He opened it

Two nights later the door actually moved.

A medicine resident, thirty, someone I nod at over bad coffee. He saw the speculum and my hand and the unlocked invitation and froze like the wrong room. Don't apologize, I said. My voice was shredded. Either come here or leave. Don't stand in the doorway collecting a story.

He came in. He shut the door, which almost disappointed me, and then I decided the risk had already paid. He fucked me with the speculum still in for a minute because I asked, awkward, both of us too tired to be smooth. Then I let him take it out and fuck me properly on a cot that squeaked like it was going to file a complaint. I told him I hadn't slept. I told him I wanted to get caught. He said we might. I came on that. He came on my scrub pants. I put them back on under the coat and went to a page.

In the elevator I could smell myself. I smiled at the floor like a person losing the plot in a controlled way. Sleep deprivation is not a bit I do for charm. It's the water I'm in. The sex is just the only reckless thing I can finish before the next page. I washed the speculum twice. I always wash the speculum twice. The door is the only sloppy part, and the sloppy part is the one I mean.