Get Your Words Out: January 3rd
He'd wound up at this clinic because it was the only one in a 10 kilometer radius left. Every other one he'd either been to or knew the staff. This one was clear. His last therapist had given him the name, and Matt was surprised when he walked in and found he hadn't been sold out. Matt rolled his shoulder, grimacing in pain. His doctors all told him it was in his head, that the fractures had healed and it was his addiction that was telling him he was hurting. It was all bollocks. He knew what pain was and what pain wasn't; he knew what was real.
The receptionist was near his mother's age with fine lines around her eyes. She peered up at him as he brought back the forms, gaze unchanging as he smiled down at her. He was about to step away when she spoke. "I processed you referral, Mr. Malone." He desperately tried not to flinch. "I know your little game. We have good people here. So I hope you know therapy is all you'll be getting."
"Wouldn't come to a therapist if I didn't want therapy now, would I, Ms..." he looked at her name tag. "Ms. Blightwood." Matt kept the smile on his face until he turned around. He sneered and sat down, tapping his foot anxiously. If she knew the nurses would know, and if the nurses knew he'd be shit out of luck. He'd have to call up Carrie and ask her to get in touch with Donnie, that loathesome bastard. His eyes closed and he tried to think about anything else. Andy popped into his mind. His lips moved, but he couldn't hear the words. His dead brother kept talking and Matt struggled to hear. Andy started yelling.
"Matthew Malone?" A woman's voice broke through. He shook his head to wake himself from the daydream and turned to look up.
She was the singularly most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The fact that it was his first reaction twisted his gut because, by all rights, there wasn't anything terribly special about her apperance. She had average brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, average brown eyes, a normal- if slightly small and too turned up- nose. He decided it was her beautifully defined cheekbones that made her so striking, the way they somehow drew the eyes to her lips, the way her face seemed to light in contrast to the hollows of her cheeks.
"Mr. Malone? Are you alright?" She placed a hand on his arm.
"Shit. Sorry..." Matt shook his head and she laughed. Her smile, God her smile. It was almost too big, overwhelming her face, but it endeared her to him. He wanted her to be the one to say yes when he asked about pills. She would say yes, he would thank her with a kiss and she would stay with him and it would be delicious and wonderful. He finally stood up. "Having a bit of a day."
"Well I suppose you wouldn't be here if you didn't have one or two of those." She led him down the hallway and sat him in the room. He sat down and she nodded at him, her gaze lingering a bit longer than it should have. Or maybe Matt was only hoping. "Dr. Weinstein will be with you shortly." She turned to leave.
"Wait!" The urgency in his voice was unexpected, and she looked back suddenly with concern. "I... don't you have to... take my vitals or whatnot?"
"Are you feeling unwell?" She set the clipboard down and folded her arms. Her head cocked and there was the tiniest smirk pulling the corner of her mouth up.
"Well my shoulder's been bothering me..."
"And me taking your temperature will help assess the situation?" The smile she was trying to keep from her lips hit her eyes.
Matt felt like he must be blushing, though he didn't know why. He cleared his throat and pulled himself together. "Well it's just at all the other therapists offices I went to the nurses took my vitals. I mean otherwise what's the point of a nurse in a therapist office anyway? I imagine that lovely Ms. Blightwood can handle putting in script orders. Or are you just here to distract sad young men from their troubles?"
She rolled her eyes, but she put her hand up to her mouth to cover a laugh. "I take your history, Mr. Malone. I'd forgotten the form at the check-in."
"Please call me Matt. Can't bear thinking of myself connected to that bastard."
"Mmm." She nodded and raised an eyebrow. "At least I know where to start. Daddy issues. Pity, really."
"Why d'you say that, then?"
"Men with Daddy issues tend to stay little boys."
He stood up and took a step towards her, defensive. She raised her eyebrows as a challenge. Matt opened his mouth and held out a hand, shaking a finger. "You're trying to get a rise out of me, aren't you. Clever clever nurse." He flopped back in his chair and started laughing. "Well go on, Nurse..."
"Bonwell."
"Bonwell? Parents must have hated you to name you that."
She glared at him. "It's my surname."
"Ah. You're formal here." He slouched low in the chair. "Even Charring Cross lets me call their nurses by their first names."
"And why are you frequenting Charring Cross?" She folded her arms again.
Matt snorted. "Why's that sound like an accusation?"
"It's a simple question."
"That Ms. Blightwood pointed you to, I'm sure. You know that name seems quite befitting of her personality." His eyes narrowed. Maybe it wouldn't be her. Maybe this place would be a bust and he'd be slumming down to Donnie's dingy alley by week's end. "My mum's a doctor there. So," he waved his hand at her, shooing her out. "Go on. Get your form."
At that she sighed and left. He'd really hoped it would have worked with her. It was always so much nicer when the nurses were pretty. Then it made him feel less like a desperate addict and more like a normal guy trying to flirt with a normal girl. He could fantasize about it being real dates instead of meetups to shag and get scripts. Not that Carrie would allow for anything but that. With a sigh he let his head fall back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. It had been a day since he'd taken anything, an eternity. He'd been running low and was trying to ration them out until today, with the hope that whatever nurse he ran into would be easy to win over. This one he was growing more and more sure would never agree to it. By this time with the others he'd have smiled and paid a few compliments. They would have blushed and giggled. He didn't think much of himself but he knew his charm worked well. But he was the one blushing, she was already laughing, and he hadn't even had a chance.
When she returned she asked about his past. She got all the gory details. From the guilt over losing Andy to the confusion and issues with sex after being raped by his sitter to his father's anger and resentment and blame. For a moment he tried judging her reaction. Maybe the sob story would get to her. He wasn't above using pity. But she seemed unphased, which he expected. She never even looked up from the form. So he admitted his addiction without hesitation. It wasn't like she wouldn't have found out. As he finished telling her he let his head fall back again. There was silence aside from the sound of her pen scribbling something down and the soft rustle as she flipped the pages up and down. Without a word she set the clipboard on the table and got up. "Lora."
Matt lifted his head and furrowed his brow. She was standing at the door, holding the knob. "What?"
"My name. Lora." There was a softness to her expression that Matt would normally have taken as an invitation, an open door to flirtation and pills. But with her, with Lora, it settled in his chest and nearly made him cry.
He sniffed and stretched, trying to play off the emotions. "Oh come on now, pity doesn't suit you."
"It's not pity." She stood up straighter. "Dr. W is a perfectly nice doctor, a wonderful therapist. But this cold proper mess Ms. Blightwood insists on us using doesn't seem fitting for people who more than anything need basic human kindness."
Matt's eyes darted down. "Still sounds like pity for the poor sad sack. I can allow for people to be proper. It's alright, really, Ms. Bonwell."
"It's not bloody pity." She barked and gave him a stern look. After she sighed she smoothed a hand over her hair. "Please. Call me Lora."
"Even in front of Ms. Blightwood? Wouldn't want you getting in trouble on my account."
Lora rolled her eyes. "Let that stodgy old woman be my concern, alright?"
"As you wish. Lora." With the words she smiled that big, bright, kind smile, nodded and left. Matt sighed. Part of him wanted to leave her be, suck it up and just use a dealer like all the other addicts out there. She felt too good a person to be sullied by his less than pure intentions. It's what Andy would tell him to do. But thinking of Andy made Matt desperate to stop, desperate to hide. Maybe she'd tell him no. Maybe she'd report him and he'd have to find a new therapist. But maybe- one day- she would slip a script in her pocket and come home with him instead.
The receptionist was near his mother's age with fine lines around her eyes. She peered up at him as he brought back the forms, gaze unchanging as he smiled down at her. He was about to step away when she spoke. "I processed you referral, Mr. Malone." He desperately tried not to flinch. "I know your little game. We have good people here. So I hope you know therapy is all you'll be getting."
"Wouldn't come to a therapist if I didn't want therapy now, would I, Ms..." he looked at her name tag. "Ms. Blightwood." Matt kept the smile on his face until he turned around. He sneered and sat down, tapping his foot anxiously. If she knew the nurses would know, and if the nurses knew he'd be shit out of luck. He'd have to call up Carrie and ask her to get in touch with Donnie, that loathesome bastard. His eyes closed and he tried to think about anything else. Andy popped into his mind. His lips moved, but he couldn't hear the words. His dead brother kept talking and Matt struggled to hear. Andy started yelling.
"Matthew Malone?" A woman's voice broke through. He shook his head to wake himself from the daydream and turned to look up.
She was the singularly most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The fact that it was his first reaction twisted his gut because, by all rights, there wasn't anything terribly special about her apperance. She had average brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, average brown eyes, a normal- if slightly small and too turned up- nose. He decided it was her beautifully defined cheekbones that made her so striking, the way they somehow drew the eyes to her lips, the way her face seemed to light in contrast to the hollows of her cheeks.
"Mr. Malone? Are you alright?" She placed a hand on his arm.
"Shit. Sorry..." Matt shook his head and she laughed. Her smile, God her smile. It was almost too big, overwhelming her face, but it endeared her to him. He wanted her to be the one to say yes when he asked about pills. She would say yes, he would thank her with a kiss and she would stay with him and it would be delicious and wonderful. He finally stood up. "Having a bit of a day."
"Well I suppose you wouldn't be here if you didn't have one or two of those." She led him down the hallway and sat him in the room. He sat down and she nodded at him, her gaze lingering a bit longer than it should have. Or maybe Matt was only hoping. "Dr. Weinstein will be with you shortly." She turned to leave.
"Wait!" The urgency in his voice was unexpected, and she looked back suddenly with concern. "I... don't you have to... take my vitals or whatnot?"
"Are you feeling unwell?" She set the clipboard down and folded her arms. Her head cocked and there was the tiniest smirk pulling the corner of her mouth up.
"Well my shoulder's been bothering me..."
"And me taking your temperature will help assess the situation?" The smile she was trying to keep from her lips hit her eyes.
Matt felt like he must be blushing, though he didn't know why. He cleared his throat and pulled himself together. "Well it's just at all the other therapists offices I went to the nurses took my vitals. I mean otherwise what's the point of a nurse in a therapist office anyway? I imagine that lovely Ms. Blightwood can handle putting in script orders. Or are you just here to distract sad young men from their troubles?"
She rolled her eyes, but she put her hand up to her mouth to cover a laugh. "I take your history, Mr. Malone. I'd forgotten the form at the check-in."
"Please call me Matt. Can't bear thinking of myself connected to that bastard."
"Mmm." She nodded and raised an eyebrow. "At least I know where to start. Daddy issues. Pity, really."
"Why d'you say that, then?"
"Men with Daddy issues tend to stay little boys."
He stood up and took a step towards her, defensive. She raised her eyebrows as a challenge. Matt opened his mouth and held out a hand, shaking a finger. "You're trying to get a rise out of me, aren't you. Clever clever nurse." He flopped back in his chair and started laughing. "Well go on, Nurse..."
"Bonwell."
"Bonwell? Parents must have hated you to name you that."
She glared at him. "It's my surname."
"Ah. You're formal here." He slouched low in the chair. "Even Charring Cross lets me call their nurses by their first names."
"And why are you frequenting Charring Cross?" She folded her arms again.
Matt snorted. "Why's that sound like an accusation?"
"It's a simple question."
"That Ms. Blightwood pointed you to, I'm sure. You know that name seems quite befitting of her personality." His eyes narrowed. Maybe it wouldn't be her. Maybe this place would be a bust and he'd be slumming down to Donnie's dingy alley by week's end. "My mum's a doctor there. So," he waved his hand at her, shooing her out. "Go on. Get your form."
At that she sighed and left. He'd really hoped it would have worked with her. It was always so much nicer when the nurses were pretty. Then it made him feel less like a desperate addict and more like a normal guy trying to flirt with a normal girl. He could fantasize about it being real dates instead of meetups to shag and get scripts. Not that Carrie would allow for anything but that. With a sigh he let his head fall back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. It had been a day since he'd taken anything, an eternity. He'd been running low and was trying to ration them out until today, with the hope that whatever nurse he ran into would be easy to win over. This one he was growing more and more sure would never agree to it. By this time with the others he'd have smiled and paid a few compliments. They would have blushed and giggled. He didn't think much of himself but he knew his charm worked well. But he was the one blushing, she was already laughing, and he hadn't even had a chance.
When she returned she asked about his past. She got all the gory details. From the guilt over losing Andy to the confusion and issues with sex after being raped by his sitter to his father's anger and resentment and blame. For a moment he tried judging her reaction. Maybe the sob story would get to her. He wasn't above using pity. But she seemed unphased, which he expected. She never even looked up from the form. So he admitted his addiction without hesitation. It wasn't like she wouldn't have found out. As he finished telling her he let his head fall back again. There was silence aside from the sound of her pen scribbling something down and the soft rustle as she flipped the pages up and down. Without a word she set the clipboard on the table and got up. "Lora."
Matt lifted his head and furrowed his brow. She was standing at the door, holding the knob. "What?"
"My name. Lora." There was a softness to her expression that Matt would normally have taken as an invitation, an open door to flirtation and pills. But with her, with Lora, it settled in his chest and nearly made him cry.
He sniffed and stretched, trying to play off the emotions. "Oh come on now, pity doesn't suit you."
"It's not pity." She stood up straighter. "Dr. W is a perfectly nice doctor, a wonderful therapist. But this cold proper mess Ms. Blightwood insists on us using doesn't seem fitting for people who more than anything need basic human kindness."
Matt's eyes darted down. "Still sounds like pity for the poor sad sack. I can allow for people to be proper. It's alright, really, Ms. Bonwell."
"It's not bloody pity." She barked and gave him a stern look. After she sighed she smoothed a hand over her hair. "Please. Call me Lora."
"Even in front of Ms. Blightwood? Wouldn't want you getting in trouble on my account."
Lora rolled her eyes. "Let that stodgy old woman be my concern, alright?"
"As you wish. Lora." With the words she smiled that big, bright, kind smile, nodded and left. Matt sighed. Part of him wanted to leave her be, suck it up and just use a dealer like all the other addicts out there. She felt too good a person to be sullied by his less than pure intentions. It's what Andy would tell him to do. But thinking of Andy made Matt desperate to stop, desperate to hide. Maybe she'd tell him no. Maybe she'd report him and he'd have to find a new therapist. But maybe- one day- she would slip a script in her pocket and come home with him instead.