Page 8 of Pretty Poison

“Ah, Mrs Vitale, it’s wonderful to see you again,” the middle-aged receptionist says, lifting her head at the sound of the doors. “Please take a seat and a nurse will be with you shortly.” Kat smiles for a moment until Cassian opens his mouth to speak, “Make it quick. We don’t have all day.”

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes as we venture over to the small waiting area. To say it’s lacking colour, personality or anything resembling a woman’s touch would be a severe understatement. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dario influenced how this place was designed and decorated; it resembles almost everything in his home.

It’s completely empty, not a single soul in sight except for the two receptionists at the circular desk. The hushed chatter filtering down the hall tells me there’s a few nurses working behind closed doors already.

Please, take as much time as you need. I’m in no rush whatsoever,I think to myself.

Every minute that passes, the nausea in my gut threatens to show itself all over the white laminated flooring–maybe then it’ll finally have some colour.

Within an instant, another middle-aged woman emerges from one of the back rooms and walks towards us. “Mrs Vitale?” she says in a delicate tone fitting of her face.

I turn to Kat as she stands, dragging me up with her. “They’re not married yet,” she says as if reminding the woman.

She laughs. “Ah, yes, my mistake.” Kat lets a small laugh free as she swats the woman before us playfully. “If you two wouldn’t mind following me, Cass, you can stay here. Remi, you too,” she says, eyeing up the doorway.

“Sure thing, Mrs C,” Remi chimes in, walking towards us.

“You boys know where the snacks and drinks are. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Walking arm in arm once more, Kat places herself between me and the woman as she walks through the hall as if from memory.

The same as the waiting and entrance areas, the whole back region is lacking colour. Everything is white; from the floors, to the doors and even the handles.

As the nurse opens the door, she stands to the side. “Liana, honey, get yourself comfortable in the chair. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I enter and spin around to face her again, flashing a soft smile.

“As for you, Katerina, I stocked a few of your favourites. Whatever you don’t eat, you take home with you, darling.”

“You’re gonna get me fat, Mama.”

“As long as the baby’s healthy, you could be as big as a whale and everyone would still love you. I don’t want you or the baby skipping your cravings just because it’s not what society deems as ‘healthy weight’. I’m a nurse, remember? Listen to your mother; she knows best.” She turns back to me. “Feel free to help yourself too, dear. But be careful, she bites when she’s hangry.” She playfully points over to Kat.

“Mama,” Kat retorts, a sense of warning lacing her tone.

“I’m kidding.” She raises her hands in defence. “Or am I?” she adds before closing the door behind her.

“That’s your mother?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she nods, turning to walk toward the desk in the corner. Squatting down, she opens something and retrieves two cans of Coke, two bags of weirdly shaped crisps and an assortment of mini-muffins. “Here, have some. You need to get your blood sugar up for the blood draw.”

“Blood draw?” I ask, recoiling at her words.

She sighs, walking up to me and placing the snacks at the end of the extended chair I occupy. “You’ve got like five tests to go through, but you’ll be fine. Drawing blood is nothing.”

“I-I don’t like needles,” I whisper.

“You have a tattoo,” she points to my arm. “If you don’t like needles, how did you get that? They don’t appear on their own.”

I laugh. “I don’t like injections… or in this case, needles used to extract my blood. Tattoos are different–the needles are small and move fast enough that the pain is bearable. There’s a difference between the two; one is more beneficial to me than the other.”

She hums, cracking open her can. “I’ve always wanted one, but I wouldn’t know what to get. Why did you get yours?”

I look down at my arm, delicately tracing the outline. “My brother and a childhood friend were getting one and I was adamant to join them.” A small smile lifts at my lips. “I was only sixteen, but they knew it meant a lot to me. And I couldn’t have thanked them more for letting me accompany them.”

“Just sixteen?” she asks, shock lacing her voice. “How did you manage to pull that off?” Her eyes are slightly wider than usual, intrigue written on her face. “No, wait–you have a brother?”

“Yes, an older brother, Apollo. I haven’t seen him in years but knowing we have something in common makes me feel closer to him. And he had a friend that was an insanely good artist. It took a look of persuasion for him to tattoo them and they were both of age, so you have no idea how much it took for him to agree to tattoo a sixteen year old.”

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