"God. Fuck. Please don't d- Please stop-"
"Hm?"
The Doctor makes an incision. Precise. Sharp. The skin feels so impossibly thin. So easy to reach under. It's like drawing on paper.
"Jesus christ- Jesus fucking christ- Oh god-"
The Doctor reaches in. Rubber gloves against raw flesh, forearms covered in fresh blood. What a horrible texture.
The Patient is heaving in shock. On the inclined bed, he has no other choice but to look right at the wound gaping across his stomach. It moves with each gasp for air. Like a mouth. An orifice that was always meant to be there, moving in rhythm with the rest of the body.
"I forgot to get the retractors. But I reckon you could do the job, no?"
"What?"
"I'm going to loosen the restraints on your hands, so you can reach it."
"What-"
The Patient asks again, barely hearing the words over his own hitched breathing. The Doctor grabs his two wrists - completely unbothered by the blood smearing on them - and positions his hands over the wound.
"Hold that open for me, will you?"
His fingers are guided in place, forced to dig deep, while his arms are pulled apart slowly. Bright red viscera beneath the freshly opened layers. Like it has always wanted to be seen, glistening under the light.
"No, no, no- no, please don't- please I'm-"
"Sshh. Just hold it there. Keep it open."
"No- no- I can't-"
Not feeling the pain might even be more terrifying. Only the view remains. And the sounds. The stomach-turning smell of his own blood. His fingers, clamped in place by complete shock. And the growing cold, slowly seeping into his whole trembling body.