Time to Be Patient

The glass doors slide open, floor so polished I can see myself in the sheen. The BMW with tinted windows that I rode here in pulled away just a minute ago, the driver exchanging precisely no words with me during the entire journey, and now I stand in a reception room of steel and glass. Around me, designer white plastic chairs lounge without occupant.

The receptionist looks up at me, sees my Guy Fawkes mask, and his fingers hurriedly clatter across his keyboard. I watch him in silence as he works. There is a faint humming noise emanating from the clinical white corridors that stretch down and out of the reception. Chopin plays in the background.

I am waiting.

Then, from a distance I hear a familiar feminine voice, growing louder by the second: “… understand that it’s a trying time. It’s never easy. We’ll be here to support you through the chemotherapy, and…”

A pause.

“No, don’t apologise—it’s what we’re here for. I’m always open. Yes… yes… of course! See you in two days then… Take care.”

She emerges from the corridor then, white labcoat swishing in the air as she turns the final corner.

Flanked by three nurses, Jessica Najbreit strides towards me, her slim figure stirring memories decades old. She has her honey-blonde hair tied up in a bun and wears light blue scrubs that, despite their bagginess, manage to hug her curves in the places where it counts. A warm, practiced smile falls upon her face as she sees me standing there.

“You must be Scarlet’s client. She was a bit tight-lipped about who you were or what you’re here for, but I gathered that it was urgent,” Jessica says. She smiles a little wider at the end of her sentence, a small reassurance that makes me think I can trust her. “Why don’t you start by coming back with us, and you can tell me what’s wrong? And, you can pass the mask off to one of my nurses. We’ll keep it safe for you in the meantime, but it will likely get in the way of anything we need to do.”

She begins walking back down the corridor. The nurses in line watch to make sure I’m following, and we walk down the hall, surrounded by frosted window walls. I can’t see past them, but I see the outline of machines and furniture, and maybe the occasional person. The place is quiet, save for the sound of our footsteps echoing through the hall.

“What seems to be the problem?” Jessica prods, approaching the glass door to her office.

“I got in an… altercation,” I say, and I see her hand freeze on the glass pane of her door for a moment, slender fingers splayed out. Then, she pushes door opens and she steps through. “I got hit in my right arm pretty bad, my face feels… broken somehow, and there might be some issues elsewhere? I’m honestly… not sure.”

I’ve decided that, now that I’m here, being honest with her is my choice. She’s a doctor. She’d figure things out soon enough if I tried to cover things up.

“When did this altercation take place?” Jessica asks, urging me to take a seat. While one nurse is taking notes, another pulls out the chair for me; deeply unnecessary, but this is the treatment billionaires are used to.

“Last night,” I say.

“So the face and the right arm seem most pressing to you,” Jessica repeats back to me, and I nod. “We’re going have to get that mask off, sorry. I need to see what we’re working with here.”

Reasonable, except she still doesn’t know who I am.

“Are there any cameras about?” I ask.

She shakes her head.

“We take patient confidentiality seriously.”

My left arm trembles slightly as it reaches up to undo the straps holding my mask in place. I take a deep breath. Up until now, I’ve been able to harbour the illusion that, if I can just do things right, I can make everything alright. But once this mask comes off and Jessica sees me, it might all come tumbling down. My younger sister sits at minus 50 points, and if Scarlet’s reaction was mixed at best, then hers will surely be worse…

Off comes my mask, and with it goes Jessica’s perfectly composed expression.