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“Okay.”
“Why would you even say that?” Carter asks. “I mean… should I? Are you saying I should feel guilty? Because I - I don’t. If anything, I feel… robbed. Like it’s not fair. Like I went through this terrible fucking thing and there’s not even any proof of it. Like it never even fucking happened.”
Before Dr. Deacon can respond, Carter says firmly, “I don’t want to talk about that anymore. About scars. Or lack of scars. Please. Can we - can we move on now? Please?”
“Of course.” Dr. Deacon makes a small note on his clipboard before asking his next question. “Are you having any pain or discomfort in your genitals or anus?”
Maybe the needles really would be better….
“Carter?” the doctor gently prompts.
“No,” Carter whispers. “Nothing. It’s… fine down there.”
“Have you performed any sort of penetration on yourself since the rescue?”
“No. Hasn’t exactly been on my mind.”
Dr. Deacon shrugs. “I don’t judge. Whatever any of you have on your mind, you’re quite entitled to it. But that’s fine if you haven’t. If you ever decide to try penetration and there is pain, I’d like it if you came to me or another doctor. There could be damage inside of your passage. Damage you might also feel with bowel movements. Pain in that situation should also be reported, for the same reason.”
Carter’s face feels impossibly hot. He ducks his head and mumbles, “Got it.”
“I have in my notes that you may have had a head injury. It’s hard to judge that because it happened so long ago, and also because a lot of the symptoms are the same as other reasons you’d experience them, like your dehydration, low blood pressure, lack of nutrition, lack of sleep, and so on. That said, post-concussive symptoms can linger. Most specifically issues with memory and concentration, and persistent headaches. Have any of those been an issue?”
“No, none of that really.”
“How about ringing in your ears and blurry vision? Or sensitivity to noise and light?”
“No.”
Dr. Deacon makes a note. “Good. Very good. Do you have any other physical issues you can think of? Any soreness? Stiffness? Irritation?”
Actually… Carter has noticed one thing, now that the never-ending trauma is finally actually ended and days are becoming much more boring. “My shoulder has sort of been bothering me.”
The doctor straightens in his chair, eyes narrowing on him. “Which shoulder?”
“Both were hurt originally, but it’s my right one that gives me trouble now…”
“Okay.” The doctor makes a small note before putting his clipboard to the side and standing. He approaches Carter slowly, hands out like a warning. He meets Carter’s eyes to make sure it’s okay before he carefully rests one hand at the back of his shoulder and the other in front of it. He presses gently.
Carter winces.
“Hurts?” the doctor asks softly.
Tears quickly build in Carter’s eyes. Not because of the pain, but because he remembers when Travis had asked him that very question while pressing on that very shoulder. It was the first time they had met face to face, after Travis had raped him on the auction stage. Carter had been so fucking confused then.
He supposes not much has changed.
“It’s… sore,” Carter whispers when he realizes he didn’t answer the doctor.
“You have to tell me the truth if you want me to help, Carter. Don’t sugarcoat things.”
Carter wipes his tears away with his left hand, trying to keep calm. Trying not to remember how Travis had said something so similar back then too. God, this is too much. “I-it hurts. Not… a lot. But enough.”
“Is it worse when I press, or when I let go?”
He presses on it, then let's go. Carter swallows hard through a wave of pain. “Worse when you let go, I think.”
“When did the pain begin?”
