Page 42 of Kill Me

“Quinn! It’s time for your appointment with the doc.” Richard’s tone grates on me as his booming voice filters through the air. He, quite honestly, makes me sick.

I’ve been on the treadmill for the entire hour of today’s session. Every day it’s the same thing. A routine made to break you. There’s no water in the exercise area, just signs everywhere saying hydration is earned, but no fucking instructions on how to earn it. My legs feel like they’re going to give up on me, my head is hazy, my brain hurts. “Can I get some of my backup meds, please?”

“Patience. Just ask the doc when you see her.”

“I don’t know if I can walk to the doctor. I feel—” I slump on the floor and everything goes black.

The bitter smell of sweat enters my nose, and nausea swells in my body. My eyes flutter open, and my brain registers Richard bellowing in my ear.

“Wake up, Sweet Cheeks. WAKE UP! Places to go and people to see.”

The entire room is spinning. “Water. I need water.”

“Tough shit, big tits. I have a schedule to keep.”

Rhiannon is next to me, holding my hand. I watch her face as she contemplates saying something. I squeeze, and she looks at me as I subtly shake my head. Don’t. It’s not worth it.

Our friendship has developed over the last few days. Secret moments of confessions in the dark of the night. Constantly on alert in case someone discovers us. But we’ve bonded. We've become friends. And if anything, that’s one thing that makes this entire horrific process worth it.

“I’m telling you now, there is absolutely no chance of me getting up and walking to the doctor's office. I told you before I needed an aid. This is what happens without one when I’m forced to exercise for an hour. I need water. Please.” Richard walks away and out of the gate, grumbling to himself. Everyone else is standing staring, yet no one but Rhiannon bothers to check on me, despite the fact it could be seen as her communicating with me and breaking the rules.

A few minutes pass, and he comes back, throwing a bottle of water onto my stomach. I grunt as it hits me. My hands grab the bottle, and I rush to open it. As I gulp down the water, the nausea gets worse, and I projectile all over the ground.

“You can clean that up, you tramp!” he shouts at me as he moves towards a mop and bucket with a stack of towels next to it. “And be thankful I’ve given you a mop and not your toothbrush. Now, hurry the fuck up. The doctor does not like to be kept waiting.”

My vision has white spots as I try to adjust to my surroundings and move myself. Rhiannon helps me to my feet and wrings out the mop before passing it to me, trying to make the job a little bit easier for me. I clean up the mess I’ve made, trying not to pass out again, and put the mop back into the bucket.

“Happy now?”

“Deliriously! Now, come on.”

My feet feel like they’re made of concrete, my hips scream at me for every move I make, yet I follow him dutifully. I cling to anything I can to steady myself, the thought of the possibility of more medication on the other end of the walk forces me on. After what feels like hours, I’m back in the big house, standing in front of a door in a different hallway from the one from the first night, with a plaque on the door that says, Dr Stephanie Jones.

Apprehension runs through my veins. I don’t like surprises, and having no idea what’s on the other side of this door is stressing me out. It’s not even the end of my first full week here, and already it feels like I’m wasting away. Not literally—because I’m fat—but my will to live is treading a fine line between staying and leaving.

Dicky picks up his fist and knocks on the door. There’s nothing for a few minutes, and then the door opens, and a box-dye blonde appears on the other side. The only possible way to describe her is stunning. You know when you see those doctors who are run down and can’t hack the pace, and then you see the others who look exemplary at any given opportunity? Yeah, she is the latter. She looks like someone you could feel comfortable enough to confide in. Someone you could trust to get you better. But going on my previous experiences of judging people’s characters, I’m trying to reserve judgement and not make another fool of myself.

“Hi, I’m Dr Stephanie. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quinn.”

“Hi. It’s nice to meet you too. I think.”

She gestures for me to walk into her office and closes the door in Dicky’s face, leaving him out in the hallway.

“It’s not the time for prying eyes and ears. He can wait outside.” She chuckles, winking at me, and I immediately relax. I lower myself gently into the chair, trying not to bring too much attention to the pain that I’m in.

“Are you in pain, Quinn? Do you need to top up your medication?”

“Yes. Please. I really do. I tried to explain to Dic—Richard—that my body doesn’t work like a ‘normal’ body and I couldn’t do an hour of exercise. He thought I was pulling a fast one until I collapsed outside.”

“You collapsed?” An emotion that to the untrained eye would look like rage crosses her face. But to me, someone who has learned to read people’s faces to avoid potential consequences, something doesn’t feel quite right. She storms to the door and pulls it open.

“You forced her to exercise for an hour, and then when she collapsed, you still made her come here without giving her any medication? What are you? A barbarian?” She screams in his face.

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Richard, I’m very disappointed in your behaviour.” Before he can utter another word, she slams the door and stalks to her side of the desk. Maybe she is one of the good guys then.

“It seems you just can’t get the staff nowadays,” she says, and I laugh to myself as she pulls two vials and a syringe out of the filing cabinet. “I have some fentanyl here. This should help ease it a little. Before I give it to you, though, we need to discuss your treatment plan while you are clear-headed. I know you are prescribed morphine on a daily basis, but the side effects from that, compared to what we distribute here, are two completely different things, and I want to make sure you are on board with what’s ahead.”