The Secrets That Iie Beneath

Chapter Two: Flu Jabs

 Chapter 2

Callie has left for the day to do god knows what with god knows who; I didn’t bother asking because I knew she would reply with a sly comment. So, I do what I do every morning, eat, use the bathroom, get changed and then go out.

My morning routine is basic, I must agree, but it’s what I do every morning.

After putting on a basic black T-shirt and a pair of light denim jeans I grab my keys and small leather wallet and leave the apartment. I’ve never liked those large, girly purses much; a black leather wallet does the same job to me.

As I leave my apartment block the first thing I see is the empty lot across the street. Empty isn’t really the best description, it is mostly used for drug dealing or teenage loitering. So it can get pretty full. The rusty barbed wire on the fence gives me a shiver; I don’t like feeling restricted, I like to be in the open or in an open plan room. The dirt and dried grass is covered in beer bottles, old rubbish, car parts and the odd burnt trash can or two.

I don’t want to look at the lot any more than anyone else probably does, but I can’t help staring, thinking about what could be in its place. A youth centre, a church even a gym or a library would be perfect for this neighbourhood. The opposite being a shitty little drug hangout. I always wondered what, or who, drove the dealers and the teens to their standard way of living.

I turn left and start to make my way down the un-even path. The weeds haven’t been sorted in years and there are more cracks in the pavement than slabs. It’s a good thing I’m not suspicious, I think to myself.

I turn another left and my senses suddenly fine tune within my surroundings. I become more aware of hooded groups and can smell pretty much the whole ‘behind the counter’ collections of McTavish, the 20 year old ‘pharmacist’. He sells to all the minor drug dealers in the area. If they need to stock up he’s the one to see. McTavish usually only supplies to dealers but if a client is desperate he just might help out, if they have the money, is what I should be saying.

With my new refined senses I notice a small group of kids eating candy sticks by the corner shop, they must only be eleven, for some younger. A small smile makes its way to the surface of my face from knowing that there is still some innocence in the world.

I carry on walking a little and then cross the pot-hole infested road. The small building that stares at me is a pebbledash block with stains drowning out the white paint. It’s the local doctors practice and dental unit. I open the double glass doors and listen to my boots clatter against the tiling. The doctors is pristine, not a mark in sight. The walls are covered in white tile with black diamond tile arranged in a pattern alongside it. The floor is made up of small rectangular white tiles with no scratches or shoe marks. The chairs are like the ones you see in a school dining hall, plastic blue chairs which are all connected together. There are four rows of chairs, two back to back. It’s supposed to save room, having two rows with the amount of chairs to fit four, they didn’t need it.

You can almost predict that the hospital will be empty, it’s the nicest place in this flipping neighbourhood but if you go there its not good news for your home life. People believe you can’t handle pain or are too weak to handle an illness or cut; basically, going to a hospital makes you an easy target for others. If you have been shot its die, have a smoke and a bandage or get classed as weak.

I couldn’t care less of what people think of me, they know they shouldn’t mess and so they don’t.

I walk up to the counter. “Erm, hello have you got any cancellations today?” I ask.

“We always have cancellations, and you know it. I don’t know why you keep asking that damn question.” The receptionist complains, her nails have gotten even more red and long since the last time I was here.