Dr. Christina Kathleen Morgan, DMD, was the only female dentist I had ever met. She and I met a few months after she finished dental school, when I was sixteen and she was twenty-six. I was a floundering high schooler with no career goal and no idea where my life was going.
Dr. Morgan was a new dentist, as I said before. She was so kind and gentle, and our senses of humor complimented each other perfectly- we could always crack each other up. But there was a deeper, more sensitive side to our relationship too, in the way we trusted each other with everything. We talked about hard stuff from our past that we couldn't imagine telling anyone else. We were friends, as well as teacher and student.
The amount of time I spent with her sparked my interest in dentistry. After careful research and consideration, I decided that I also wanted to be a dentist. She let me come in every day after school and observe her. During the summer, I would spend all day every day in that office with her. When I entered college as a Pre-Dentistry major, she offered me a job as her assistant. I was so happy to be following in her beautiful footsteps.
Yes, she was beautiful. Obviously Scandinavian, she was petite and delicate-looking, with extremely pale skin and nearly-white blond hair and the most beautiful blue eyes God ever made. Her hands were small and delicate, like the rest of her, and they wrapped perfectly around the various tools her work required her to use. She was slender, but with a fairly large chest for her size, and her hips had a nice shape. Although I identify myself as heterosexual, and was never attracted to her in "that way", so to speak, there was no denying that she was truly gorgeous.
Her hair was about shoulder-length, and it was always in a ponytail. She had a bit of a Southern lilt- being from upstate South Carolina-and her voice was the most calming force in the universe.
Katie, as she eventually allowed me to call her, was one of five dentists at Duncan Dentistry. The only female dentist, of course. And let me tell you, the other four: John Duncan, Jack Jordan, Dan Bayer, and Steven Richards, treated her like absolute shit. They treated her with less respect than they treated the hygienists, and that's saying something.
They called her Katie in front of patients, but required her to call them Doctor. They constantly checked out her ass, her boobs, and sometimes even made that obnoxious whistling sound (the one usually made by drunk fraternity boys or horny middle-aged divorced men) at her, then they would laugh at her when they saw how uncomfortable it made her.
Having known Katie for three years, I had seen them treat her badly constantly, and it bothered me. (Let me tell you something: I respect Katie. I respect her with all my heart.). I hated seeing her being treated as anything less than the goddess she is in my eyes.
I even saw Dr. Duncan hit her fairly often. Just slapped her across her perfect face, leaving a mark on her porcelain skin, making her eyes drown in fear and shame and little crystal tears.
I wanted to kill him, and although I certainly had the ability, I could never bring myself to do it. See, as a seventh-degree black belt, I cling to the Black Belt Code with all my heart, including the clause that says "I will not use my training to take the life of another, save it be the only way to remove an imminent threat to my own life or the life of of someone whom I deem to stand in need of my protection." He had hurt her, yes, but he had never presented an imminent threat to her life. So I waited, hoping someday I could find an excuse to kill him.
And one night, when I was eighteen, I did.
Katie and I stayed late one Tuesday night. Dr. Duncan had criticized her for sloppy paperwork filing, and hit her pretty badly before leaving. She stayed, determined to fix whatever was wrong with her filing.
I offered to stay with her and help her with the paperwork, not wanting to leave her there alone, and she had accepted. I think we both knew that my offer was more one of company than of help, although I provided both. We worked together as efficiently as a machine, as always, but after an hour or so of filing, Katie collapsed in my arms, sobbing. I held her, rubbing her back and trying to reassure her. "Katie," I told her, "I hate it when he hurts you like that. It makes me want to kill him. But I'm here, and I'll protect you."
The shadows in the doorway should have caught my attention before they revealed themselves to be four asshole dentists. Four asshole male dentists, reeking of whiskey.
"Poor, poor little Katie. That's right, let a kid ten years younger than you comfort you. Aren't you supposed to be her mentor? Shouldn't you be caring for her? You're almost thirty, Katie. Be a big girl." Dr. Duncan mocked. His cruel words burned me inside, hearing my dear mentor berated like that.
"Stop it. You did this to her. Leave my mentor alone. I mean it." I could barely growl out the words at him. I tightened my grip on her back, as if that could protect her.
Although she was my mentor, and she was nine and a half years my senior, and someone I respected deeply, I felt an instinct to protect her.
See, I have always been rather tall for my age, despite being half Oriental. I am almost six feet tall, and muscular from years of karate. I look completely Korean, but my almond-shaped eyes are halfway between blue and green. I wear about a 32DD bra size, and my black hair is waist-length. I think my size, combined with my martial arts knowledge and my general maternal nature, makes me a pretty protective person, especially of the ones I love. Especially Katie.
I felt her being ripped from my arms, heard her gasp as she hit the ground, felt my own hands being chained behind my back, chained to the wall before I could react. I saw them bind her, tape her mouth, chain her tiny wrists to the arms of the dentist's chair, and I could do nothing.
I didn't even dare to whisper her name as Dr. Duncan hit her, over and over, until her whole face was red and purple, and her eyes were swollen and she trembled like a child. They mocked her, laughing at her tears and her fragile little shaking hands, and they laughed and hit her harder.
Sweet Katie, who had been like a sister to me, who had coached me through the hardest days of undergrad school, and dried hundreds of my tears, was being beaten to a pulp. Her nose and lips bled, and they laughed. I watched them break her china doll face, and I could do nothing to stop them. Nothing.
"Are you enjoying this, Emma?" Dr. Bayer sneered at me as he hit her shoulder with his fist, grinning as I sobbed at the sight of her poor, beautiful face.
"No. Please stop hitting her."
Dr. Duncan grinned. "What do you say, guys? Let's stop hitting her for now. Let's try something a little different, shall we?"
His face was so purely evil as he took the chains off her hands, holding her wrists tight as Dr. Jordan slowly removed the top half of her pink scrubs.
He re-handcuffed her, lifting her face so that I had to look at how ashamed she was, and she had to look at me. She had been beaten, and now they were stripping her naked.
Her boobs bounced free of her bra as they pulled it off of her. I maintained eye contact with her, because I respected her far too much to stare at such a sacred part of her body. She seemed to recognize and appreciate the sentiment.
"Look at these tits, guys. We could have some fun with this little bitch, couldn't we?" All ten of their nasty hands grabbed at her chest like hungry dogs, pulling and squeezing way too hard, making her wince, laughing.
