sociopath ✘ z.m.

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two

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Hands reached for the back, tracing fingers down the back to the three gashes, blood seeping out.

There was some part of Eve that knew all along it couldn’t have been the pesky boys that had hidden a hand in her cabinet, but she wanted to believe it was just a prank, so badly.

Now, as she ran her fingers down the frigid torso, there was no denial that it was a human body. The denial, however, was elsewhere. Eve couldn’t be sure if she was going insane or if everything she was seeing was actually occurring. She chuckled quietly to herself, rinsing her hands under the faucet for a good five minutes before placing everything in a garbage bag and chucking it into the dumpster in the parking lot.

Her hands fumbled to find her keys to lock up the art supply shop, but it wasn’t in her purse or her pockets. Eve searched around the store, pacing back and forth to look for her belongings. She looked under flowerpots, on top of shelves, under shelves, in cabinets, you name it and Eve would have probably already searched. As the minute hand ticked to the number twelve, an hour was marked, but Eve still came up short with her findings. She had managed to pick up many scraps of paper, some chewed gum, bugs, but not her keys or any keys, for that matter.

It was several minutes later that Eve finally found her keys, in a place she was sure she would never place them. In one of the flowerpots, buried under the dirt, lay the keys, which Eve found strangely peculiar, for she swore she had put them in her purse just earlier.

She shook her head, not too surprised, because if she was seeing dead body parts, where she placed her keys were the least of her worries. Eve brushed the dirt off the metal and locked up the door, heading over to her vehicle and sliding into the driver’s seat. She switched the car to reverse and backed out of the parking lot, onto the right lane of the streets. After several turns and continuous driving, Eve pulled into another parking lot. Her hand reached to pull the car key out of the ignition, turning the engine off completely. She then proceeded to climb out of the convertible, stringing the strap of her handbag onto her left shoulder. Her feet carried her to the entrance of the building, and her arms propelled her to swing open the door. She trudged to the receptionist, plastering a fake smile onto her face, which at first glance, no trace of stress surfaced on her face.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist showed no signs of friendliness, bags visible under her eyes, obviously meaning she had little to no sleep the previous night.

“No, but I was hoping that I could catch the doctor for a quick check-up.”

“I’m sorry, you need an appointment,” she flatly declined.

“You don’t understand, I need help. It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“If you think you can show up and expect to see the doctor before all these patients who’ve scheduled an appointment, you are highly mistaken.”

“But, I-”

“If you’re that desperate, you can wait ‘till the doctor has seen all the patients. He might be able to squeeze a short check-up in.”

“Thank you,” Eve muttered, both grateful for and irritated by the woman behind the counter.

She took an empty seat in one of the wooden chairs in the waiting room, which was swarming with bodies, especially toddlers squealing about, ramming the toys on the circular, red, carpet mat. Eve picked up one of the several magazines sprawled on the table. She flipped through it to past time, not showing too much interest in the actual topic of the articles. She didn’t care about the latest Hollywood couple that was bound to break up or the hottest Summer outfits, but that was all she could do in the pastime, scan magazines she had no intention of reading. Sadly, not much people showed appreciation for art, so places like the doctor’s offices had no reason to subscribe to art magazines.