Prescription for Miss Walker

A week and a half had passed since Ash stayed at mine. He still came round regularly, but for the most part I didn't see him much. My lack of treatment and his growing workload had taken its toll on us, which I guess could be seen as a good thing... if you weren't us.

Sure, since he admitted that he liked me as a person he'd become somewhat distant, but he did come by in the mornings before work to give me a quick kiss. We never spoke much, there was never enough time for that.

I was taking a shower, soaping up my body while thinking about him. I didn't have any ways of preventing the smile that began to emerge on my face.

Then it vanished.

Because, as I'd been soaping myself up, I noticed black bruising on my side, it traveled all the way behind me to where I couldn't see its end. Poking a nail to it, I recoiled. Jarring was one of the way to put it.

I was aware I no longer looked like myself. My face had taken on a horribly-shaped concave form and my skin had turned somewhat grey over time. Even my fingers felt rough, like sandpaper. I tried to avoid touching people whenever I could.

Dying didn't look good on anyone, it seemed, not even the most beautiful of us all.

As vain as I was, I resisted getting teary-eyed over it. My eyes locked on the wall in front of me, tiled white and pink. Pretty, clean and in the way.

I punched it. It felt good.

So, it all began in a flurry, as my arms dived out and whacked against the slate, pushing my knuckles back and sending electric currents through my body that told me to stop. But I kept on at it, waiting, watching for something.

Pop. Flinching, I brought my hands up to my face. Assessing them closely, I could see the knuckles had fallen out of place, like a dislocation. Fingernails puncturing through the skin on the inside of my palms, I closed my eyes as I pushed in harder.

Wailing so loud the neighbors might call the police, everything joined itself back together. Like stitches.

It'll never be good enough, my mind told me.

Sighing, I washed up, dried myself and got dressed, I never was one to linger in a towel. I'd stepped out of the bathroom in baggy jeans and a hoodie. I didn't know if I had plans to go out today, but I really didn't care at this point.

I only got out to collect my mail. Once again, the cute guy was back. I smiled at him fondly, but he just stared at me.

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the envelopes and made way to trot back to my door.

"Shira?"

Fuck. This is not what I needed right now.

The frantic footsteps of Dave stopped short by my own feet. He wore brown slippers today, tattered and old-looking things.

"It's been a while. Er, you're dressed... different. Still not how I imagined you even on a lazy day." His laugh was genuine and I wished I could look at that smile. At least one of us had reason to be happy.

My letters crumpled a little between my hands. Hands that were shaking, full of muscles but, more prominently, bone. The whites of my knuckles shone through like an LED light. Almost the same color as the papers in my fists. Blood slowly started pouring out of the scrapes I'd made of them when I was in the shower.

"Are you wanting something?" I snapped.

"Are you okay?"

God, I was so tired of hearing those words! First it's that, then it quickly turns into 'is there anything I can do for you?', like I'd asked for their help. I wasn't paralyzed, I wasn't incapable of doing every day tasks, but yet everyone treated me like I was.

My father, the pensioner, had visited me every so often to keep me company. It would always start off nice, with him hugging me and telling me old stories of my childhood, then soon enough it changed to everything being the end of the world. He'd kiss my forehead and tell me that the world wasn't ready for me yet, but I had so much left to offer it, so why did his baby girl have to suffer?

My brother and Alison were also quite bad. Sometimes they'd come round with Dad, other times it was just them and baby Theo. We usually sat in silence, except for when I played with the child, dancing him on my lap and getting tired when I saw he was. The moment I dropped something or lay back, they pounced on me like lions to the feast, saying I should take a moment to relax.

But I was tired of relaxing. I was tired of playing the dumb role of a sick girl who they felt should be pitied.

So I decided that once I got back in the safety of my own apartment, I was going to call August and we were going to have some fun.

"Yes, Dave, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I could make you something, you look like you haven't ate in days."

I growled. Like, literally, growled.

"I'm sick, Dave! Do I look like I'm bothered about having a cheese bagel right now? All I want to do is sit down, maybe fall asleep and pretend it doesn't have to be like this. Because it shouldn't!" I hadn't noticed that, in my brief tantrum, I'd thrown my hood back and was now staring him in the face.

His of which had gone pale. He was seeing me for the first time as the emptiness that I was.

"Shira, what..."

The tears were beginning to form behind my eyes, but I couldn't cry. Not in front of Dave. Not in front of anyone anymore.

"Goodbye, Dave." And I opened my door, leaving my dumbstruck neighbor in the hall as I closed it after me. Once back in my own space, I opened all the letters. Another hospital bill for using the MRI machine, I swear I'll get round to that later. One from the bank. And finally...

There it was. The same letter I got every month.

I opened it, scanning it quickly. Sure enough, it was all there.

'$642, paid $800. Same as always.
Always yours. Forever.'

I dropped the letter and raced to the bathroom. I spilled my empty stomach out into the toilet. So, therefore, all that was left was lining.

He was making me sick. I didn't know how long I could do this. It was becoming too much, especially now, as death-ridden as I'd become.

I wiped my mouth, hating the taste that I'd grown accustomed to.

Normally the only thing that could distract me from problems such as these was drinking.

Unfortunately for me, that same habit was the reason I was in this mess.

My body was collapsing on itself. It was just a matter of when that I had to worry about.

But I couldn't linger on it any longer, I had things to do, people to talk to. You know, the usual.

Letters be damned, I thought, flushing the toilet and getting up. I tried my best to sort my face using the mirror, but I figured to hell with it and called August.

We agreed to a run in the park (and maybe some ice cream). So I stuck on my sneakers and went to meet him at our agreed rendezvous point.