Surgery (2 gifs)

I run a cash register at work. There is one customer who comes in daily, buys the same thing every day, and insists on paying only at my register, at least when I am there. Seriously, he'll wait in line to pay at my register when the other cashier is open and waiting, and even if she calls him over to her register, he won't move out of my line. He pretends to not hear her. If I go into the back room to hide from him, he'll wait over by the coffee until I come back out, just so he can pay at my register. 

This guy really, really creeps me out. It isn't just the insistence on contact. Different customers at our place do prefer specific cashiers, often because one of us may have their orders memorized, sometimes because they like our sense of humor, etc. 

This guy is different. He doesn't talk, doesn't smile, and moves with a measured, meticulous care in everything he does, right down to folding his receipt and putting it into the pocket of his green scrubs. And he doesn't wear his facility ID when he comes into the store. He's the only one in scrubs without a facility ID. Everyone else who comes in wearing scrubs has a photo ID card on a lanyard or a name tag pinned to their chests for some kind of medical or dental facility. Then again, everyone else has scrubs with brighter colors on them, too. It makes me wonder what the guy does. Is he a surgeon (who might not wear a tag because it could fall into his patient?) 

Worst of all, though his movements are insanely slow and careful, he does not watch what he is doing. He stares at my face the whole time he's at my register. This is not like other men, who make eye contact, smile, and sometimes harmlessly flirt. His face is nearly expressionless. I almost feel analyzed by that stare. If this guy isn't a shrink, he's kind of scary. If he is, he's being really rude. Either way, I guess he bugs me even more than I thought. He showed up in my nightmares.


I've come out from behind the register to keep the coffee stocked up while my co-worker runs to the restroom and my boss goes to the shed for supplies. We just had a big rush of customers come through, but now there is no one in the store except for us, and I'm the only one on the sales floor. Half of our pots were empty when I started. I've got two down, four to go. I load them up and set them brewing.

I'm about to turn around to return to the register when something hits the back of my head, really, really hard. Holy crap, it hurts! I think my co-worker has hit me, and turn to see why, but it isn't her. The last thing I see before passing out is that creepy customer in the dingy looking green scrubs. For once, his face has an expression. He looks surprised.

I'm on my back. My hands are tied above my head, and my feet are tied beyond my line of sight. I try to lift my head to see, but I can't because there is a strap holding it in place.

I'm laying on something moderately soft. It almost feels like a massage table or a thick gym mat. It's wide and stable enough that when I wiggle, it stays put. A quick glance around the me shows little. The room is small, maybe only 8 feet wide by twelve feet long. There is no window, just a door, a light overhead, and a lamp down by my feet. Hanging on the wall nearby is a lacy white dress.

Finally, I notice the creepy scrub guy. He is standing next to the dress. To the scrubs, he's added a cap, a mouth cover, and gloves. He sees me awake, and approaches. When he comes up next to me, I see that there is also some kind of tray table. I can't get a good look at it because the strap keeps me from turning my head.

He lifts something up. At first, it looks like he's holding a bag of water. He moves his hand, and the bag jiggles like unflavored gelatin. I am confused. Why is he showing me gelatin?

He points at me, then at the bag of gelatin. I still don't know what the heck he means. I must look as scared and confused as I am, because he jabs his finger at me again, directly at my chest, and then points again to the bag. He picks something up off of the tray table. It makes a clinking noise. Then, he shows it to me.

He's holding a scalpel. He lays it in the other hand with the bag. He points at himself, then at the scalpel, the bag, and my chest. Probable understanding dawns on me. I think he is telling me that is a breast implant, and he's going to cut me open and put it into my breast. He notices the change in expression on my face. He picks up another implant, and holds the two together up next to his chest, and nods. Then, he puts them back on the table.

He doesn't put down the scalpel. He doesn't pick anything else up, either. He just takes the scalpel in his right hand, and puts his left hand on my left breast, the side facing him.

This is when I realize that I am naked, and that he is really going to cut into my body with that scalpel. It doesn't look like he's going to knock me out first, either. I'm not sure which thought is more horrifying... knowing he plans to cut me without anesthetic, or the thought of being unconscious again with him in the room. I start begging him not to do this.

I tell him I don't want bigger breasts. I don't want surgery. I don't want to be cut open. He just looks at me.

I ask why he is doing this. He points at me, then at the dress. Again, I am confused. He wants to give me breast implants so I'll fit into the dress? I don't get it. Then I realize... it's a lacy white dress. The back hangs down a bit further than the front. It's a lacy white dress with a train. Hanging off of the shoulder is a flowery headpiece, with a short veil. That's a wedding dress.

I start to tell him that I can't marry him, because I'm all ready married, but something inside stops me. What if he's messed up enough to hunt down and kill my husband so I'll be single? What will he do if I just tell him I don't want him? I'm tied down, and he has sharp cutting tools. I had better not piss him off.

I tell him that I have back and neck problems, that breast implants will make those worse. I ask him to please not alter my body. His eyes look amused, then he utters a thin, whispery laugh. He moves over to the dress, and with his elbow, moves it aside. Behind it is a small window. Looking through the window is one bizarre looking big red eye. The eye is almost as big as his head. He points to me, then the dress, then the eye.

I have no chance of persuading him. He's not doing this for himself. He's doing it for whatever huge, terrifying thing is on the other side of that wall. Nothing I say could change his mind. He's going to perform surgery on me while I'm awake, and then he's going to give me to that thing, whatever it is, that is so huge its eye is as big as his head. I start to realize this can't be real. I'm trying to turn my head fast, so I can wake up, but the strap prevents me. I can feel tears on my cheeks.

He returns to me and again starts maneuvering my breast. The scalpel descends, and I feel it cut into the flesh just below my nipple.

The pain is intense, sharp, pinching, and burning. I scream and pull against the bonds on my hands and feet, but they hold tight. The surgeon looks at me sternly and shakes his head.



Yeah. Sooo... I swear... next time he comes in, I'm hiding in the restroom until he leaves. O.o