She couldn’t remember how she’d wound up here again. She closed her eyes trying to think. She vaguely remembered kissing Spencer. She’d lost her bra at some point.
Looking round it looked like any regular doctors’ waiting room. Except of course no-one LOOKED ill. No coughing. No sniffing. The only sound the steady tick tock tick tock counting every second of the 736 seconds and counting that had already gone past her “appointment”.
A man at in the corner was staring at her. Weirdo. Or was she the weirdo? She’s the one who was looking round at everyone. If she’d kept her eyes on the floor she wouldn’t have noticed him staring. Maybe he was staring because she was looking round? Maybe he was staring because she was beautiful? No that couldn’t be it.
Sheila, the receptionist, was looking at her now. Her red lipsticked mouth fixed in that fake sympathetic sickly smile. Or was it Sylvia? She wondered if she practiced it in the mirror. No Selene. That colour is the reason people are scared of clowns. No Sheila. Definitely Sheila.
Tick tock tick tock. 978 seconds. 979. 980. 981.
She looked up. Dr Michaels stood there with the same sickly sympathetic smile as Selene. Holding a file. Thick as War and Peace. That must be a bad one.
There’s no shame in asking for help but did he have to look so fucking smug about it?
Sylva was staring at her now. Not blinking. Dr Matthews looked like he was struggling to hold that file. She’ll make her eyes sore. What do they want her to do a dance? What is he in the corner staring at? He’ll do his back in.
“Sheila, are you coming?”
Dr Martin was calling her again. Oh well better get it over with. She stood. Six eyes following her. Dammit! Lost count. Where was she? 1,232. 1,233. 1,234.
“Just in here Sheila. Didn’t think we’d see you back here again so soon.”
1,275. 1,276. 1,277.
This was probably going to take a while. She should have gone outside for a cigarette while she was waiting.