I slowly opened my eyes to the familiar tapping of my window, feeling both disorientated and groggy despite the almost fifteen hours of sleep I had gotten. I looked towards the window, expecting to see the annoying fucking crow that had decided to become an enduring constant in my mornings peering inside. Yet when I looked, I found any remaining semblance of sleep disappearing in an instant as I paused in shock, not because of the god forsaken crow that was staring right back at me upon my windowsill, but because of the two extra crows huddled on either side that were also peeking through while tapping sharply against the glass.
I stared in bewilderment, wondering if maybe I was hallucinating. I went to stand up to investigate, feeling slightly freaked out as all three crows just continued to watch me intently through the window. Yet before I could, all three took off into the sky, disappearing in a matter of seconds. I felt the need to pinch myself, to make sure I was actually awake, which, based on the extreme amount of pain in my arms and body, I definitely was. After a couple more seconds of staring blankly at the window and realising nothing more was going to happen, I decided to chalk it up as a bizarre situation, knowing there was nothing else I could really do.
Now firmly awake, I climbed out of bed, noticing the dried blood on my hands as I did so and remembering the events that took place the day before. Realising that I didn't need to go to school any more, I stood in my room unsure of what to do. I considered going back to bed, still feeling slightly exhausted despite the amount of sleep I just had. And while that seemed promising, the longer I stood up, the more and more greasy and uncomfortable I felt due to not showering before I had passed out onto my bed the day before.
And so I made my way to the shower, pausing momentarily at my door to listen for any sound of my father, not wanting another confrontation so soon after last night. Hearing no sound, I rushed into the bathroom, dumping my clothes unceremoniously onto the floor and all but jumping into the shower. The feeling of the hot water as it streamed my body was almost heavenly, making me wish I could have stayed there for eternity. Alas, as my skin started to prune and the water became colder and colder, I knew that wasn't possible.
After I had gotten out and changed into some of the few remaining clean clothes I still had, I entered the living room, checking once more that there was no sound of my father. Seeing once again that the coast was clear, I entered the kitchen where I was met with the overpoweringly familiar smell of smoke and fumes, letting me know it hadn't been long since Dad had left. Accidentally, upon entering, I breathed in a large amount of the leftover smoke. Almost immediately, a burning pain started to form, originating in my chest, stifling my breath and making me explode into a symphony of wheezes and coughs.
This lasted a while, only coming to an end after I almost coughed up both my lungs, leaving my throat scratchy and raw once more. Something I was becoming oddly familiar with. Yet even as the coughs ended, the burning pain in my chest continued to stay. Nestled deep in my chest regardless of how I tried to get rid of it. Doing my best to minimise my breathing, only taking small shallow breaths, I looked around the kitchen for something to eat. While doing so and seeing how little any of the food appealed to me, I stumbled across a note on the counter. My father's chicken scratching reflected back up at me.
My first instinct was to avoid it, not wanting any interaction with my father, not even in writing. Still, I knew that if I didn't, I would just think about it all day until I did. So with a small amount of apprehension, I slowly inched towards the countertop and read the note. Doing so again right after the fact, then once more for a third time. To say I was completely baffled would have been an understatement. In the note there was no mention of what transpired the previous night, nothing in regard to my confession about him as a father nor about his reply. It was simply a small note asking me to have a look at some of the schools in the city that I could transfer to. Accompanied with a twenty pound note for travel and food.
A wave of anger washed over me. There was not a single part of me that wanted to revisit what happened that night, but to see my father blatantly acting like it never happened, as if we could just forget about it, for some reason made me furious. It was just like him to pretend that everything was just fine when it wasn't. Just like he did after what happened to Mom. While trying to rein in my anger, I snatched the money off the counter before throwing the note into the trash.
Whilst trying to calm down, I thought about what I could do, already deciding that there was no way in hell I was going to do what the note asked. I thought about simply staying at home and having some peace and quiet for once. Something that was sorely needed after the past couple of days. And while that seemed like a great idea, I noticed that the burning pain in my chest still hadn't gone away. In fact, it had only ramped up in strength to the point where every breath I took was accompanied by a strong sense of discomfort. It was then I remembered what Dr. Soren had told me before about medication and how by now it should be ready for me to collect. So, with a new goal in mind, I quickly rushed out the door, holding my breath while doing so in order to not inhale any more of the surrounding smoke, lest the pain worsen even more.
The moment I got outside, having gone red in the face, I inhaled deeply in a frantic search for oxygen. Unfortunately, in my desperation to breathe, I forgot that while the smell of smoke might have disappeared, the stench of fumes seemed to have only worsened, forcing me once more into an extreme coughing fit. One I tried to ignore as I rushed forward to the hospital, or at least out of the smog-infested neighbourhood I lived in, all while coughing up a storm. By the time I made it into some of the nicer areas of the city, full of clean, unpolluted air, I was a mess. My face was streaked with tears, and my posture was hunched on the side of the pavement as I greedily vacuumed as much clean air as I could manage.
After a couple minutes later, and not too few wary glances shared between the other passersby, I tentatively stood up. Cautious with every movement in the fear that it might set me off again. Thankfully, after a few tentative seconds, I found no need to devolve back into a fit of coughs. And so, seeing that I appeared to be alright, I continued my rush to the hospital with a new found vigour as the reminder of how quickly my condition had seemed to worsen in only a few days played heavily in my mind.
I arrived at the hospital not too long later, breathing heavily from exhaustion despite having barely gone quicker than a jog. As I entered, I looked around, observing the bright white walls and chairs scattered around the reception, something I hadn't had the chance to do last time in my frantic escape. The reception looked deserted, with only a couple of people to be seen filling the vast room. An oppressive silence hung in the air, only broken up by the occasional typing of the receptionist sitting not too far away and the coughing of one elderly man hunched over in one of the chairs in the corner.
The more I looked around, the larger my dislike of the hospital became. Whether that was due to the dreadful atmosphere that seemed to suck the life of everything and everyone, or the bad memories associated with it, young and old, I was unsure. I just knew I didn't want to be here any longer than necessary. I swiftly shuffled to the receptionist's desk, where sat a middle-aged woman with dulled red hair that was placed in a loose bun who was staring at her screen in utter boredom. Every step I took echoed loudly across the barren room, breaking the oppressive silence. As I got to the desk, I waited for the receptionist's attention, knowing she must have heard the thundering of my steps. Yet as I stood there waiting, she made no attempt to even acknowledge my presence.
A part of me idly wondered if it would ever be possible for me to get through a day without being overcome with a feeling of annoyance or anger. Something that, based on the last few days, was becoming a harder and harder challenge. And with the way I was feeling at that moment, standing in front of the receptionist, it was clear it wasn't going to be happening today, either.
After a few more moments and still seeing no reaction from her, I let out a loud, intentional cough in her direction before beginning to speak. "I need to collect some medicine." I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance.
"Follow that hallway down and take the second left." She pointed to one of the hallways on the left-hand side, her eyes never leaving the screen.
Not even bothering to say my thanks, I headed down the aforementioned hallway and followed it along, turning at the second left exit before I came across a small counter dug into the wall. I walked up to the counter which was shielded by a thick clear plastic screen, praying for whoever was working there to be even one-tenth more sociable than the receptionist.