I've changed my mind. I don't want responsibility. It can go and jump off a bridge for all I care.
Why did I ever think that I would be able to go through with this? I've been scared of doctors since the second I can remember. Kicking and screaming in their rooms as those pillocks I call my 'parents' hold me down when I've had a chest infection. Throwing books at the men in white coats as they try to sort out my earache. Hurling abuse and foul language to the bitches of nurses as they try to tell me how cigarettes at the tender age of twelve is the wrong path to take. Well, fuck their opinions. I'd rather be in agony and clog my lungs up than follow any of their so-called 'advice'.
It's a miracle that I found Dr Hallet. I remember the day vividly. My final day on the streets, begging for a scrap of food as a terrible cold had taken me over. Refusal to go for an sort of medical help, stubbornness my biggest flaw. And then she showed up. Looking down at me, wrapped up on the doorstep of a closed down shop. Shivering as the pain of my obvious illness overtook my ability to be strong. And there was recognition in her eyes. Like she'd seen me before.
Maybe she had. Maybe she'd seen my climbing into my dustbin at night. Or wandering around the streets, bare footed and alone. Searching for something just to feed my growling stomach. I don't really know. But I took full advantage of her attention and begged for food. Begged until I had nothing left. Spluttering as my internal plague took hold of my lungs and gripped them, squeezing the life out of them. And as I fell to the floor, my world going black, I heard her shout out.
When I came to, I was in her house. Wrapped up in a blanket that wasn't full of bugs and holes and most certainly covered in dried vomit. I was warm, a feeling that I'd actually forgotten existed. The world around me wasn't grey like the pavements and walls of street life, but a nice orange hue. Little ornament scattered around the place. It was a welcoming feel. And yet I felt like an outsider. So when she walked through with a meal, I tried to freak. But I was so weak that I simply had to let her in. Let her feed me the soup she'd prepared. Let her give me the medication my fragile body so desperately required. And let her keep me there until I felt strong enough to leave.
But even then, I didn't. I stayed. She told me who she was, what she did, how she could help me. And I was lured in by her words. Maybe she could fix the girl I had become with time. Soften the cold heart of mine and teach it to defrost. So, with the promise of a job and a flat of my own, I let her in.
And look where it landed me. Back in the doctors. A place I haven't been in since I was younger. Sat with not only her, but three other men as well. Two that are talking amongst themselves about random bullshit. The other looking almost as nervous as me. And it's enough to make me change my mind.
“I don't want to,” I breathe at him, making sure the others can't hear. “I don't want to be here.”
“Nor me.”
“Can we go, please?”
“Sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, little butterfly. Let's go then.”
He takes my hand and gets up. But to my dismay, all eyes are on us. I feel the shame creep into my cheeks in the form of a blush and I drop my eyes to the ground.
“Where are you going?”
“Alex is scared. She doesn't want to do this any more.”
“You can't just leave...”
“Watch us.”
He tugs on my hand to pull me up, but I can't move. I'm too frightened by the daunting notion of that awful word. Responsibility. And to see everyone looking at me with such expectation is not what I want. I just want to be alone in a dark corner. Away from all that can hurt me. And then Mark can save me when I'm good and ready.
