Page 17 of Kristoff

Dr. Morrow glances at me, then at a chair in the corner of the room. Obviously, he’d like me to stay out of his way.

No way.

I grab the chair and drag it to the side of the bed, within arm’s reach of Magdalena. She could fight him and need to be restrained, I tell myself.

I’m a liar.

“How old are you, Magdalena?” Dr. Morrow asks while snapping on a pair of gloves.

“Twenty-five,” she answers softly. She seems younger to me, I would have thought twenty-one.

“Hmmm, and your last period, when was that?” He places the stethoscope to her chest.

“I have an IUD. I don’t get my period anymore.” Her eyes dart to me but refocus on the doctor quickly. At least we can be sure she didn’t get pregnant.

“And your last sexual encounter?” He picks up her wrist and glances at his watch.

“A year ago,” she says and turns her face away. “Other than today,” she adds with a sour tone.

“If you weren’t sexually active why do you have the birth control implant?” I ask, gaining a disapproving glare from Morrow.

She turns back with a hard glare. “I had horrible periods. Lots of blood. Lots of pain. Kind of like today.” She swallows, and the fear returns to her expression. She’s stepped on that line and she’s not sure if I’m going to retaliate or not.

“I’m going to need to examine your vaginal area, Magdalena. Please drop your knees to the side, dear.” Dr. Morrow ignores the little battle between us and leans over her. He’s blocking my view of what he’s doing, and I’m positive he’s doing it on purpose.

He may work for our family, but that doesn’t mean he’s as big of an asshole as the rest of us. My father pays him too much to get in the way of our business with the girls he treats, but he still makes it his mission to treat the girls with a kindness I can’t.

It’s too dangerous to give them that. They won’t have it when they leave us.

“No tearing. That’s good.” He pats her inner thigh and smiles up at her. “I need to check your backside, too, Magdalena, all right?” He asks her like she’s allowed to deny or allow anything anymore.

She doesn’t answer him but gives a small nod and rolls to her side. Dr. Morrow pulls her ass cheek up, spreading open the crevice where he’ll find the tight hole I violated only hours ago.

I should look away, give her some sense of dignity, but I can’t. I need to see what I’ve done, how much damage there is. The ring of muscle is still holding tight, but there’s a tear. Even I can see it. A trickle of blood is still flowing.

Dr. Morrow shakes his head when he touches her, and she flinches but keeps his opinion about it to himself. Smart man.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches here, but you will be very sore for a few days.” He releases her cheek and pats her hip, telling her he’s all finished. He pulls off his gloves and turns to me, gesturing for me to follow him away from the bed and to the other end of the room. We won’t be overheard.

Magdalena stays on her side, pulling her knees up to her chest again. I can see her bare ass, and the bruises from the belting turning a dark purple.

Dr. Morrow sees them too and frowns momentarily.

“She’s fine. No permanent damage, but I wouldn’t suggest any further use of her today, maybe not tomorrow either.” He says this knowing I can’t wait that long, she can’t be given too much of a reprieve - she won’t get any in the future with her new owner. “Stay away from her ass for as long as you can. She doesn’t need to be stitched, but any further tearing could have bad results,” he warns.

“Thanks.” I nod, not commenting on his recommendations. Better he not know what’s coming her way. Maybe he can sleep better at night that way.

Dr. Morrow nods, gathers his things, and whispers his goodbye to Magdalena. It’s tempting to stop him and demand to know what he said, but she smiled softly after his words - so whatever it was, I’ll let her keep them to herself.

After the doctor leaves and I rebolt the door, I walk over to the table with her dinner still on it.

“It’s time to eat, Magdalena.”

8

IfKristoff thinks giving me a bath and having a doctor check me out to be sure he didn’t tear me in two, is going to make any of this better - he’s more delusional than I had him pegged.

When I was a little girl, my mother would go in rampages over the dumbest things. She couldn’t find her keys, she tripped over one of our shoes - everyday shit that happens to everyone. But she’d rage and scream and throw things and call us horrible names, and when she calmed down, she’d apologize. Give us ice cream for dinner or let us stay up past bedtime to watch a movie with her. None of it made me feel any better. But it probably took away some of her guilt.

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