Afflicted by fiction

Afflicted by fiction

We are all part of the same play [...]

We are afflicted by fiction

— Imagine Dragons: "Round and Round"

  

Tick. Tock.

The clock says 3:48 a.m. and Hal has just decided that this is the worst day of his life. Or is it supposed to be the worst night? He doesn't know and he doesn't care.

With a deep-drawn sigh, he rubs his temples and leans forward in order to rest his heavy head on his hands. Suddenly, he feels cold, and it is not because of the goose flesh creeping up his skin. A large chunk of ice has formed itself in his belly and freezes his body – his liver, stomach, lungs, heart. He can watch himself turn blue, inside out.

3:49.

He has been sitting here for more than seven hours now, not counting the ages he spent in the traffic jam on the roads leading to this god-forsaken place. It is a mystery to him why he shouldn't get up and leave right this instant. It's not like he can change anything anyway. It has been nearly four hours since he got an update.

But he doesn't. He stays. For whatever irrational fucking reason.

3:52.

A movement to his right makes him lift his head. His forehead still connected to his fingers, he glances at the girl sitting down two seats next to him. She has a cup of coffee in her hands, cautiously blowing at the hot surface, and the tired eyes of someone who has been waiting at least as long as him. He notices her things on the the four seats to her right, on the floor, everywhere. Somehow though, he hasn't seen her before.

Slowly, she arranges herself in between two cushions and a huge scarf, carefully balancing the cup in one hand. When she shifts and takes a small sip, he sees the red-and-green lizard winded around her naked arm, the black sun on her neck and the metal stuck in her flesh. Like Jack's, he thinks for a moment and feels the gigantic golden dragon's open mouth on the back of Jack's hand coming toward him again. Quickly, he snuggles himself into his jacket and leans back in his seat. For a moment, he considers pretending to go for a coffee, too, and sitting down somewhere else when coming back. But he quickly dismisses that thought; he might be a coward, but he's always been polite.

3:56.

Hal feels cold, and it is not just the breath of fresh air blowing in his neck.

He tries to ignore the girl's presence in the same room as him, but the silvery shine of the metal, the heavy slang when she picks up the phone, everything about her just seems to haunt him. Not in the good way a girl should but in a bad, in a really horrible way. He doesn't understand half the words she's saying. Jack, at least, has an understandable and clear pronunciation, despite his growing up in Yorkshire.

Subtly, he feels for his wallet in the inside of his coat and then pulls is jacket tighter around himself. He wouldn't be surprised if she is waiting for some friend of hers who's got caught in those clothes one could fit a cow into and who's fallen down a flight of stairs, too high for a single clear thought.

Hal's eyes are open in an instant when he hears a man's voice in the waiting room. It's not even a doctor's, though. Not even a nurse's. He's not a racist or whatever, but in this moment, Hal would just love to kick that fat Pakistani cleaning staff guy's arse.

Suppressing his anger along with a mighty yawn that could've broken his jaw apart, he stretches his legs and leans his head back against the cold wall. His hand automatically feels for all his belongings; wallet, check — phone, check — driving license, car keys, check. Silently, he lets out a sigh. It's not like that girl would still be sitting next to him if she took his stuff.