Broken Family Tree

7 - Doctor's Visit

Thomas was the first to wake the next morning, early in the morning. He knew what had woken him up, but he didn't want to make a noise.

When he looked at Malia and saw that she was still sleeping, he quietly rummaged through his medicine bag, pulling out a small sealed flask. The flask, which was the size of half of a standard wooden pencil, was filled with a black liquid, hints of shriveled plants settled at the bottom. He stared at it silently, hesitating. When his leg started cramping and his foot started shaking and his heartbeat got faster, he knew it was now or never. He flicked off the cork and downed the contents in one gulp, grimacing at the taste. The effects of the nameless concoction were instantaneous: the cramping in his leg ceased and his foot slowed in its trembling until it stopped altogether, and his heartbeat also slowed until it was back to normal rhythm. He hated the taste of the stuff, but it was the only thing he had to help him with the pains that came when he didn't take it. He hadn't dared take it in front of Malia in case she tried to take them away like his mother had tried to do when she found out about them, leaving him almost a week without taking them when he would generally take them twice or three times a week. They helped him through the first Wolfsbane poisonings, sure he would've died a long time ago if he hadn't created the black medicine from the plants the animals showed him all those years ago, and he hadn't stopped taking them since.

The problem was that he was running out—from a total of twenty-four pre-made flasks that he usually had, all the vials were empty except for three, now two. He had meant to restock on the medicine and the raw ingredients (he had been running out of them, too), but then he had met Malia and was rushed to leave when . Now, he only had enough raw ingredients to barely make one! If he officially ran out , he would be in trouble. He had only gone through the pain of not taking the medicine for a prolonged period of time once, and it was...unpleasant. He didn't want to go through that again, but he didn't know if the doctor—Dee-En I think his name was, Thomas thought—would help him make more or not.

He was left with no other choice but to ask and see if the doctor would help.

He spent the next thirty minutes taking in the room they were in. He was so tired when they got here, he didn't bother looking around and just settled into bed. Now, he surveyed everything and committed it to memory: the pond walls; the soft-dirt floors; the bloody bed covers; the night-sky contraption on the tree stand. Everything was so peculiar to Thomas, and he didn't know what to make of it—especially the lightbulb that was covered by a cloth. That looked particularly quaint. Thirty minutes passed and Malia woke, hair messed up and eyes bloodshot.

"Thomas...?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes in an effort to get the sleepiness out of them, propping up half of her body with her elbow to stare at Thomas' bare back (he had almost ripped it off the night before, desperate to get it off, but Malia stopped him from taking off his pants). "What're ya doin' up? It's—" she paused to check the digital clock on the nightstand. "Seven in the morning?!" She groaned, falling back onto the bed and pressing her face into the pillow. "Deaton won't be open for another half-hour! We can sleep a little longer, so go back to bed, Thomas." Her words were muffled from the pillow but Thomas heard her clearly.

"Okay." He said without looking at her, and Malia rolled over, asleep in a matter of seconds. He let out a silent exhale. He thought she had caught him! Good thing she was too tired to notice what he was doing. He didn't want to go back to sleep, but Malia had ordered it, and he wasn't about to disobey an order given by a woman, much less his sister. So he burrowed into his blanket den and eventually nodded off.

A little over thirty minutes later, Malia's alarm went off, startling Thomas so much that he fell off the bed with a hard THUD, the blankets following him down. Malia moved quickly at the "thud" to see what had happened—only to see Thomas' head peaking over the mattress as he stared warily and mistrustingly at her phone. That sent her into a laughing fit so bad that she ended up falling off the bed, too. After the brief morning excitement, they got ready—Malia helped Thomas with some bathroom necessities and changed his bandages—and had breakfast at the diner. He had been severely hesitant to trying "human food" as he called it, but Malia managed to coax a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. His reaction was absolutely hilarious and precious at the same time: his eyes lit up and grew wide; he munched on the eggs faster; his mouth formed into a huge grin; and he mmm'ed so loud, everyone seated turned and looked to see what the commotion was about. Malia blushed in embarrassment, lowering her head but he didn't notice, too caught up in the amazing flavor that was salted eggs. The rest of the food on his plate disappeared in the next minute, and he was asking Malia for permission to get a second helping. He saw she looked confused for a moment, thinking that she would say "no"—before granting him permission and ordering a second plate. He wolfed it down as soon as the waiter set it on the table. He didn't notice the weird looks the pair were garnering and didn't notice Malia's discomfort—both from the attention and his reaction to the food, as if he had never eaten a simple meal of scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns before...which was the sad truth. As soon as his second plate was clean, Malia stacked the empty plates and asked for the check to pay for the food. Once it was paid, they got back into the car and headed straight for Deaton's. Thomas had never had such great food, and he couldn't wait to try more. His head was in the clouds, thinking of how he could mix the "human food" with his usual diet and how that would taste, when he felt the car slowing down until it stopped altogether. He refocused his gaze and looked up to see they were in front of a building. It was small, with dust walls and metal doors.

He immediately was on guard, doubtful that the prison-looking block of rock was actually somewhere a doctor would be. Malia, sensing his distrust of the building, quickly reassured him that they were in the right place. Not sensing any lies in her voice or heartbeat, Thomas slowly nodded and got out of the car at the same time that Malia did. As soon as he was out of the car, his hands went to his nose to cover it and he shut his eyes, groaning before retching a bit to the side. The smell of the chemicals the doctor used—Dee-Ten, apparently—was overwhelming and disgusting to Thomas. Not only that, but the smell of death around the property was so pungent, it was making Thomas dizzy. It was so much of an overload for his senses, Malia had to take one of his hands and guide him toward the door. She knocked and waited for it to open. After a few seconds, the door opened and Thomas opened his eyes to see who had opened it.

He blinked once in surprise. Then he blinked again.

"Hello, Malia! What a pleasant surprise! This must be who Derek was talking about. Honestly, I didn't think he would look so much like Peter." The man, "Dee-Ten" but actually Deaton, was bald with an average build, and had skin visually similar to mud, which freaked Thomas out to no end. He knew there was no actual mud on the man, but it unnerved him all the same, and he wondered if the man was sick or if that was normal. Thomas recognized the way Deaton was observing him—as if dissecting every part of him and getting deep into his organs. It was the same way Corinne would look at him to catch his lies and evaluate his training before deciding whether to punish him or not. 

He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

Quick Question: Am I maybe overthinking the POV issue? I feel like I might be, or probably am...what do you think? I think I messed up the POV again. I don't know; why is writing so hard at times?!