Recovery

The Application Form

Liam's POV

My white Converse sqeaked across the floor as I shuffled my feet like a child, this interview could decide if I can afford the new flat I have been eyeing up recently. The flat has been out of my price range but if I could score this job I could pay for it in less than a year.I shuffle up to the front deak and announce my name. 

"Liam James Payne applying for the position of pharmacist."

As soon as the words had escaped my mouth the stern looking women behind the front desk hands me a clipboard and tells me to take a seat.

I grasp the clipboard firmly as if my life was in my hand. I've never felt more nervous for something that in reality wasn't much but right now it meant a lot. The women gives me a blank look and I realise that I have been standing for too long. I quickly give an unapologetic nod and take the nearest seat I can find. I quickly shoot my attention back to the clipboard and browse through the questions asked. It all seemed like generic questions they asked for this type of job, name, age, diseases, qualifications etc etc. Now that the panic is out of the way I can finally begin to answer the questions to the best of my ability.

After getting half way through the suprisingly long application my mind begins to wander . I start to wonder about the conditions some of these people in the waiting room live in and how they got here and why they're injuired. These thoughts get pushed to the back of my head as I realise that I am a 20 year old man that needs tom kae a living forn himself and this job could make sure I can survive on my own.

It takes me about another 20 minutes to finally finish all the questions, by the end of it my brain begins to hurt and I need to take a moment to gather myself. I place my hands on top of my head and lean my neck back so my head is placed against the wall. I let out a sigh of relief and quickly glance at my answers. Shaking my wirsts to relieve the pain in my hand, I begin to rise up from my chair and make my way back over to the women at the front desk. I hand the clipboard over the counter and the women clamps her hand down onto it. Snatching it out of my hand, she begins to scan it with a sour look on her face. I begin to panic as she flicks through the pages and places it down right next to her death black keyboard. I stare in awe as if I have just seen someone die right before my eyes but just as I begin to worry the receptionist points towrds the sliding doors and I begin to make my exit.