An Apple A Day (Wattys2019)

Chapter 10 - Subspace

Doc

"Wakey wake, my little experiment!" I announce happily, clicking on the overhead light in Miles' room. He groans in his bed, rolling over and gripping the sheets tightly against his chin. I smirk, grasping one of his ankles in my feet and dragging his entire body off the bed. He lands on his butt, bouncing slightly as he hits the floor. Still barely awake, he rubs his groggy eyes. His fists are balled, little fingers bending into the flesh. I grab his shoulders, tired of all this waiting, and drag him along the floor, down each step with a thump.

"D-Doc! What's happening?"

My experiment asks, its mouth wide and stretching, the skin around it crawling with parasitic fauna. Beetles and other filthy creatures scuttle from his throat across his pale skin. "I have...my experiment... I have to dissect you," I try to tell it, but the words don't come out properly.

"Please- gah!" Its head plunges noticeably hard against my wooden floor, body going limp and harsh sobs emitting from its throat. My experiment is in pain it seems. I can fix that. I can make its consciousness separate from its body, the vessel something hollow for me to tinker with. I am a master inventor, I can of course make the essence of this creature jump between body and spirit. I'm the world greatest doctor, after all.

Securing my experiment to the straps above its surgical bed, I bring forth my set of tools. Sliding the tray over to the bed, I giddily run my fingers over each one, selecting my favourite weapon of dissection. Simple and predictable I know, but my tool of choice is a scalpel. After all, I'm not looking for anything specific or performing a particular operation today. I'm poking around inside my experiment before anyone else does, to reap whatever interesting secrets are inside so it'll stay all mine forever. My experiment. I'm the only one allowed to experiment.

While it sweats in terror and tries in vain to wriggle away from my skilled hands, I hear its wind-up voice begging and bargaining with me. I must be going crazy - to think the experiment can talk. I slip the scalpel underneath it's collarbone, making it scream at the stinging pressure as I keep applying, easily ripping apart the skin just enough for a line of blood to seep, trails battering down like a waterfall over its ribcage and settling around it's naval.

I keep looking into its eyes. They're my favourite part. Glassy and brightly bloodshot, rimmed with tears and beautiful irises engulfing its pupils. I never liked those black voids anyway. I can't gouge them, because then I won't be able to look into them again, and see what my experiment is thinking. What can I take instead, that would be just as memorable? Just as personal as part of my experiment and I, something we share and deeply bond over.

My question is answered when my doll whimpers. "P-Please...Doc..."

"Experiments shouldn't talk..." I decide, because if it keeps talking to me, I may be mistaken for insane when it's the experiment who's doing the talking. How is that my fault? Anyway, it shouldn't be talking to me. It's only logical to make it stop. "Hold still,"

Not like it has any choice.

My scalpel pierces its mouth, bringing forth a harsh scream, shrilly shattering through the room, slicing trough the air and bursting through my eardrums. I stab furiously around its teeth and gums, into its tongue. The screams drown out in bubble of blood, spitting onto myself and down its body. His body. Miles' body.

Who's Miles? Experiments have titles not names. This is an experiment. He isn't an experiment. He is. He? Fuck! Miles! Miles, my boy!

"Fuck fuck fuck!" I grit through my teeth and frenetically wave my arms around my surgery, crazed with regret and panic. I throw my scalpel across the room, hearing it clatter on the floor. "Jesus, towel! I need a towel! I have no towels WHY ARE THERE NEVER ANY TOWELS?!"

I inject him with NSAIDS - and yes I know that's not their purpose but I don't have much on hand for such emergencies! I clean him with antiseptic and apply gauze, letting the blood stick to my fingers and absorb into the fluffy cotton. His eyes flutter closed. I do my best to keep them open but still, he loses consciousness.

I pick him up bridal style and, after wrapping his lower jaw in bandages, strap him to his surgery bed and collapse into the chair beside him. "Fuck, fuck Miles..." I bury my head on my hands, sobbing as I wipe my tears on my sleeves. "I love you, God I love you I'm so sorry,"

All I can do is monitor his breathing and hope he wakes up.

*

I snap into focus, my head swirling with regret, an elusive nebula of darkness descending over my cloudy vision, speckles of black forcing, what's that called? Tunnel vision. Yes, that. I must have fallen asleep, which isn't a great revelation to have when you're monitoring a patient. Speaking of which, when did I last go to work? Or check my voicemails? Huh. That seems like something I should get to in the next few months.

My back creaks as I stand up, and I look over Miles. The blood covering our bodies has hardened into flakes of dark purple and black, but fresh patches deep through the bandages over his mouth. I lean over, gently caressing his cheek with one hand as the other begins to unwrap his gauze, just to change it.

"FUCK!"

I jump back as his eyes slowly open, blinking a few times as he recognises me. "H-Hello...Miles I'm so...I don't know what happened. Really, I don't remember much! It was...it wasn't you I hurt," I try irrationally to explain. He doesn't respond other than wincing and sitting up, laying his hands over his mouth, gently pressing into the sore muscles, just to test them.

"Miles? Please, just tell me you understand," he looks at me for a second, then just stares at the floor dejectedly, pulling his knees to his chest. I watch him, pacing around the bed. He doesn't notice me, well he does but doesn't acknowledge my presence. Like I'm not there, a ghost passing by in the night, irrelevant. "Miles, tell me you can hear me at least! Just...just look at me, okay? Talk? Sign?" I sign 'Can you talk to me?'  I'm wasting my time, he doesn't know sign language.

He leans back and pulls his blanket over him, burying underneath it and hiding. I step back, raising my hands in defence although I know he can't see me. "Okay, you need time," I nod. "I get it, okay. I won't bother you. I'll be back to change your bandages soon, and I'll bring you water,"

Hiding my tears, just to conserve my foolish pride, I escape his judgements and absorb myself into the real world.