Love Under Anesthesia

His gaze makes my knees tremble and my tongue tangle. Probably it’s not just because I’m lying under anesthesia right now, and he’s monitoring my pulse. The curse is that this handsome man is my doctor—and the worst part is that today I am his patient.

“Aaaa! Doctor!”

“What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”

“I… I’m there… am I naked?”

“Of course.”

“Oh my God, no! That’s it, enough. I don’t need surgery. I want to get up!”

“Shh. Shh, I said! No. Don’t get up. You’re covered. What shouldn’t be seen—won’t be seen.”

It’s that very doctor. I can’t see him, but I hear his voice—low and hoarse. I feel my whole body tremble when he takes my hand and puts it on a special support.

“What… isn’t that all yet?”

“I’ll insert a catheter and you’ll fall asleep. Soon.”

Cold alcohol scorches the tender skin of my hand, and I feel the burning—then I hear the sound of an adhesive plaster being opened.

“That’s it, sunshine. We’re falling asleep.”