Saoirse coughed, brushing away the puff of smoke with a dainty white hand.
"Excuse me, but I'd like to speak to Dr. Shan—"
"Brody—call him Brody," the girl, not much older than Saoirse herself, tapped the slim cigarette at the edge of the ashtray and typed feverishly away at her computer, "he likes to be on a first-name basis with his clients. I'm Sam by the way."
"Alright, Sam, may I speak to Brody? We scheduled an appointment at—"
"12:30? He's waiting for you in the room down that hallway, the second door to the left, " Sam waves her cigarette to her left, her dark eyes leaving the screen for a second to glance at Saoirse. Her unsmiling, gaunt face is charming in a way Saoirse can't explain.
"Right, thanks Sam."
"My pleasure.
Saoirse walked to the specified room, trying to contain the anxiety that picked away at her stomach. He was young, Kathy had said, but far more than qualified. He was remarkably intelligent, having graduated from one of those prestigious ivy leagues, and already earning more than Kathy ever would.
She pulled open the door and slipped quietly into the room. The first thing that she noticed was the faint scent of fresh cologne and crisp juniper. The source of the second smell, it didn't take her too long to find out, emanated from the candles that rested in delicately carved holders atop the marble fireplace. Beautifully weaved tapestries, depicting extravagant castles and lush gardens, hung neatly from the deep maroon walls. Two comfortable papasan chairs were situated directly in the center of the room, half-buried in the plush, chocolate rug. A delicate chandelier glowed above, bathing everything in a soft yellow light.
The source of the first smell was seated cross-legged in one papasan chair, wearing a contemplative look. At the sight of Saoirse though, a handsome smile spread almost immediately across his lightly freckled face.
"Saoirse," he said without hesitation, "hey, how are you? Sit here," he gestured to the other papasan chair, "we have much to talk about."
Hiding her slight surprise at his sunny disposition and strong British accent, she smiled, not nearly as easily as he, and took the seat. She leaned back uncertainly into the brown cushions and crossed her legs. Quietly, she studied his features, as he did the same.
He was undeniably attractive, with his disheveled copper hair, pleasantly angular face, and searching blue eyes. He was tall too—he looked endearingly awkward and large in the exact chair that seemed to engulf Saoirse in all its cushions and pillows. Yet, he smiled all the same. He knew she would feel more at ease if he did. And he was getting paid $250 an hour for sitting in a glorious room and talking to people about their problems.
There was nothing he could not smile about.
"So Saoirse, what brings you here today?"
"I have," she pulls her gaze away from his probing eyes, "some issues, Dr. Shanners."
"Please," he offers her another disarming grin, "call me Brody. I'm all ears, ma'am. Tell as little or as much as you'd like."
"I think I'm ready to die," she states abruptly. She expects him to be taken aback by her sudden outburst, but he looks as even-tempered as though she'd told him the weather forecast.
His eyes, as clear and calm as the placid pools of rainwater that collect after a violent storm, do not reflect the apprehension she feels. His voice, so somber Saoirse could hardly believe it was the same person if she wasn't staring right at him, comes out low and gentle.
"You've considered suicide, then?"
She nods, ignoring the shame that twisted her gut.
"Multiple times I've tried killing myself. I always stop before things become too fatal," she scoffs.
"Why do you think you have suicidal thoughts?"
"For the same reasons other people do. No purpose in life. Depression."
"Why do you stop before it becomes too fatal?"
"Because suicide is a selfish decision."
"Selfish? How so?"
"You haven't taken consideration of how it would affect those around you. You're making others unhappy by becoming happy."
"Are we responsible for making others happy? Why not just make yourself happy and relieve yourself from all the pain?"
"Because it's selfish."
"And that makes it bad. Selfishness makes suicide bad."
"Yes. Or at least, I think so anyway."
"So suicide is bad because it's selfish and makes others unhappy."
"Yes."
"Why should you care about making others happy?"
"I don't care about making people happy. I care about not making them unhappy."
"Isn't making them happy the same as not making them unhappy?"
"No. It's not."
"Elaborate, please, Saoirse. I feel a bit lost."
"Dr. Shan—, Brody, I think making someone unhappy is making them sad or angry. Making them happy is making them laugh and smile. I want to make people do neither of that."
"What is making people neither happy or unhappy then?"
"Having no impact on their lives whatsoever."
"So nothing. So doing and/or being nothing is neither making them happy or unhappy, which is what you desire."
"Yes."
"Then that's simply not existing, right?"
"Right."
"Then isn't that not being alive?"
"What? No...no, it's not, I..." She stared at him, open-mouthed, desperately searching her mind for an answer. Suddenly producing a clipboard from nowhere, Brody clicks his pen and starts scribbling things down.
"You don't commit to committing suicide because you're selfless, is that what you're saying?"
"What? No, no, I'm most definitely selfish."
"Yet, you're here, in front of me, most definitely alive and breathing. And that's because you haven't committed suicide because you think it's a selfish decision."
"...yes."
"You aren't ready to commit suicide because it's selfish?"
"...yes."
"But you want to cease existing?"
"Yes," she answers confidently.
Hes nods and murmurs something incoherent, and clicks his pen twice before writing something else down.
"Then, Saoirse, you aren't ready to die."
- youaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto dieyouaren't readyto die -
Instinctively, her hand went to the sheath only to grasp at...
Nothing.
The damn redneck must have taken her weapon as well.
She whirls around, intending to run back the direction she came in, only to see another horde, while still a good distance away, rapidly approaching her. The growling behind her intensifies, accompanied by that unmistakable uneven shuffle.
Alek was quickly getting sandwiched in this tiny alleyway, and she needed to act fast. She was disoriented and exhausted; with this leg, she couldn't outrun, much less fight, them.
She needed to hide.
Her eyes zeroed in on the backdoor of the pharmacy, where Bethany and she would have entered if it weren't for some one-handed lunatic. As quickly as she could manage, she hobbled over to the door and shut it firmly behind her.
The room was dark; Alek could only make out the silhouettes of toppled furniture and several opened boxes, which held dozens of empty pill bottles that glinted mockingly at her in the darkness.
Her labored breathing penetrated the silence.
A dull ringing had begun in the back of her ears; slowly, a sharp pain began to spread from her temples, across her forehead, and to the back of her neck. She ignored it, and dragged a nearby dresser over to the door, and prayed it would hold.
After scanning the room, and making sure no one—living or undead—was there, she carefully maneuvered her way around the cluttered room, stepping over bloody bandages and discarded wrappers. She spotted a worn, streaked mattress shoved in the corner of the small room.
She pulled open the door to the next room, which, unsurprisingly enough, was the pharmacy itself.
A sticky breeze brushed over her face as her eyes took a second to adjust to the light. The windows to the pharmacy had been partially broken, and shards of glass crackled noisily underneath her boots with each step. The store was in a complete disarray; multiple shelves had fallen over, dark substances stained the once pristine floors, and containers and boxes of every kind littered the counter. The gingham curtains were torn to shreds, floating lifelessly in the desolate store.
She hadn't taken another step when the click of a gun sounded right beside her.
"Who are you? What happened to your leg?"
Alek sighed deeply and raised her hands.
"Someone broke my leg and no, I'm not bit."
"Someone? Who?"
The woman still hadn't lowered her gun, much to Alek's annoyance. Slowly, Alek turned her head to the right, coming face-to-face to the barrel. The woman holding the gun was pretty, with round, flushed cheeks and cropped brown hair.
She looked remarkably well-fed, Alek thought enviously.
Her grip on the gun was correct, suggesting at least some sort of training, but her hands shook considerably. With one clean swipe, Alek could just knock the gun out of her hands and...
"Look, I'm injured and have no weapons," she added the last bit a little acerbically, "I don't know who broke my leg. All I need to do is treat the wound and go home."
"Home? What home? Wher—"
"Maggie," a male's voice suddenly interrupted her southern drawl, accompanied by the rustling of clothing, "what's going on?"
Half-dressed and sleepy-looking, a young Asian man emerged from behind the shelves. He halted in his tracks when he saw the two women, and hastily reached for the gun at his waist. Except that there was no gun at his waist. A bit embarrassed, he ran back behind the shelves to retrieve his weapon.
Alek stared at the women, an eyebrow arched with clear amusement.
"I apologize if I interrupted anything, but you are aware that the world is in the middle of a crisis?"
A deep burn started in the woman's cheeks as she spluttered to retort. Before she could reply, however, her lover returned, pistol in hand and trained steadily on Alek.
"Ah, there you go. Nice and prepared."
"Maggie," the man didn't look away from Alek while addressing his partner, "who is this?"
"My name is Alek. I was recently robbed of supplies. I'm currently seeking," she turned back to the woman and smiled, "new ones."
Quicker than the eye could follow, she yanked the woman's wrist and pulled the gun free from her grip, while simultaneously pulling the woman towards her. With practiced efficiency, she nestled the hard muscle of her arm underneath the woman's chin and pressed the gun precisely against the temple.
"Maggie!"
The woman struggled at first, but Alek merely tightened her grip around her neck.
"Pass the gun over."
Almost instantly, the man slid it over to Alek. His devotion to the woman was commendable, to say the least. With her foot, she slid the gun behind her.
"Bring me all the supplies."
"Glenn," the woman cried desperately, "don't do it."
Alek tightened her grip, quickly silencing the woman.
With remarkable obedience, he did. He went back to the spot behind the shelves and returned with two backpacks. Carefully, he set them down. His eyes, wide with fear and concern, was fixated on the woman's face.
"Bring them closer."
With his foot, he pushed them closer to Alek.
"Closer."
This time, he went forward as well, moving slowly and gradually toward the two women.
"Stop."
He immediately froze in his tracks.
"Thank you."
And she hurled Maggie at him, practically tossing the woman at him like a doll. They went down in a tangle of limbs, which wasn't, Alek thought wryly, a situation they weren't particularly unfamiliar with. She quickly crouched down to pick up the other pistol. Before they could stand, the girl already had both packs slung over each shoulder and had walked calmly out the door.
a/n:
WHY FINALS WEEK WHY.
Thank you for the reviews and patience guys! :D Yer all awesome.
Gahhhh, I'm so sorry for the the really slow update. I have crazy cramming to do this week. :'(
But ooooh, Alek is all cool and evil.
And, what's this, GLEGGIE?!
EHRMAHGAWD.
Oh gosh I need to sleep.
The second part is kind of poking fun at the whole Gleggie crap going on at the pharm. I mean seriously, there's zombies running around and ya'll are cute, but how do you have the time for all the making out and stuff? Gah. It's boggles my mind.
The dialogue in the beginning, with Saoirse and Brody, is importanto, so keep that in mind.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a review!