Gloria always announced her presence with a distinctive knock on my door. She'd hit it once, go quiet for a moment, and then drum her fists over and over until I finally allowed her to come in. The first time she did so, I found it quite jarring, but overtime I learned to love the sound-- like an audible balm capable of relieving my irritated mind.
Today, I welcomed her with a grin, more than happy to speak with the only adult figure I looked up to. Though, to be fair, the other option was Papa so the bar was basically in hell.
Gloria pushed open the door with the rubber tip of her shoe. The wheels on her cart squeaked noisily as she wheeled it over to me. "Hey, Baby," she greeted. I smiled at the nickname and sat up in bed, facing her.
"Hi," I said, "You got the goods?"
"How many times have I told you to stop calling them that?" She gave me a pointed glare. Gloria was probably the least intimidating person of all time, so I wasn't too phased. "When you call your sleep medicine 'goods,' you make this sound like some sort of drug deal."
I frowned, "What do you mean? Is this not a drug deal?"
"That depends, do you consider pharmacists drug dealers?"
"I don't know what a pharmacist is," I replied, "And I also don't know what constitutes a drug deal, but I'm going to say 'yes' anyways."
She sighed amusedly and turned to her cart. "You really need to get out more."
I couldn't help but laugh at the comment, "Low blow."
Her smile faded when the implication dawned on her. Gloria sheepishly turned her attention back to her cart. The room was silent aside from the blow of the air conditioner and the sound of pills clanging against each other.
Who knew joking about unlawful imprisonment could be a conversation stopper?
I really did have work on catering to my audience, didn't I?
Gloria got to work on unscrewing a familiar orange prescription bottle. The pills clattered as she fished one out and handed it to me. "Oh, I've been meaning to talk to you about these, actually. Before I forget, would you say your meds give you weird dreams?"
I almost laughed. If only she knew. "Weird how?"
"Well, for me, I get really detailed dreams," She explained, screwing the cap back on the bottle, "Benzodiazepines are pretty well-known for having that affect."
"Like... detailed enough for you to confuse them with reality?" I tried to ask the question as nonchalantly as possible, though I was more than eager for any sort of explanation about my dreams.
"No, not really. Do you get dreams like that?" She asked. For a moment, I considered answering truthfully. Though... what if she asked me to go into detail? What would I tell her? I certainly couldn't confess to dreaming of her colleague. My heart skipped a beat when I imaged her telling Peter about it-- something she definitely wouldn't do, and yet it still sent a chill down my back. How embarrassing would that be?
"Oh, no," I shook my head, "Just curious. What about the pills causes someone to have vivid dreams?"
"Someone's full of questions today," She grinned, "You're lucky I'm so charitable. The pills lower lower dopamine levels in the brain, triggering tiredness and an increase in melatonin. Melatonin is basically what makes you sleepy. Helps induce R.E.M, too."
"Very interesting," I said, nodding as though I followed any of it, "I understood maybe half of that."
She laughed heartily and shook her head, "Bless your heart. I'm sorry to cut our visit so short, Baby, but I have to go check on a few of your siblings."
YOU ARE READING
Nonconformity | Henry Creel
Fanfiction"You're dreaming, I should think," His breath caressed my skin. It was there and then gone, far too fleeting. "So why am I here, Sixteen?" I didn't have an answer. "I don't know," I muttered. My heart thumped noisily in my chest. I could not think...
