Doctor Dom Series Sequence One (Triage | Observation | Diagnosis): A BDSM & Medical Play Series

by Tara Crescent

  “No,” I muttered. “Nothing like that.”

  “Then?” Her voice was impatient. “Is there a reason the guy is being given the silent treatment?”

  I shook my head and tried to hide the tears that sprang up in my eyes. “It’s complicated,” I muttered.

  “Don’t I know complicated,” she said softly. There was that tone in her voice again. She’d been subdued all week. She handed me a tissue so I could dry my eyes, and as her wrists extended towards mine, I noticed the purpling bruises on them.

  I drew a sharp inward breath. I knew how to recognize the bruises left by rope when I saw it. She saw my eyes on her wrists, and she flushed and self-consciously drew back.

  “Is your ex out of jail?” I asked. My first thought was of that louse.

  “What?” she asked, clearly startled. She shook her head. “No.”

  “Natalie,” I prompted. “Is someone hurting you?” I felt like a terrible friend. She had been unlike her usual cheerful self all week, but I’d been too absorbed in my misery to notice.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “Not in the way you think.” She paused, searching for words. “Lisa, have you ever been spanked by a guy? Sexually, I mean.”

  Oh boy. If only she knew. “Yes,” I said carefully. “I take it this is new for you?”

  She nodded. “It was really good,” she said softly. “And it’s left me so confused. I mean, when Roger beat me, it was horrible. But this was so incredibly sexy…” Her voice trailed off. “But now, I’m wondering, what kind of woman lets this happen to her? I mean, especially after being beaten by her ex-husband? Shouldn’t I be outraged, afraid, running far, far away?”

  “Natalie, you don’t have to tell me who it was,” I started, “but I am dying of curiosity here.”

  She blushed. “Charles Dobson,” she said. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have slept with a client.”

  I shrugged that off. We were almost done with his condo; he wouldn’t be a client in fifteen days. Besides, I was more concerned about her.

  “What else did he do? Those are rope marks on your wrists.”

  She blushed again. “He tied me up,” she said. Her face was beet red.

  I winced inwardly. My mind flashed back again to the twenty-three year old I’d been, pursued by a rich, dominant man who was older than me, pursued till I relented and submitted to him. The scars still remained, twelve years later. Scars that prevented me from picking up the phone and calling Patrick.

  And now, Natalie was being pursued by Charles. The parallels were too obvious to ignore. She was worldlier than I had been. She was twenty-eight and she was far less naïve about men than me. Still, I felt compelled to warn her.

  “Natalie,” I said, “I’m going to tell you a story.”

  ***

  I told her the story that I’d never been able to fully tell Patrick. All about Nick O’Malley, and the submissive I had been.

  I left nothing out. I told her all of the sordid story. How I had craved the feeling of submitting to Nick’s will. How I would have done anything to make him happy. How I had complied with all his demands, no matter how devalued and objectified I had felt. The shame I had felt as I let him damage me. How it had all blown up in my face in the end. There was silence in the room when I was done.

  Finally, she looked at me. “This isn’t like that,” she said. Her voice was steady. “I mean, I have a hundred reservations about Charles. He’s a player. He’s ridiculously rich. I don’t want to bring someone like that into Emma’s life, someone for who I am a pleasant diversion and nothing more.”

  She paused. “But, despite all of that, when he touched me, there was never a moment where I felt like an object. No, Lisa. All through the night, I felt more desired and more cherished than I’d ever felt in my entire life.”

  Patrick had made me feel like that. Every time he touched me, right from the start. I had always felt cherished. There was a pang in my heart, and I resolved to put an end to my fear. I would call him tonight.

  Chapter 4

  Patrick:

  It was hard to hold back the impulse to knock on Lisa’s door and demand that she talk to me and explain what was wrong. We’d only been seeing each other for three weeks, really, and she didn’t technically owe me anything. But we’d gone further in three weeks along the road of intimacy than many people did in a lifetime.

  I knew trauma. I was a doctor. In the course of my work, I saw physical trauma and I saw emotional trauma. She’d run for a reason. I trusted her. She was honest and straightforward. This was more than a moment of pique at Andrea’s words. Something Andrea had said had churned up deep emotions in Lisa. I had to wait for her to trust me enough to approach me.

  Every morning, I woke up thinking of her. During the day, work pushed her to the back of my mind, but alone in the evenings, she roared back to the front of my thoughts again, like a fire that would not be contained. And I called her in the morning and in the evening, and got her voicemail every single time.

  I should have left her alone entirely, but I couldn’t. But after that first day, I didn’t send a note with the gifts. That much space she deserved.

  She was the woman I wanted. I was forty-two; experienced enough in the ways of the world to know that Lisa was special, that the chemistry and comfort between us was unique. For Lisa, I would be as patient as it took. And I’d never been accused of being a patient man.

  Chapter 5

  Lisa:

  My cell phone started beeping at me the instant I got off the subway. Not Patrick. He called at ten in the morning, and nine at night. No, I had five missed calls from my dad.

  I wrinkled my forehead, a trickle of alarm running through me. My parents were not the kind that called me again and again. I’d had dinner with them Sunday, as usual, and they had spent time regaling me with stories of their shopping expeditions in the Grand Bazaar and their many trips to the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia. I had been a little envious of their trip to Turkey.

  My dad picked up on the first ring. “Lisa, thank heavens,” he said. He sounded terrible, tired and weary and afraid. There was a trembling in his voice. Another frisson of alarm went through my body. What had happened?

  “What’s wrong?” I asked immediately. I crossed the fingers on my right hand as I spoke, and in my shoes, I crossed my toes as well. A childish habit; a futile attempt at warding off ill tidings.

  “Your mother collapsed,” he said, and each word sent a shard of ice through my heart. “She’s in the ICU. Can you come? They won’t tell me anything.”

  “Which hospital?” I asked, as I turned my head to and fro, looking for a cab.

  “Toronto General,” he said. Of course.

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I promised.

  ***

  I fled into the shelter of my father’s arms as soon as the cab pulled up in front of the hospital. It was six in the evening. The emergency room was busy with people pacing to and fro, noisy with crying children, crowded with worried families huddling together as they tried to understand what couldn’t be understood.

  He held me tight and his arms felt frail. All of a sudden, I could feel the passage of time. My dad, the person who encouraged me to pursue my dreams when I wanted to start my own business, at this moment, he looked old and tired. For the first time, I felt careworn. The safety net of my parents’ rock solid presence had a tiny tear in it.

  “Tell me what happened,” I said, when I pulled away from his arms.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “We were at home. I was reading, and Claire was knitting. She got up and went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, and suddenly, I heard a crash. She’d collapsed. The guys in the ambulance wouldn’t tell me anything. And now, they’ve taken her god-knows-where, and no one knows what’s going on.”

  I looked around. There was only one harried person at the desk. I approached her, trying to see if she knew anything. “I’ve already told your father,” she snappe
d at me. “When we have a status update, someone will find you.” I retreated, frustrated, and we huddled in a corner, my dad white with concern, looking somewhat diminished. I was silent with fear.

  My mom, she wasn’t just a parent. We were friends. That I had any self-esteem whatsoever, after the acne and the teasing, that was all due to my mother. There was never a time growing up when I didn’t feel safe and loved at home, and that went a long way towards stemming the horrors of middle school and high school. She was my rock.

  I stared ahead with unseeing eyes. She had to be okay. She had to be. I shied away from any alternative.

  The hours passed. Six came and went, then it was seven in the evening. I kept rising towards the harried nurse at the desk; she kept shaking her head at me.

  I had thought of calling Patrick, of course, right from the start. I had held back, calling myself selfish and thoughtless. I couldn’t call him just because I had a problem he could help with. All week, I’d ignored him and his calls; my fear causing paralysis. And now I needed him desperately. But I was afraid to call him. I didn’t want to see the reproach in his eyes when he realized I needed something from him, help navigating this system.

  My dad stirred besides me, his eyes haunted. The double-doors at the end of the hallway swung open, and he turned towards them eagerly, but with fear in his eyes as well. The doctors went towards a couple sitting in the far corner, and I could hear him exhale with shaky relief. I looked at him. The fingers on both his hands were crossed, and if I were a betting person, I would have bet that his toes were crossed as well. Mine were, concealed by my shoes. A desperate plea to the universe. Please. Please let her be okay.

  Eight in the evening. “Why won’t they tell us anything?” my dad muttered next to me. He sounded desperate. That was it. I was selfish and I was a horrible person for using Patrick, but I couldn’t let my dad suffer for my weakness. I picked up my phone and called him.

  Chapter 6

  Patrick:

  For almost a week, every time my phone rang, I had hoped it was Lisa. But when the phone did ring, I almost couldn’t believe it was actually her.

  “Lisa,” I said. I didn’t pretend I wasn’t happy to hear from her, because I was, and I was too old to play stupid mind games.

  “Patrick,” she said, and her voice was thick and hoarse, as if she’d been crying. “I need you.”

  ***

  I was there in ten minutes, and I pulled her into my arms as soon as I saw her and just held her. I could feel her tremble; feel the emotions coursing through her. Worry radiated from her.

  For a few moments, I held her, selfishly reluctant to let her go, feeling her body against mine, her softness, her sweet smell, her frailty and her strength. My thumb made gentle, soothing circles on her lower back. Finally, she drew back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know who to call. They won’t tell us anything.”

  “Hush, baby,” I soothed her, stroking her arm. I couldn’t stop touching her. “Let me go see what’s going on, okay?”

  I turned towards the man who must have been her father. The resemblance was noticeable; their eyes were the same colour. Usually, Lisa’s eyes were filled with an easy good-humour that I loved. Today, all that was visible was worry and pain.

  “Patrick Anderson,” I said, sticking out my hand. He shook it. “Colin Preston,” he said.

  “Patrick’s a surgeon,” Lisa interjected.

  I shot her a look at that. I couldn’t help myself. There were probably a hundred ways she could have introduced me that were more reflective of our relationship. Before I said something snide and inappropriate, I went over to the nurses’ station.

  ***

  “Patrick,” Susan greeted me with a harried smile. I had worked long enough at Toronto General to know most the staff there.

  “Hey Susan,” I replied. I inclined my head towards Lisa and her father. “Lisa’s mother was brought in, three hours ago? Do you have her chart?”

  She shook her head. “They have her in the ICU. She’s under observation. Greg’s the attending doctor, if you want to go find him?”

  I nodded and smiled. “Thanks Susan, I owe you one,” I said.

  “Girl you are dating?” Susan gave Lisa the once-over from her spot at the desk. “She seems nice.” I heard the tone in her voice. Nicer than your ex-wife, was what Susan had meant. Andrea was a bitch to the nurses; they all hated her with a passion. I swear, there were champagne glasses raised the divorce was announced.

  “She’s lovely,” I said firmly.

  ***

  I found Greg Alexandrov in the ICU. He was sipping a cup of coffee, and rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Hey Patrick,” he greeted me as I walked in. He looked slightly surprised to see me. I did work at Toronto General, but I wasn’t scheduled to be there until Monday.

  “My girlfriend’s mother was brought in, and Susan said you were the attending doctor,” I explained. “She’s going out of her mind with worry.” It was easier to call Lisa my girlfriend rather than get into long explanations. And I sure as hell wanted her to be my girlfriend.

  “Name?” Greg asked.

  “Last name is Preston, I think,” I said.

  “Ah, Claire Preston.” He nodded. “I can find the chart, but basically, hydrocephalus. We just did an MRI.”

  I winced. Hydrocephalus was fluid build-up in the brain. The treatment was surgery, implanting a shunt in the brain to drain the fluid. And brain surgery was always risky.

  He was looking at me with sympathy. You built up a certain resistance to pain as a doctor. Giving families bad news about their loved ones was a necessary, evil part of the job, and after a while, you just did it without thought. But then, when the circles intersected and the people you cared about were at risk, you were reminded forcefully that death stalked the hospital. Every once in a while, despite all our best efforts, death would win.

  “Patrick,” Greg was talking. “If it helps, she’s as low risk as it gets. She’s only sixty, her weight is normal, no diabetes, no history of heart disease and no other complications. We are in the process of getting her scheduled for surgery.”

  “Don’t schedule me if you can avoid it,” I said automatically. Standard hospital policy was that you didn’t operate on your loved ones. And though Lisa’s mother wasn’t a blood relative, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to hurt the woman I was falling in love with.

  The woman I was falling in love with. I stopped for an instant as my brain caught up with something my heart had known for some time. I was falling in love with her.

  Chapter 7

  Lisa:

  It was close to nine when Patrick came out with another man in a white coat. The doctor on call. Both my dad and I took a step forward, and then we both stopped; neither of us with the courage to proceed further.

  Patrick came to me, put an arm around my waist and pulled me into his body. I leaned into him shamelessly. I was selfish, but I needed his comfort as we heard what the doctor had to say.

  “Mr. Preston,” the doctor spoke to my dad. He nodded at me. “I’m Greg Alexandrov, I’m your wife’s attending physician.” He filled us in on her condition. Hydrocephalus. Fluid in the brain. My hand tightened on Patrick's.

  “Fluid in the brain?” I could hear my dad’s voice shake. I felt shaky as well.

  “Yes.” The doctor sounded kind and sympathetic. “Has she been having difficulty walking? Any unexplained falls? Dizziness?”

  My dad looked stricken. “We were just in Turkey on vacation,” he said. “She fell once; she was dizzy a couple of times. But we just thought it was the heat, maybe the food.”

  Dr. Alexandrov nodded. “We did an MRI,” he said. “She’s going to need surgery. A shunt will be placed to drain the fluid.”

  “Is it dangerous?” That was my voice, though I could barely recognize myself. I sounded high-pitched and squeaky and panicked. Surgery was going to be required. Brain surgery; that couldn’t be good.r />
  “All surgery comes with an element of risk,” Dr. Alexandrov said. “But we have excellent neurosurgeons here, and she’s in an otherwise stable condition.” He glanced at Patrick when he said that.

  “Look, she’s being stabilized now, we have her in the ICU,” he added quietly. “No visits tonight. My advice is that you go home and try to get some rest. Visiting hours are at nine tomorrow morning. Why don’t you just come back then? We’ll call if we need anything.”

  I couldn’t leave. There was no way. But my dad was nodding agreement with Dr. Alexandrov.

  “I’ll stay here for the night, Lisa, you go home. Let’s take shifts,” my dad said. He looked drained. He definitely needed a good night’s sleep more than me.

  “Dad, I can take first shift, why don’t you go get a decent night’s sleep at home?” I suggested.

  He looked at me, and shook his head. “I won’t sleep,” he confessed. “I need to be here tonight.”

  I eyed my dad. My parents had the best marriage of anyone I had ever met. They weren’t perfect, but they were kind and respectful towards each other, and when they fought, they fought fair. Next August, they would have celebrated their fortieth wedding anniversary. Right now, August didn’t feel possible, not when faced with the looming prospect of brain surgery. Death stalked this hospital, and I was afraid to leave it; afraid that if I left, it would open the doors for Death to enter.

  She’s going to be fine, I scolded myself. Stop being fanciful.

  “Lisa, go home, come relieve me at nine in the morning, okay?” my dad asked.

  “Okay.” My voice was small.

  “How did you get here?” Patrick had been listening to the conversation silently, and I jumped when he spoke. I still couldn’t believe he was here. He’d come instantly when I had called, even though I’d ignored him all week. I didn’t know what to do with that.