Untitled Story.

Due to being busy + shitty internet + still feeling sick, I'm making up for it with this short story I wrote. I'll be blogging this weekend, hopefully. I plan to show you my schedule for the upcoming month. So, do read, comment and if you're nice, read my old posts.




The Doctor.


The clock's ticking was the only sound in the office. The man behind the desk was reading the last entry he wrote in the log book he had on his desk. The salt and pepper fringe over his forehead didn't hide the line between his brows, or the worry in his eyes. He pressed a button on the telephone.

"Can you cancel the rest of my appointments for the week Miss Green?"

"Very well Doctor."

You pay my salary, you get whatever you want.

His last client had somewhat took the breath out of him barely 30 minutes ago. It was a man in his early 30's, full of denial of the tragic event that fell on him 3 months ago. So the Doctor thought from the moment he first met the man 3 weeks ago until 30 minutes ago.

He was unaware. Surprised. Shocked. The way his eyes widened when the Doctor had asked him in the most gentle manner of how he was coping with the death.

"What death Doctor?"

Oh denial.

"Your wife's."

The words were half whispered but the effect was physically seen. Hurt. Shock. His head had swivelled to the left, his lips trembling.

"You're not dead."

The Doctor taught it was meant for him but when his client went into a conversation with an unseen person beside him, the Doctor knew.

The Man

"That man is out of his mind."

He had went on about the sanity, the professionalism, the validity of the Doctor's license from the moment he had stormed out of the office, into the car before driving back home at an unreasonable speed.

Beside him, the woman stared out of the window with sadness in her eyes. Her fingers curled around the edges of her knees as the car slowed down and swerved into their driveway.

"I should complain about him to the Board."

He killed the engine, muttering darkly as he went to open the passenger door, not noticing how pale his wife was as he led her into their house. Their sanctuary.

Taking off his jacket, the man hung it on a hook with an air of determination. He's going to go into his study and get the Doctor's license revoked. Then, he'll take his lovely wife out for an early dinner.

Its been a long time since they've went out. Since the terrible loss they experienced.

"I'm going to make some calls."

"Don't."

'I won't let him get away with what he said today."

"But he was telling the truth."

Lies, all lies.

The Wife

She stood at the doorway of the study they shared. Two big desks facing each other in front of the big window. The only light came from the streetlights outside, the room as dark as her husband's denial.

He had sat behind his desk for the past hour, occasionally muttering under his breath. His face still had that stricken look from her words. When he spoke, he sounded like death.

"When did you.. when did it happened?"

"3 months ago. The miscarriage."

"But I thought they said you'll be okay."

"I lost too much blood."

She had woken up, fully aware that things had changed. Wondering why she didn't move on to the other side until she saw her husband sitting beside her bed. He had smiled at her and her heart broke. She knew what he didn't.

So she had stayed with him for 3 months, telling him she took off time from work to cope with losing the baby. He in turn, had decided they needed to see the Doctor for some counselling.

When you're in denial, you ignore so many obvious clues.

In the two heartbeat of silence, she knew what his mind is thinking.

"I can't stay much longer."

The pained nod her husband gave made the tear run down her cheek.