Fleeing the Baba Yaga

Coffee Shop and Cough Drops

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Chapter Two

Coffee Shop and Cough Drops

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It was a cold, blustery wind that met him outside his apartment the next morning. Zayn shivered and tucked his hands into his pockets. He had started the week feeling pretty good. He'd taken on a number of jobs, made some video thumbnails for one of his regular clients, edited a few newsletters for another of his regulars and spent an afternoon completing a graphics package for someone running an event based on the future of women in the technology sector.

Zayn should be on a high. His bills were paid, he had food in the fridge and a little leftover that he could put into his savings. That was more than most middle to low-income people could claim. Zayn should be feeling calm and relaxed. But he wasn't. A strange sense of unease danced over the back of his neck every time he left his apartment.

There was never anyone there, no aggressive pair of eyes or rude staring from a stranger and yet Zayn found himself walking every street with his head on a swivel. He couldn't explain this new dread any more than he could actually seeit. It started about two days ago when he had walked to the local grocer to stock up on milk, bread rolls, ramen and bacon. He'd been trying to make these walks more frequent.

Fresh air and all that.

Seeing as almost all his income came from work he did at home, if he didn't make an effort, then he could easily not leave his apartment for weeks on end. As he turned into the familiar main street, lined with little shops that had been there almost as long as the road itself, he had been struck with the prickling sensation that he was being watched.

He'd ignored it at first, just peering disinterestedly into shop windows. The feeling didn't go away though. If anything, it steadily got worse. He bought his groceries and practically jogged home with the beeline of someone late for the most important meeting of his life. The next few days had left him antsy and uncomfortable. He played music a bit too loud and drowned himself in his work as much as possible.

By this morning, he was feeling a bit better. He had an early breakfast and did some jogging on the second-hand treadmill he owned. By the time he dressed and went outside, he had almost forgotten why he'd been so jumpy. Another blast of icy wind tossed his hair into his face. He put up his hood to protect the back of his neck from the chill. He was just about to set out confidently to his appointment with Dr. Rossell when he felt... something.

Zayn looked about; his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. Once again, it was just an ordinary street filled with ordinary people. People were walking fast today, heads bent against the wind, scarves and mufflers in place. A mother was ushering two puffer jacketed children towards a bus stop. A jogger was running with a greyhound. The long-limbed animal matched her owner in a pink sweater and booties. Zayn gave himself a little shake. He couldn't start doing this again.

He set off purposely.

The paranoia had been a constant companion for as long as he could remember. Some months it was almost completely gone. Others, it was like some enormous lazy dog, sprawled over his belongings and leaving little traces on every action he took. His sessions with Rossell had given him some strategies to try to deal with the paranoia. He'd tried medications but sadly few had worked. One had even made him violently ill. There was never anything that he could point to and shout, "That! That is what scares me!" He didn't think he was going to be kidnapped or attacked (at least not anymore) but that odd animal dread still crept about and this week, it was determined to be noticed.

Zayn was still on medication, though they had weaned him down from the large handful of pills he used to take every morning. He'd gone through quite a few different antidepressants until he'd found something that worked. For backup, he still had a bottle of minor tranquillizers, but he only took those on rare occasions when he couldn't sleep and felt like he was shaking out of his skin. Zayn had never argued with his GP or with Doctor Rossell. He wanted to get better. His patience and oddly gentle nature despite his inner turmoil had made him rather endearing to those trying to help him. No matter how wretched Zayn felt, he always tried not to take it out on the people around him. The nurses especially, seemed to appreciate this.