months,” I inform him.
“And it’s a clinic solely for the Defective?”
“Well, we’ll treat anyone. We just don’t get many non-Defective here. Any actually. They all go to the hospital.”
“Why can’t the Defective go to the hospital?” he asks, confused.
“They can, but we feel that we’ll give them a higher level of care here,” I say as diplomatically as possible.
“Oh, okay,” he replies, but still seems a little confused.
I resist the urge to look at his right arm. It’s pretty clear he’s not Defective, and I don’t want to be one of those people. I hate when people do it to me, I don’t want to do it to others.
“Was that all?” I ask, still in a professional manner even though his lingering is making me self-conscious.
“I was just wondering. Umm… what time do you finish tonight?”
“Well, we’re open twenty-four hours a day over the weekend. We close on Monday mornings from 6:00AM, and reopen at 6:00AM on Tuesday until Thursday at 6:00AM when we close, and open again at 6:00AM on Friday and go through to Monday morning.” It took me a long time to memorise that confusing timetable.
“Oh. I didn’t mean…” He looks at me with an analytical stare before continuing. “Why the odd and different opening times?”
“We had a doctor leave, meaning we only have my aunt and another doctor, Vic, to run the place. We’re understaffed, but there’s no budget to hire new staff. We really need volunteers, but there’s not many of them around these days who will work with blood, pee, and spew for free.”
He gives a slight laugh at that. “Fair enough. It’s a shame though – there must be high demand for a place like this.”
“There is. This is actually quiet for a Friday night.” As the words fall out of my mouth I curse myself, and just as I do, the door opens with another patient entering.
Tina’s boyfriend guy, man, person – whoever he is – smiles down at me. “Looks like you might have spoken too soon.” He taps the desk with his hand before going back to the seat he was sitting in earlier, leaving me to attend to the next patient.
***
I jinxed myself. I’ve been run off my feet all friggin’ night. Typical. It’s 5:30AM and I’m finally back at the empty reception desk, getting ready for my shift to end. In the waiting room, the guy is still here. He’s fallen asleep in one of the chairs – quite a common occurrence when waiting for someone to be treated. His girlfriend, Tina is asleep in the treatment room. She has two cracked ribs, and Aunt Kenna wanted to observe her overnight. In the mad rush of things, I managed to get a chance to tell him that Tina was going to be here all night and that he should go home, but he said he was fine to wait. I guess he’s got that going for him; he’s loyal, even if he doesn’t know her last name. Maybe they haven’t been together all that long.
I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this. It’s their business, not mine.
I find myself watching him sleep. Nope, not creepy at all. He doesn’t snore. A half-smile finds my face. That’s one thing I don’t miss about Chad. His snoring could’ve woken a whole neighbourhood. But I’d put up with it every night if it meant he was here.
The guy startles awake, confused for a moment before he remembers where he is. He sits up and tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. He runs his hand over his hair and down his neck as he yawns, and I mentally beg him not to do that. Yet another reminder of Chad. I know I should stop comparing, but it’s too difficult not to with this guy.
He stands and comes over to the reception desk where I’m sitting. Looking up at him, I notice his eyes for the first time, like really notice them. They’re sky blue, and incredibly intense. I don’t know why this puts an involuntary smile on my face, but it does. Maybe because it doesn’t remind me of him .
“You’re still here,” he says, his