It's Complicated

Chapter 3: Kacey Eton

Was he going to kiss me?            

I tap my fingers on the paper that covers the hard bed. I am sitting on one of those beds in the doctor’s office. The examination room is white with some pictures hanging on the wall, and the tile is white as well.

The doctor had just examined my arm and had taken a blood sample from it. He seemed interested that I didn’t scream in pain or something when he drew the blood. He didn’t realize I was used to getting hurt, and also that my arm was almost numb. After re-wrapping my arm with fresh gauze, he left, leaving me with some time to myself.

I can’t believe he almost kissed me. After all I do to him. I always feel bad when I have to lie to Travis about my parents. He has no idea about what happened to the foster parents and how I had to run away from my last home. I can’t tell him. No one can know that I am staying at a house all by myself, or else they’d come and take me away.

My thoughts are interrupted when the door opens and the doctor walks in holding a clipboard. He is a tall, gaunt man with short, dark brown hair. He flips through a few papers on his clipboard before he looks up at me. Judging by the look in his eyes, the verdict isn’t good.

“Well,” he says matter-of-factly. “It’s lucky you came in, because you have yourself a nasty little infection there.” I sigh, knowing what that means. My arm will be useless for a while.

The doctor rips a small piece of paper from his clipboard and hands it to me.

“This is a prescription for an antibiotic. It’s a two week dose, take one every night. And you need to come back after that for a checkup.” I feel worried for a second. How will I explain my situation?

As the doctor turns to leave, I say, “My parents are out of town.”

He turns around and says, “Oh, you don’t need your parents. As long as you have I.D., you’re good to go.” I nod my head and he leaves.

I bring the prescription slip out to the teller and get out my fake driving permit. She inspects both, enters them into the computer, and then tells me that she will order the prescription for me and all I have to do is go pick it up. She hands me back my permit.

“Have a good day, Ms. Eton,” she says casually. I flinch. I hate it when people call me by my fake last name. I politely nod my head in her direction and walk out the automatic doors. I begin the trek to the pharmacy down the sidewalk that borders the road, which is on my left side.

It is hot outside, seemingly too hot for late October. A stiff breeze pulls some of the dying leaves from a tree in front of the Mexican restaurant to my right. I roll up the sleeves of my light green shirt in an attempt to cool off, careful of my left arm. Almost immediately, I feel much cooler. My black back pack thumps on my back with every step. I am able to use my black bag for school because I requested a bag that with some sort of secret compartment that I could store my gear in.

As I am about to cross the street, I feel my phone vibrate. I whip it out of my pocket and, after checking that no one is around, read the text. It’s the unknown number, and the text reads:

A gas station 0.2 miles away from you will get robbed in exactly fourteen minutes. No escort necessary.

I sigh, putting in my mind that it is 4:02, and slip the phone back in my pocket.

Immediately, my mind switches into “mission mode”, as Phil likes to call it. I begin to jog, knowing which gas station it’s talking about. I begin determining how I am supposed to change into my “outfit”. I know the gas station will have a bathroom, but I can’t walk in wearing regular clothes and out in the outfit. The security cameras would see me. I hook my thumbs on my bag’s straps and, ducking my head down a bit, I dart across the street as fast as I can, ignoring the honk of a car horn and the screech of breaks as I cut off a car.