ANYA. Counting the muddy squares. Stressing about how stupid it was of her to forget to shave.
MAYA. The doctor says casually…
DOCTOR. You had intercourse?
ANYA. Yana mumbles something, nods or shakes her head. It doesn’t matter.
MAYA. That’s right. It doesn’t!
ANYA. The doctor looks at the table with tools. There are dilators of different sizes. Yana sees these shiny pieces of metal from the corner of her eye.
MAYA. Her body tightens even more. Her legs are covered in goosebumps and shake in those stirrups.
ANYA. And the doctor.
MAYA. Penetrates.
ANYA. Rough. Cold. Hurts awfully.
MAYA. And she can’t hear but it feels like something is crunching inside. Yana groans. And the doctor’s like…
DOCTOR. Relax. Breathe. This mirror is for virgin girls. So don’t.
ANYA. Yana breathes deeply and counts seconds in her mind.
MAYA. The doctor leaves for some other tools. Mirrors, sticks, glasses. And Yana’s lying there all open.
ANYA. Ten, eleven, twelve.
DOCTOR. We’re almost done.
MAYA. Sticks something in, taking samples.
ANYA. And pulls out without warning.
MAYA. Phew!
ANYA. It’s over!
MAYA. That’s what I call happiness. It doesn’t matter anymore that your legs are over your head, and that you’re half-naked in front of an unfriendly stranger.
ANYA. And it doesn’t matter that the doctor asks to pull up your shirt to examine your breasts.
MAYA. So you pull it up.
YANA. Yes, yes, of course.
ANYA. The doctor goes around it fast, it hurts. Then leaves the room. And you…
MAYA. You jump off the chair. With your hands shaking, jumping on one foot, you pull your pants on. Lace your shoes in a hurry and go back to the examination room.