Open Heart {Under Revision}

Chapter 4- The Rounds

Before the alarm rouse, I was up in my bed. Scratching my skin, twisting my limbs and cursing all gods of bad apartments who let me live through a nefarious night. My mouth opened with huge-gaping yawns every five minutes and hardly I had slept for four hours at max before the agony of bedevils walking in my skin became too much. Apollolord, there were too many of them. This closet was infested as long as eyes could see. Night and night they skittered on walls and every space I have purchased for me, marking it as their own by simple obscene violation. They have no proper conscience. And they just want to live.

But so do I!

The clock displayed that it was ten minutes to hit 4 in morning and my train wasn't going to leave till next hour. Since neither sleep nor breakfast (infested again) wasn't an option, I decided to just suck it up to nature. My skin hasn't been graced by sublime water last night (again) hence the first thing I did was waste thirty minutes probing my body with cold water which was a relief from the humid morning. The feeling of puke and stomach acid burning my skin wouldn't be leaving anytime soon in the week for sure. My bathroom was small but it was the only space of two rooms which was devoid of any insects since I poured kerosene on walls two days before and added lemon grass scents. But as water ran down, I was left with a dejected feeling of living in such tenement. This state of mine was never expected ever in life. Every else I lived before was luxury but now...I was receiving the harsh repay back. Truly.

Yesterday, after the worst introduction of my career, I was fairly uncertain what remained for me to scavenge at Edenbrook today—my second day. I wasn't sure what happened with Nurse Jackie but at least she won't be a bother for couple of weeks. Although, I wondered what Dr. Ramsey made out of this....whatever he did, it was better if I stayed away from him as well. I would be world's colossal liar if I didn't accept that I was scared of him.

After the shift, a nurse had handed me another set of scrubs, thereby confirming that they chose to incinerate my ex-scrubs. The pair they handed me was colour of pale blue, loose on my figure to generate a shaggy appearance. My hair, it went rolling in chopsticks and pinned for a clean, high bun. Spilly strands naturally fell on my face, enough for me to blow them away again and again.

Sharp at 4:30, I locked the apartment (no idea why bother) and climbed down the stairs. It wasn't much of descent since the housing was in second floor. Heedless of house, the surrounding was hardly a scene to even remember. The walls had paint peeling off as if some wild animal tried to claw it away. A sneaky thought rose in my mind when I wondered if it was done by some junkies living upstairs. I mean I pretty much heard them screaming their lungs out, drugged heaven-high when I was moving here. Mould grew in corners of stairs along with dirty stains—most probably spit. The odour of unwashed living conditions lingering down on my passage, a stale-rotten blend made me gag. I would verily accept the lemon polish smell of hospital compared to this.

There was never a security guard when I entered or left to this apartment. There were no mailboxes or waiting rooms. There was no electricity guy or steamer room or any assurance that a skunk would dare to live here. Even the entrance door was sorry for its construction, barely dangling on its gridles.

Outside though, things drastically changed.

Stonybrook was a very active neighbourhood association in Jamaica Plain. The roads were, of course littered with yellow-green leaves, down their parent trees. Sky was spotless, currently temporarily keeping a plane flying overhead. Distance rush of heavy vehicles sounded as I made my way into Carolina Avenue. The walk was fine, not much to the station and passed by several great locations of Boston. Of course, the city was big enough—almost in every field. Being an integral part of American history would do that to you.