Dear Daylight, the Doctor is Ready to See You Now

[F4A][F4M][F4F] Dear Daylight, the Doctor is Ready to See You Now

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[nervous, hesitant] Uh . . . So . . . My therapist gave me this . . . journal, and said that – instead of talking about . . . what happened – I could write it down. My parents also thought it would be a good idea. She even suggested that I give . . . *you* . . . a name. Um, (clear throat) I think it’s a bit weird but . . . it isn’t going to cause any harm so I guess, why not, right?

(shaky, deep breath) With everything that’s happened, I‘ve decided to call you Daylight.

The only thing is: I don’t know *where* to start.

It’s not like time has blurred together and everything. It wasn’t *that* long ago. And it’s not like when it happened, there was so much other shi . . . so many other things happening.

Um, I guess I should start then. (nervous laughter) Gosh, my hands are shaking like crazy . . . I don’t even know *why*. I haven’t even started telling you the shitstorm that happened.

Okay. Well . . .

Dear Daylight.

I know it’s a bit late for introductions. I’m sure you can tell how on edge I am. I’m . . . definitely hesitant to write this down. I pray to God, or whatever almighty being exists, that *no one* reads this. Especially not my parents. It would kill them, I think, and if not, they’d think I was so insane; that I imagined all this. Everything that happened . . .

I knew before that there were things in this world which couldn’t be explained, but . . . I guess I just didn’t think it would happen to me. No one does, I guess. That’s what Dr. Quinn said, and I believe her.

[quieter] I caught Ivan cheating on me with Lizzy, [bitter] my ex-best friend. I feel as if I should have seen it coming, the way they would seamlessly flirt with each other – even in front of me – and get all close and touchy and . . . It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it.

I could go on for days about my questionable taste in boys and *friends*, and although I don’t want to think about it, I think I should – though I don’t know if that’ll help you understand the situation more.

Lizzy was my best, and one of my only, friends since primary school. And I met Ivan after another vile breakup – which apparently ended because I didn’t give him enough attention – at the skating park. I was only there because my brother Bemny was. Mom and Dad had somewhere important to be and didn’t want to leave me at home alone.

Of course, I thought he was cute. He was liked by all the girls in my school, and he was two years older, [mocking] which placed the ‘mature’ stamp on him – although, clearly, that wasn’t the case. I was boy-crazy in early middle school.

Anyway . . . I caught them doing it outside Lizzy and I’s job. Right at the back of the building near . . . the woods.

Ivan immediately tried to apologise in haste of being caught while pulling his undersized dick out of her. She didn’t seem as apologetic. In fact, if my memory serves me right, she was smirking at me.

I didn’t want to make a scene, so I fled back inside, slapping his reaching hands away from me. But Benny was also present, and he saw me, clenching my fists, my face red from holding my breath, Ivan chasing after.

They had to get security on him and kick out my ex after Ben told my boss, Sam, what’d happened. I thought my brother was going to kill him. Sam too, but he couldn’t since he was the restaurant owner.

I don’t know where Lizzy went off to for the rest of the night, but I just . . . I couldn’t work. I couldn’t even focus.

Now, I don’t even know what I was so sad about. I understand why I was pissed – anyone would be – but I realise that now neither of them were worth the tears.

When I went back outside to get some air – hoping that it would freeze my brain and erase the memory – she was gone.

I remember, very vividly, as I stood against the brick wall for a god half an hour or so, hearing . . . my name. It was calling my name from the woods. It was very faint, but it was there. There was no mistaking it for the wind. Surprisingly enough – although here at this time of year, it’s usually very bitter at night – it wasn’t. It was a little cool, but certainly not unmanageable.

In fact, the closer I stepped towards the woods, the warmer it got. I’m not sure what prompted me to walk in, by myself, in the middle of the night, or what made me think it was a good idea.

(long pause)

I *didn’t* think it was a good idea. I wasn’t thinking *anything* when I did it. If someone had come out to stop me, I don’t think I could have, even if I wanted to. As silly, and perhaps platitude, as it does sound, I wasn’t even in control of my own body. In fact, I don’t remember much of the walk.

I just know that eventually, my legs were aching and an oddly pleasant fog had settled. Later, I would realise it was coating my consciousness and was the reason I was quickly feeling lightheaded. It wasn’t like chloroform. It smelled, strangely . . . sweet.

All I really remember is sinking to my knees and falling on my side before I passed out.

And when I woke up again, I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t move anything but my head. [anxious] [rushed] I was in, what I can only describe as, the skeleton of metal stirrups simply because I’m not sure what else to relate it to. Instead of holding my feet in place, leather cuffs rested tight around my ankles, chained up to two long diagonal metal bars. A shorter pair of pipes rested at the back of my knees, spreading my legs as far apart as they would go. Leather straps around the base of my thighs chained somewhere to the floor below to keep my legs in place. I was laying on nothing more than a couple thick slabs of hard, but smooth wood, and as I tried to move my hands, I realised they too were – like my ankles – chained to, again, another pipe bolted to the floor. This one thicker and sturdier than the others.

(long sigh) Deep breath . . . Just. Breathe . . .

The board . . . Um, the board barely supported the top half of my body. My head and my ass hung off at opposite sides, arms held close together, dangling over as well.

I remember it so vividly, I can’t help but describe it in such explicit detail.

It was dark, unusually dark, but there were a few dimly lit candles around. I become extraordinarily aware of the fact that I was *not* alone.

Every hair on my body stood up, my heart beating in my throat and in my ears, the hot sensation of eyes crawling over my skin as I struggled a bit to breathe. I didn’t want to look. I was too afraid to, but I didn’t know what to do.

The sound of heavy footsteps reached my ears, pressing closer and closer until they stopped in front of me.

(long pause)

(mumbling) I don’t know if I can continue . . . Ugh, this is so hard . . .

It wasn’t until I heard the crackling of electricity did I – although it was nothing more than an unconscious reaction – begin to struggle.

I’ve always been afraid of electricity. When I was younger I used to get shocked all the time, friction static. But I got struck by lightning the same week I met, and developed feelings for Ivan. It could’ve just been a coincidence, but . . .

Obviously, I’m still alive now, but it hurt unbelievably so. It’s one of those things you yourself would have to experience to understand what I mean.

So just the sound of the sizzling was enough to make me struggle. But the thought of it against my skin brought tears to my eyes . . .

“P-Please, no!” I begged, hurriedly trying to rip off the restraints.

“Look at me,” he demanded in a calm, though barely audible voice.

(whisper) “Please . . . ”

He only threatened me with the sound again.

I whimpered, and, reluctantly, raised my head. I would never have thought it possible – I’m a woman of logic and science – but blue electricity was literally coming out of his fingertips. I was trembling.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I slowly studied him. His look was generally business, formal. Black trousers, white shirt, blood red tie, and a dark grey waistcoat with vertical white stripes, a silver pocket watch tipped into the vest pocket. Blood splattered across his clothes – and I had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t his. He had a metal piece around his jaw – which reminded me a lot of a beard with flat sideburns – and bandages wrapped around his head.

His eyes were . . . glowing. Why were they glowing that electric blue colour? What kind of nightmare was this where my brain was confronting me with my worst fear in human form?

Before I realised what he was doing, he pulled at my shirt and the buttons went flying everywhere, clinking on the ground. My black shorts and underwear weren’t far behind. Of course, I fought, and writhed, but in that-that . . . that contraption . . . I could barely move.

Moving back, he returned with a leather belt in his hand, sliding it across my skin until I was shivering.

He came around to the back and bent down, tugging gently on my hair so that he looked upside down. This close, he didn’t even look real. He grinned, unnaturally and alarmingly, holding the belt in front of my face. “Open.”

What other choice did I have? He slipped the belt between my lips and told me to hold it there before standing between my legs again.

I didn’t raise my head again.

He touched me, his fingers skating down the inside of my thighs. It didn’t really . . . *hurt*, but it still surprised me enough to make me whimper and yelp.

His touch was so hot that it made the formerly nice air cold, like he had sucked all the warmth out of the room into him.

He moved from my thighs, to my sensitive hips, over my stomach, my nipples, and then stopped. He tugged at them, twisting until they were sore and I was screaming.

I swear, somehow he could adjust the intensity of the static in his hands because suddenly, it would be there. And then it would be gone, but nothing more than a little shock. I was certain he could truly have electrocuted me if he wished, but . . . he didn’t.

I guess . . . now I have to get to the part that I hate the most. I have to acknowledge it . . . or . . . that’s what Dr. Quinn said. Something about coming to grips with reality and the truth. Something about telling myself the truth first to make progress, but . . .

(brief pause)

[suddenly] There was this . . . heat . . . growing in the lowest part of my stomach, my . . . pussy – Fuck . . . No, I . . . I have to . . . keep going.

His hands moved back down my body, and he started . . . to . . . rub my . . . my clit. The tips of my ears are undeniably red right now. And hot.

I bit down on the leather in my mouth, jumping at how unexpected it was since I wasn’t watching. “Little Claudia.” His tone was amused.

Claudette. My name is Claudette. The only way he could have possibly known was if he really was a figment of my imagination, and my mind had simply made him up for God knows what reason.

“Do you like that?”

It took me a moment to realise what he’d said. I shook my head in haste, perhaps trying to make myself believe it. “Nn-nn.”

He knew it was a lie. Why wouldn’t he? I didn’t realise just how . . . just how wet I was until, with disturbing ease, he sunk *three* thick fingers into me. [in disbelief] Three! *Three*!

He would slip them in, and then curl his fingers in that . . . ‘come hither’ motion. I wasn’t sure before if I even had a . . . G-spot, but I guess I do. He did it over and over again, making me moan and writhe even though my cheeks were drenched in my own tears. My toes curled, and I was this close. *This* close. Right on the edge.

And then he pulled away.

And did it again.

And stopped.

And again.

It didn’t take a genius to realise what he was doing. He wouldn’t let me . . . cum . . . until I begged. Until I pleaded with every bone in my body, and made him believe that I wanted it. It was conflicting, but I couldn’t take the torture any longer. I tried to resist him. I really did. But it was too much.

I’d had two boyfriends, and had only had sex a few times with one – recently then. It had always felt *good*, but it was never enough to make me cum. My own ex-boyfriend hadn’t even touched me like that.

So I did beg.

I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared and crying and hot and cold and confused and . . . [tentative] I wanted to . . . to cum.

[embarrassment] Jesus Christ! What is wrong with me?!

Instead of continuing to finger me, he got down on his knees, grasping my ass in his hands, and kissed my clit. (quiet but frustrated moan) It didn’t take long for me to hit that high with him swirling his tongue over 8,000 nerves . . .

[quiet] And then I . . . I fucking came. God, what is wrong with me? I actually *came*.

(pause)

(sniffling) Oh, shit. The page is wet now. I didn’t even realise I was crying.

After I . . . screamed out my orgasm, riding it out over his tongue, he . . . stood up and just walked away. My heartbeat was calm, so I assumed that he must be gone – I’m not sure how I connected the dots on his presence’s effect on my own heart.

For the first time in a while, I allowed myself the luxury of quiet sobs and clenching my fists and hating myself and hating him . . . I still hate myself for that.

(another long pause) Since it may be confusing to keep referring to ‘him’ so ambiguously, I’ve decided to call him ‘The Doctor’.

(final long pause)

I can’t bring myself to write about it anymore. Not today. I’m beyond exhausted now. I’m not sure if I can *ever* do this again.

(hesitate)

Goodnight . . . Daylight.