CW: faux medical setting, pure fantasy, discussion of insomnia

It was mostly out of a sense of curiosity that I even signed up for the sleep study. Obviously there were no promises of “cures” or even of any help. They said by the end of the study they’d like to be able to give recommendations– either to outside doctors or to continue into another study. I figured if I wasn’t sleeping at home, not sleeping in some little office downtown wasn’t much worse.
Feeling oddly like I was getting ready for a grade-school sleepover I packed an overnight bag. They’d sent a very detailed email concerning what ought to be brought with us. Any sleeping aids that were non-medical (they even mentioned security animals and blankets), lights, pajamas, herbal teas. Anything that was a part of our usual routines. And I drove over– the first night we were supposed to be there two hours early– for a quick physical with their onsight MD and then an interview with one of the researchers.
The physical I was a little nervous for– I was always nervous with doctor’s and was especially nervous being anything less than fully dressed in a public space. Shivering on the stupid table in the stupid gown. She was brusque, quick but fine. I was incredibly intimidated by her. Taller than me by several inches, older than me by several years and fiercely handsome. She probably dyed her hair. I wiggled my nose when she didn’t praise me for quitting smoking or caffeine. I wanted her to say ‘good job’ or something, even though I knew that was stupid. When she weighed me she cocked an eyebrow.
“A little slim for your age and height,” she said, warningly.
“I eat… But I like to work out,” I said.
I didn’t say that I often helplessly ran miles around my neighborhood late at night when I couldn’t sleep. My nervous energy made it impossible to even just lay down. I knew I’d been dropping weight, but not in huge chunks, so I wasn't terribly worried. I figured it was worse that I was running at midnight and two AM alone than that I’d lost a few pounds.
“Working out can occasionally be a form of self-harm,” she said, turning her back to me and scribbling.
Her hands were warm, even through rubber gloves. I was especially enamored when she held her stethoscope against her inner arm to warm it before placing it on my bare chest. I felt my skin get goose-bumped nevertheless, nipples drawing tight and hard.
Finishing up she snapped her gloves off very business-like and threw them into the garbage pail without looking behind her.
“Get dressed. Someone will come to retrieve you for an interview.” And she was out the door before I even got to say another word.
“Kinda bitchy,” I whispered to myself, slithering off the papered examination table and going to my little neatly stacked pile of clothes.
There was a gentle knock on the door less than two minutes later. But I got dressed very speedily. Sitting on the edge of the little wheeled stool, knee bouncing wildly.
“Hi, Miss B,” someone said, poking their head around the door.
I leapt from the stool, it spun wildly out behind me, clattering against the wall.
“Hi,” I said, already holding out my hand.
The stranger came in and shook.
God, he was handsome. Almost pretty handsome. Unexpected. And just wearing a polo shirt and khakis. No white jacket.
“Hey, no lab coat,” I said, letting his hand drop.
“I don’t find the whole white-coat thing to be very helpful in these situations,” he said gently. “It kinda freaks people out… Are you freaking out?”
“Mmm… I’m not big on doctor’s offices,” I said, deciding to be honest.
He laughed, and patted my hand once more.
“That’s okay, me neither, come on,” he said.
We walked down several more hallways and into another office. The door looked just like the door to the examination room but I was pleasantly surprised it was just an ordinary office– or more like a therapist than a medical room. Two armchairs on one side of the desk, a wheeled chair on “his” side. A computer, no phones, some tasteful, boring little posters. He gestured to the armchair. I sat.
“I’m Teddy, by the way,” he said.
“Teddy,” I said hesitantly. “Are you a doctor?”
“I am,” he said mildly, clicking away on his computer. “But we just discussed that you weren’t a big fan so we’re keeping it casual.”
“Well…” I said, “You don’t seem too bad.”
“I’m really not,” he finally said, looking back up at me and smiling.
And then we dove in. Nothing new or too surprising. Medical history, history of insomnia, substance use and abuse, blah, blah, blah. We began talking about routines, compensations, and things I hadn’t talked with anyone else before.
“Has anything ever been effective, or worked before?” he asked. “Even if it’s since stopped working.”
I looked away from him. Sort of leaning far to the left to hide myself behind his computer screen. He shifted himself and the screen in response, keeping his eyes on my face. I wondered how honest to be. He’d asked questions gently. He took answers seemingly without judgment. Nothing seemed to surprise him.
“Hey,” he said. “Any answer is fine. People have told me they had handles of vodka, or sang the same song over and over for hours or chanted and took random herbs from strange markets. Nothing is going to weird me out. And it doesn’t go beyond us. Just you and me.”
“Sex,” I whispered. “Or… more often, honestly just um… you know… uh… self pleasure?”
God, I hated that phrase. Anything else seemed awful; jerking off, flicking the bean, all of that sounded immature and vulgar. Masturbation sounded awful and sex-ed-y. But that wasn’t much better. I blushed even redder and ducked my head. He just made a brief note and moved on.
“Which is still effective for you?” he asked.
“Um…”
I didn’t know what to say. It was ‘no’ obviously, or I wouldn’t still be here. I hadn’t had a sexual partner in a while– that might have made a difference, but probably not. Masturbation had since lost it’s efficacy. I’d tried for a while. But it was both less pleasurable and now didn’t tire me or relax me as much as it usually had. But for a year or so, that had worked pretty well. I’d get myself off under my covers, and then be able to roll over and go to sleep pretty easily. It had begun to drop off recently. And now it didn’t work at all. I figured maybe I just hit some kind of tolerance threshold, or something.
“No, it’s not effective any more,” I said, finally.
“Hmm,” he murmured. More notes. Then we moved on to easier questions.
After that we went further down the hallway. These doors looked different, more “homey” less medical.
“You’re in room B,” he said, smiling at me.
“Right, because I’m Bee,” I said, rolling my eyes
“Exactly my thoughts,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you in the night.”
He opened the door. It was a very small room– just enough space for a nightstand, a toilet, a sink and a twin bed. On the opposite wall was a large screen.
He bent beside the bed and opened the nightstand.
“There’s more blankets and pillows in here if you need it,” he said. “And there is temperature control on the wall. There’s a curtain you can pull around the toilet if you’d like, since there are cameras in this room. However, they’re only motion-activated– for folks who sleep walk, for safety sake. Otherwise the only way we’ll be monitoring you is via the sensors that will be in your skullcap. I promise it’s comfortable and easy and won’t ruin you hair.”
He smiled at me again. I smiled back, if wanly.
“The screen across the way,” he said, gesturing. “Serves a mult-purpose of being a light night if you so desire, and can also play all your basic soothing night-sounds– ocean, rain storm, static, etc.”
“Okay,” I said.
“I’m going to have you change into your night clothes, but I’ll be back in to outfit you, okay?” he asked.
“Okay,” I said, dumbly again.
He stepped outside of the room. I changed behind the promised toilet curtain. Just because it was weird to be undressed again in this little prison room. And I didn’t like the sleek screen up on the wall. Didn’t want to catch my reflection in it.
He knocked gently and I called him back in. He had a series of rubber-coated wires and small, fancy-looking dots arranged intricately as a skull cap. He sat on the edge of the bed, patting beside him. I sat slowly next to him. He stretched and snapped it over my head. As promised, it was totally comfortable. Lighter than I thought, certainly not tight. Sort of just along my hairline.
“Perfect,” he said.
Cupping my head in both his palms and slightly shifting the cap. I shivered a little under his touch. Like a scalp massage almost. God, had it been so long since I’d been touched? I hoped he hadn’t felt me reacting.
“All right,” he said. “We’re all set. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I tossed, and turned and kicked. For about an hour. Partially I attributed it to the fact that I hadn’t put on my sleep mask. I usually wore one. But I felt nervous in a strange place and didn’t want to be blind. I sighed, sat up and went over to my bag on the sink. Pulled out the mask.
I’d gotten myself a weighted mask, and for a while, that seemed to help. Or anyway, it really relaxed me. But like everything else it started wearing off. Still though, better to have it than not.
I crawled back into bed, dropping the mask over my eyes. Sighed.
Continued tossing, turning, kicking. Tangling myself in blankets. Thumping pillows. Too hot, too cold, too sweaty. Pillow too cool, too warm, too hard, letting my head sink in funny.
Tonight was going to be sleepless.
I woke up to my alarm. Bleary, confused and feeling sort of hungover. Pulled off my mask. Sipped from my water bottle. Reminded myself of where I was. Got out of bed, went back behind the curtain and got into my day clothes. Grabbed my phone off the sink. Two hours earlier than I usually woke up. Well, I was sick of being here. I’d go to work early today, I decided.
Wandering out into the hallway I felt myself tiptoeing. But I didn’t have to do that! They didn’t say anything about a check-out procedure or anything. Just go to the front counter before you leave.
I did so. Signing myself out with a lackadaisical looking man. Very pretty hair, very dumb face.
“Do you have like… sleep demons?” he asked, stupidly.
“Oh, I’m just chock full of them,” I said, rolling my eyes at him. He just popped his gum and stared at me.
“Miss Bee!” Someone called from the top of the hallway. I turned to see Doctor Teddy.
“Oh, hey Doc,” I said, feeling guilty for no reason.
“Hey,” he said, catching up and panting. “I know it was a bad night. First night is always bad. It’ll be better tonight. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling oddly better. Still kind of stupefied and in general stupid-feeling. But still. He was nice.
I came back later in the day. Literally dragging myself. I was hoping I’d at least pass out tonight, just because I’d maybe only gotten forty minutes of sleep the previous evening. Even if it was just dreamless blackness it would be better than nothing.
This time I just walked in, making my way to room B after checking in with a different, but still very disinterested person. She looked like she could be the daughter of Doctor Bitch, I thought. Also tall, and harshly pretty.
As I was still setting my things down, there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called.
“Hey, thanks for not giving up,” Teddy said.
“I’m not a quitter,” I said. Which was true.
I pulled a few things out of my bag. My water bottle, the sleep mask again. He sat on the edge of the bed. Tapping a pencil against a clipboard.
“A few things I wanted to discuss with you,” he said. “I see you have a mask, do you usually sleep with one and did you use it last night?”
“Eventually, I did,” I said. “I usually do. I was just… nervous, last night.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I don’t know if this makes you feel better or worse but there is an intercom system in here. If you get nervous, you can call for me.”
“Oh,” I said.
“Oop, I’ve made you nervous,” he said, tapping more rapidly.
“No,” I said. “That does make me feel better.”
“Good,” he said. “And is that a weighted mask?”
“It is,” I said.
“Would you be interested in attempting a weighted blanket then, tonight? We have several available, and it might be of help,” he said.
I shrugged. I was up for anything.
“Sure.”
He cleared his throat.
“And,” he said. “It may be worthwhile to once again attempt what had worked for you in the past.”
I stared at him. He was talking about masturbating! Making a very carefully-professional reference to what had ‘worked for me’ to put me to sleep previously.
I blinked at him a few times.
“Just something to consider,” he said.
“Mmm,” I said.
“Same thing as last night,” he said, standing then, tucking the clipboard back under his arm. “You get changed, I’ll come back.”
I did, once again, behind the curtain.
He knocked on his return. Carrying the skullcap and also a hygienic-looking zip bag. I sat on the edge of the bed again and fluffed my hair back over my shoulder to accept the wires.
Hands soft again. His thumbs on my temples, pressing some sensors in a little more securely. And again I shivered.
“Go ahead and lay back,” he said.
I did, watching him the whole time. From off of “my” night table he plucked my mask up. Sliding it carefully over the cap, hands and fingers spread like he was winding yarn.
“I got an alert that the sensors were disarrayed last night,” he said. “Figured I’d help you.”
“Mmm,” I said.
Feeling his palm over the mask now, making sure it was correctly settled across the bridge of my nose.
“So I grabbed one of the blankets, I’m going to go ahead and apply–”
“Is it really ‘applying’?” I interrupted, laughing a little. “Aren’t you tucking me in?”
“Do you want to be tucked in, Bee?” he asked.
I wished I wasn’t wearing the mask. I felt, more than heard, a shift in tone. I didn’t know what to do with it. And I certainly didn’t like this crush I was developing on Doctor Teddy. Useless. He was being nice because it was his job. He had to because he was “patient experience” or whatever. Doctor Bitch, for example, could be a bitch. Teddy had to be the ‘good cop.’
I settled deeper into the mattress.
“Uh-huh,” I finally said.
“All right then,” he said. “Getting tucked in, little Bee.”
Now I was sure of a tone shift. Although what it was, and what, if anything, I could do with it, I was unsure.
I heard the zip on the bag and the shush of fabric against itself. Then weight settled heavily on my feet. The blanket had clearly been rolled, and he unrolled it slowly up my body. Until I was entirely under the cover, from neck to ankle. At first, I almost panicked under the weight. Thinking that it was hard to breathe, and feeling like it was a struggle for my chest to lift.
Then I just felt embraced.
“What do we think?” he asked. “Give it a whirl tonight?”
“Uh-huh,” I said again.
“Good night,” he said.
I heard the light being flicked off and then I was alone.
I couldn’t toss and turn under the blanket. Or, I could, but I didn’t want to. It seemed too tiring and pointless to. It felt like being under the palm of a giant. But comfortably. Further, it was warmer than last night, and that helped to soothe too.
Still though, I was awake. Eyes closed but moving rapidly. Just the usual. Thinking and playing word games in my brain. Trying all those stupid little tricks and wooey-woo nonsense to bring sleep in.
I held my breath and listened to the space. But all I heard was the air filtration system, things moving through ducts. No steps or other people at all.
Sneaking a hand under the waistband of my pants I touched myself. Stopped, frozen, listening again. Still nothing. Continuing but with ears still perked, sure I’d hear footsteps in the hall or the door knob rattling or someone on the other side of the wall.
But nothing.
Hard to keep a rhythm though. And when orgasm finally came it was rather unspectacular. Which had kind of been the holding pattern the last few times. Maybe I just couldn’t get myself off any more. But I felt good. Tired, because it had taken a while. And my body usually stiffened and tensed all over right before orgasm and after the release sunk down and into whatever I was in– usually a mattress. And as per usual, all my muscles clenched and then I relaxed just as suddenly. But the sinking into the mattress was made more dramatic by the weighted blanket. Leaving me delightfully crushed. I breathed deeply and kind of dozed off.
The kind of non-sleep, half-sleep. Where you’re partially aware of all around you– hearing things and almost seeing your eyes move behind your eyelids. But not fully conscious, either.
I woke up at a more appropriate time. Still before my alarm but only by about forty minutes or so. I felt disoriented still– and it felt difficult to lift the blanket. I folded it up at the end of the bed. Then I heard a knock.
“Yes?” I asked, hesitantly, surprised.
“Just Teddy,” through the door.
“Oh, come in,” I called.
He came into the room, head ducked, as though he still expected me to be nude or something, clipboard in hand.
“Morning,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Good morning,” he said.
I tapped the mattress, inviting him to sit again. He did, helping me to lift off the skullcap.
“So, the good news is this,” he said, folding the cap carefully into quarters and leaving it on top of his clipboard. “It does appear that you at least began to cycle down last night. It doesn’t seem as though you ever actually cycled into REM but that’s not surprising– the tracks with previous history.”
“I think the blanket helped,” I said, patting it.
“Oh good,” he said. “I saw your heart rate spike last night but it did eventually drop and then you cycled down. You’re not prone to nightmares though, right? You didn’t mention as much in the interview–”
I interrupted him with a very nervous and unattractive horking cough of embarrassment. Of course I knew that one wire of the cap dangled and attached to my neck a bit, but I thought that was just for anchoring. I didn’t know it was keeping track of my pulse.
“I uh,” I started stuttering, trying to think of how to word it. “I did as you suggested.”
Finally, lamely deciding on that. Hardly wanting to say oh yeah, my heart was beating frantically because I was jerking off.
“Oh!” he said.
“Right,” I agreed, getting up and turning away from him.
“Well, good,” he said, also standing up. “Try again tonight.”