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Always insisting he go everywhere with me.
Reminding me to take my medicine.
Oh.
Which reminds me.
I need to get those pills, which will hopefully stave off the headache that’s forming around my eyes.
The clerk waves goodbye to me as I leave the market, a jar of local honey in tow.
* * *
“There must be some mistake.”My lower lip trembles as fear builds in my chest.
I’m going to throw up.
“There is no mistake, Miss Chapman. I apologize. That prescription doesn’t exist.”
The pharmacist is empathetic, but firm. “I’m not sure what you were taking—you said it was for headaches?”
I nod, horror creeping up my spine.
“There’s nothing with that name. Nothing even relatively close.”
“Okay,” I breathe.
This is fine.
The Beta pharmacist frowns. “If you have headaches, I could send a message to your doctor—”
“No.”
“You said your boyfriend was filling these for you?” She returns to her computer, typing.
“Yes. Um, ex-boyfriend.”
Don’t cry don’t cry.
“And what’s his name?”
“Michael,” I whisper as acid forms in my gut. “Michael Hawkins.”
Even saying his name makes me want to scream.
“He’s not in the system. Do you know your doctor’s name?”
She continues asking me questions, but I’m too absorbed in my panic to answer.
What the hell was Michael giving me?
Why don’t I know who my doctor was?
Why did he hide my paperwork from me?
“Was it just for headaches?” Her questions snap me out of my stupor.
“That’s what he said they were for,” I whisper.
