Fragments

7.6

      7.6

"Are you still keeping up with your pills, Piper?"

     No. "Yes."

     "Are you experiencing any side effects with these ones?" Dr. Moore asks, looking at me from under his glasses. In the winter his office seems even more bland and cold, making me shiver. The doctor's wrinkled hand is poised on his clipboard, waiting for my answer.

     "I'm tired a lot," I say, as if I'm admitting something.

     "Mhm." The pen's moving. "That's normal. Nothing else?"

     "No."

     "And how are you feeling?"

     "My home visit wasn't great," I say, tucking my hands underneath my skirt. "But other than that, I'm starting to feel better."

     The lie is almost too easy. Almost. I stutter, but Dr. Moore is too old and bored with his job to notice. He nods his head a few times, still writing when I feel my hands underneath me begin to tremble.

     "You're looking a lot better, too. Do you feel willing to take your medications this time around, or is what Ms. Gallagher suggesting necessary? It must be pretty inconvenient to be escorted every day to do a simple task."

     I smile innocently but he's not even looking. "It's not necessary."

     "Good, good," he murmurs. "If there's nothing else you feel we should discuss, you're free to go."

     I thank him and walk out of the office, rolling my eyes as I turn down the hallway. You're looking a lot better. As if. It's amazing what drugstore makeup can do.

     I'm sluggish walking to class. It's late afternoon and I don't want to sit in English, thinking up ways I can kill myself before the period is over. I turn the corner, barely paying attention to where I'm going when I stop in front of someone I'm not ready to see.

     "Piper." Adam holds his hand out in front of him and flicks his fingers to reveal two cigarettes. "Bathroom break?"

     I don't want to hang out with Adam right now, but the offer is too tempting. And after running into him unexpectedly, I could really use a cigarette.

     The boy's bathroom is damp and smells like mildew, so I make sure not to touch anything and only lean against the porcelain of the sink. The smoke is the only thing that keeps me calm as I cast glances at Adam. I'm waiting for him to call me out on leaving, ask me what happened, but he doesn't. He leans against the brick wall, one leg bent, and smokes his cigarette as if I'm not even there. We're both almost done when he finally does look up, lips curled up in a friendly smile.

     "There's only two and a half weeks of school before we're out again," he says. "Are you going home for Christmas break?"

     Silence fills the bathroom until Adam takes our finished cigarettes and flicks them into one of the toilets. I listen to the sound of the flush as he turns back to me, waiting patiently for an answer. I don't know what to tell him.

     I haven't talked to either of my parents since I left for Thanksgiving, but it's not like I've tried to make an effort to talk to them either. It was eventful, to say the least, and the last thing I want to do is rehash it three more times and solve nothing.

     "No," I say slowly. "I don't know. Probably not."

     "Don't want to go home?"

     "Not exactly."