The Edifice

11. 7-Eleven

I turn to face my driver uneasily, stomach sinking at the sudden glittering malice within her eyes. Uh oh.

"Let me out," I tell her, trying to summon as much threatening confidence as I can into my voice. After tonight's events however, the result isn't much.

"Petrol costs a lot, you know," the woman murmurs quietly, more in an attempt to convince herself rather than put me at ease. "Not to mention it's risky. Taking in strangers at midnight."

I switch tactics. My tone, now thin from screams, is far better suited to begging. "I don't have any money. Please. Let me out."

The flashing lights of an ambulance passing outside shimmer across her grey hair as she shakes her head. Greed writhes behind withered green eyes like a coiled snake. "Not money."

She reaches for the storage pouch in the driver's side door and produces a short swiss army knife. Shit. Shit. Fuck. With a flick of the wrist that's almost casual, she jabs it in my direction. "Your hair. Give me some."

"What?" I ask in disbelief.

"Just an inch of that pretty braid. That's all I need. Come on, girl. It could be worse. You don't need all that."

"You're insane." I turn to tug desperately at the handle but the instant I twist my head, a long arm snakes out and grabs the tail of my braid and yanks it back. Crying out, I don't have a moment to fight back before she carves through my hair tie with a loud noise of shearing hair. "What the hell?!"

The woman jumps away from me as quickly as she struck, hand slapping the child-lock button on the steering wheel. The instant I hear the handle click, I throw myself out into the night air, barely noticing as my hair falls loose around my face, a good two inches shorter.

"Leave me alone!" The shriek tears at my already hoarse throat as I take my chance to flee. The frayed ends of hair are soft and jagged in my hands. Tires screech like yowling cats and I barely throw myself aside in time as the dark car accelerates as fast as possible past me. Expecting a second attack, my muscles loosen in relief as she swerves back onto the road, passenger door slamming shut with the sudden force.

Silence weighs heavy in the hospital parking lot.

Not for the first time that night, I lose my balance, tripping on the curb and slamming my tailbone on icy concrete. Against all control, the world returns to little more than a blur of colored lights as salty tears soak my lashes and spill over onto my cheeks. This is all too much. The more and more beatings I take tonight, the less and less this whole ordeal feels like a dream.

Every single scrape and bruise burns exquisitely under the coating of grime I've managed to acquire. I'm going to need a tetanus shot at the very least.

The hospital.

Smearing the hot tears across my face with a grimy sleeve, I blink my vision back into focus. There's one way I can put this night to rights. I pick myself up off the ground and drag myself towards the brightly lit building.

The entrance to the admissions area is a direct throwback to my college work-placement, with one notable exception.

The two centaurs at the door where a security station should be.

-

I'm almost feet away from them before I realise they're not costumes. Oh, how I wish they were costumes. If only this sight could be explained away by some Halloween frat party and technological advancements in horse suits. But nothing can explain the seamless chestnut pelt that coats the hindquarters of the half-man closest to me. The body hair that pokes up even from the collar of his dignified button-up shirt. The terribly slim lines of those long, equine legs.