Page 1 of Meet Me In The Dark
One
Celeste
A warm, groggy haze settles over me, like I’ve been wrapped in a weighted blanket soaked in NyQuil. My body feels heavy, my limbs are uncooperative, and my eyelids are glued shut.
Voices swirl around me, distant at first, but then one cuts through the fog.
“Listen, Doc, can she, you know, do the deed without pain now? Because our girl hasn’t—well, to put it frankly—she hasn’t had sex in a while.”
Oh, Madison, please shut up.
She’s my best friend, the keeper of my secrets, and the one person I foolishly thoughtwould respect my dignity while I was drugged and unconscious.
Apparently not.
“Madison!” Another familiar voice, this one softer but still exasperated. Emmy. The responsible one. The buffer. “Maybe we should wait until Celeste is awake before discussing her sex life with her doctor.”
Madison scoffs. “She’s right here. She won’t mind. We’re all just thinking about her kitty.”
My entire soul tries to leave my body.
Then I hear a low chuckle from a third voice I recognize.
Oh, God. That must be—
“Dr. Patel,” Emmy says, the mortification in her tone palpable. “Sorry, she doesn’t know when it’s time to be quiet.”
I groan, both in an attempt to stop this conversation and in protest of my body, which still feels like it’s moving through molasses.
Madison gasps. “Oh, she’s awake!”
I force my eyes open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights in the recovery room. My vision is blurry, and my head still feels thick with anesthesia, but I manage to make out the three blobs floating around my bed.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, sweetheart,” Madison chirps, leaning over me with an unrepentant grin. “I was just getting some important medical information on your behalf.”
“You were talking about my vagina,” I croak, my voice hoarse.
She beams. “Exactly. You’re welcome.”
I let my head loll to the side and meet Emmy’s expression, which is a delightful blend of secondhand embarrassment andplease let the earth swallow me whole.
Dr. Patel, a man with dark hair, warm brown skin, and an expression that suggests this isn’t his first ridiculous post-anesthesia conversation, crosses his arms. “To answer your friend’s very enthusiastic question,” he says dryly, “sex after laparoscopic surgery for endometriosis is different for everyone. There’s no guarantee, but the surgery should improve things. However, it will depend on a variety of factors—your recovery, your pain threshold, how much we were able to remove—”
“Sure, sure,” Madison interrupts. “But if someone were to—hypothetically, of course—go to town with, let’s say, an extremely well-endowed gentleman, would she be okay?”
I consider rolling out of bed and onto the floor.
Dr. Patel gives her a patient look. “It’s best to ease back into things at her own comfort level.”
Madison purses her lips. “So, you’re sayingstart small.”
Dr. Patel, to his credit, remains composed as his gaze flicks back to mine. “I’m saying listen to your body.”
“Got it.” Madison nods. “Test drive before going on the highway.”
“Madison, please,” I rasp.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just saying! We need to make sure you’re road-ready.”
