervous. Don’t be. I’ve done this for others more than a few times. We’ll need to wait a little while for the anesthetic to reach its full effect. If you have any questions, get them out now. Once we start, I’ll need you to be quiet and stay still.”

“How many things can you do? I never really knew a doctor before. Did you specialize in scar removal?”

“Hmph! No. It was not my life’s ambition to heal up the marks of foolishness by erasing bullet wounds. I specialized in general and thoracic surgery. I’m fully competent at surgeries involving your muscles or skin, but if you happen to get a brain tumor I’ll be happy to give you the number of someone more qualified.”

I just need to talk. Too nervous to keep quiet. I feel so exposed, even with a sheet draped over the rest of me, it’s still weird having my cold, vaguely wet, rapidly numbing butt pointed at a stranger who isn’t planning to have sex with me.

“If…if I can ask…how did you-”

“End up doing this? As if the pay wasn’t enough reason. It’s none of your damn business, but I’ll say this…Harry’s and my mutual employer did me a kindness some years ago. I’m afforded a certain luxury, and the ability to pursue my own research and advance my skills. Throw in making a fortune while I do it, and who would need more reason than that?

“I’ll go out on a limb, and assume you find me judgmental and uncaring. You’d be largely correct. Imagine knowing full well that the application of a little common sense could solve much of the world’s problems. Then imagine knowing that it wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference, because no one wants common sense when it requires even a smattering of inconvenience. If I seem to be manifestly indifferent to your feelings, it’s because I honestly can’t afford to care about them. My energy is better spent elsewhere. I’d suggest a similar attitude for you, since you obviously let your concerns override your body’s needs.

“It might have sounded harsh, but what I told you was true, and I hope to God you listened. You want a fresh start? Want to leave the past behind? Your best chance at that is to quit the habits that got you into trouble in the first place. Take my word for it. Nothing will be improved by abusing your body. Remember those questions I asked the first time we met? They weren’t accidents. Cocaine and meth-amphetamine may have sounded like a fine idea when you first used them, but you abused heavy drugs almost weekly if not daily for just about two years before you went to jail. Throw in seven years of apparently starving yourself by eating like a bird, with food that wasn’t much good to start with, and your body is in no shape to handle stress.

A few weeks off and some good living isn’t an answer, Mr. Malfoy. It will take months of exercise and healthy meals. Minimal intake of sugars, no excessive carbohydrates or fats, and no stimulants or depressants. That means cut back the alcohol, switch to decaf with no sugar, ditch the fried or greasy foods and sweets, and work out regularly…preferably thirty to forty five minutes of moderate cardio exercise per day.

And Mr. Malfoy…sex and shopping do NOT count as exercise!”

I was afraid he’d say that. All I can do is sigh.

“I know…I know. It’s just…come on! Seven fucking years! Most people can’t even imagine where I’ve been. I just…I’m still getting used to this, okay? So the party’s over. Fine. I can deal with that. But Jesus, all I wanted was to feel alive again. Just for a little while. Is that so wrong?”

I can hear him exhaling through his nose into that mask he’s wearing. How can someone make the sound of air leaving his body ’feel’ irritable? Amazing.

“No, Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn’t call it wrong…if you grade on a wide curve and include the rest of humanity. I suppose that’s just what anyone else would want…but like usual…what you want isn’t necessarily good for you. Don’t expect pills from me forever. They’ll help in the short term, but I expect you to start building habits that will help you function before the pills run out. Don’t think your life can’t have luxury or pleasure in it…but learn to exercise some self discipline and moderation. If you can do that, you can enjoy the foods and activities you like, as long as you balance it with proper nutrition, healthy exercise, and solid coping skills. It should be time by now. Can you feel anything?”

“No. Nothing. Half my butt is numb, almost up my back. Guess it’s time.”

“Good. Stay still, stay silent, and this will be fairly brief and easy. Move around and you’ll be swapping one scar for another. Understood?”

‘Yup. Crystal clear.”

And that’s it. He works, I occasionally wince as I realize what’s going on, and it gets done. Basically he’s creating a new wound where the old one was, and making sure that it will heal normally, unlike the deliberate neglect my burn got last time, which guaranteed that it would leave a scar.

I stopped being Flint’s bitch the minute Harry broke Flint in front of me, but today…today I’m really free. A laser scalpel burned away the last evidence that a mirror could show, the last remnant of a life that got flushed down the toilet because of the things I’ve done and the choices I made. The rest is up to me. The past is dead, and the shadow of it is buried in a clean, white, sterile little room in the suburbs.

I can walk right away, but I have a funny limp because half my butt is still numb. He gave me a list to give to Therese. Things I shouldn’t eat. I’ll be sleeping on my stomach and applying ointments and fresh bandages daily. When the shots wear off, this is going to hurt, but I guess I can deal with it. I’ve dealt with worse and I’m still here. Small price to pay to have a body that doesn’t carry Flint’s disgusting brand.

He talked to Harry too, after I walked out of the office, numb and vaguely dizzy from lying still so long. They were in there quite a while, and I could hear raised voices, so it couldn’t have been pretty. Ron kept his nose in a magazine while I leaned against a wall, not feeling sure about the safety of sitting down just yet.

“How’s your new butt?”

Subtle guy, our Ron.

“Aside from the fact that it just had a laser scalpel aimed at it for most of the last hour and it‘s still almost completely numb…just peachy…thanks.”

“Hmm. Cool. I didn’t even know you had a scar there. Doc Snape did a good number for us both after New York. Harry and me, that is. The man’s good…cranky…but good. You’ll be fine in a few weeks. Trust.”

So offhand. He and Harry both got hurt. Probably after the attempt on Tom Riddle’s life last year. The one Hermione mentioned, and that we can’t even speak of aloud. Not even the guy’s name…as if he could pick the sound of it out of the air and home in on us. Paranoid…but I guess I can’t blame them. I know he means well, so I answer. It can’t hurt. The scar is gone and the future is mine…what can it hurt to just tell him?

“I got it in prison. I was branded with a hot wire for sassing my owner. He didn’t like being talked back to by his own prison bitch, so kicking the shit out of me and burning a capital ‘F’ into my ass seemed like a good way to remind me of who was in charge. I suppose it worked, but at least I’m rid of the fucking thing now.”

I wasn’t really fishing for sympathy…I swear it! The look on his face is naked horror. It’s kind of weird, being reminded that what I just live with makes other people cringe with shock. It shows what kind of guy Ron is at heart, when he closes his gaping mouth and clenches his jaw.

“That’s fucking horrible! The prick bastard. I’d no idea it was like that for you. Too bad Harry couldn’t spring that asshole out of prison too…’cuz breakin’ a few parts off of him with a crowbar and a blowtorch would be a nice way to kill some time. Either way, glad you’re out of there and running with us these days.”

“Me too! Numb ass or no. So…change of subject…any subject but my ass for awhile. You ever gonna ask out Hermione? You looked like you were biting your tongue for most of last night. Just because I was tipsy, it doesn’t mean I went blind.”

Hah! That did it! He just buried his nose back in the magazine in a juvenile attempt to look completely uninterested. Poor guy reads like a cheap book.

“No idea what you’re even talking about. You must have soaked up one too many cocktails last night.”

“Oh? Come on! Who do you think you’re kidding? I’m a queen! We ARE nature’s matchmakers. We don’t breed, and we don’t hunt. This is our way of propagating the species…we help. You like her…you know it…admit it.”

“You’re completely off your nut! Just ’cuz you turned out to be pretty alright doesn’t give you a license to annoy at will! Cement truck…ring any bells? I can get one with a phone call! There’s a building foundation callin’ your name if you don’t drop it!”

“Touchy! Jeez! Relax…will you? I mean…from the way she kept eyeballing you when you weren’t looking…I just figured you’d at least know-”

Ron‘s head just popped out of that magazine like a groundhog in spring. “What do you mean ’eyeballing me’?”

“Just what I said. Every time you stuck your face in your cards, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. It was as plain as day from my end of the table. She must like you a lot. You could at least do something about it…like asking for a date.”

“Alright…alright! I like her. Smart chicks are hot…and she’s the smartest one I ever met. You know she has, like, four different college degrees? And languages…she speaks so many I can’t even believe it! All that and she doesn’t act all stuffy and wear lab coats and stuff like that. She likes coffeehouses and music and normal things. She’s just…”

“Perfect?” I can’t help smirking when he realizes that he just folded completely and confessed everything in front of me.

“Yeah…but it’s none of your damn business anyways! Butt out! No pun intended. I’ll get to it when I get to it, alright?!”

“Okay, okay! Just-”

Harry finally wanders back out, gesturing for us to head for the car while he takes my hand and gives me a bit of support. Conversation is over for awhile, and just as well. I feel…I feel better. Surreal, but better. We leave Snape’s place behind, and the sky is blue and clear while we drive back in silence. Harry is pensive and restless, but he makes room for me to lay on my side in the back seat, letting me rest my head in his lap. His fingers keep idly stroking my hair.

Ron drops us off and departs, while I limp my way to the elevator with Harry. He finally speaks when we get inside.

“He really likes you. Doc Snape, I mean. I didn’t realize it until now.”

“You must be kidding me? Him? If that was him being friendly, I’d hate to be his enemy. I’ll know how good his work is after my ass heals, but I needed a new one anyway, after he chewed mine off for not following his directions.”

“Well…he kind of chewed my ass too. About taking care of you. Not like a pet…like a partner. He gave me hell about letting you ignore his recommendations and not thinking about what that might mean. He’s never given me that much grief about anything before. That’s when I realized that he must be worried about you…at least a little.”

It’s a bit stunning to think of Snape as anything but a mean spirited party pooper, but that’s my sore butt talking for me. The man just hides his good qualities under a very…very, very thorough layer of contempt and snide commentary. I’m not ready to call him a sweetie, but I think I feel something fluttering in my stomach that resembles gratitude.

“He’s right too. I didn’t take him seriously before, when he checked you out the first time. To be honest, I was just so glad to be here with you that I couldn’t have cared less. I wasn’t really thinking. When I come home, I kind of decompress and relax. I was thinking of you…I promise you that…but I wasn’t thinking of what might be best for you. I will…now. I’m eating whatever you’re eating, and that’s that. If Therese makes something for you, I’ll have it too. If you can’t have something, I won’t have it either…and once you’re healed up, we exercise…together. Sound good?”

Exercise. Sore butt. Once you’re healed. Few weeks.

Oh God!

How long before I can even think about having sex again?!

I take it all back! Snape is a demon-vampire from Hell! The numbness is fading, and the throbbing sensation of wounded flesh is taking its place. I know with perfect clarity that it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

At moments like this, thinking of the sex I was begging for this morning, but can’t even think about now, I realize that there are potentially worse situations than a little scorched skin. Namely, no serious sex with Harry until I heal up properly. Looks like the next couple of weeks or so are going to be only slightly cheerier than poisoned ice cream or puppies with cancer.

Yay.

Fuck.


TBC!!!