Heath

He licked the yellow strip of glue to the rolling paper and pressed the edges together before sticking the overfilled cigarette up to his lips. He brought out the blue lighter and lit up, sucking it down in a handful of breaths, before rolling up another one and doing it all over again, one after the other.

“I’ve already told you no, so stop asking,” Heath raged at the empty space in front of him.

He rolled another cigarette and quickly lit it up. The yellow tobacco stains between his fingers rubbed against the edge of the paper as the smoke curled around and up between the hairs of his unkempt beard. The voice came back and he responded accordingly.

“She was a nice girl, and you made me do it,” he shouted out again to the cold December air.

He half watched as a blonde haired woman quickly pulled her blonde haired daughter closer beside her as they hurriedly crossed his path. He was used to the sentiment. In fact, he preferred it. It was safer for everyone that way, and the further people kept away from him, the better.

“Shut up,” Heath shouted, as a young gentleman in green corduroy pants jumped up in a fright and quickly jaywalked across traffic to a more sane part of the avenue.

A freshly dented Mercedes Benz honked loudly at the passing jaywalker as Heath pulled out a prescription bottle and tapped two long white pills into his hand. He tossed them up into his mouth and quickly swallowed them down with his spit, as a cold breeze brushed along his earlobe. He flicked his ear with his middle finger and continued his bluster.

“Take that, you miserable sack of entrails,” he hissed.

A few minutes passed, and his stressed and constricted muscles began to loosen. His scrunched up and wrinkled face began to relax, and his pursed lips began to soften. The clamour from inside his head slowly began to ease, and the robust sounds of the city steadily faded in.

Heath felt the cold creep its way in before the noises in his head crept their way out. “Are you still there,” he spoke out loud to himself. Hearing only his own thoughts helped to bring about a temporary calm to an otherwise chaotic existence.

He flicked his cigarette out onto the city street, stuffed the pouch of tobacco in his waist pocket, and made his way back inside the building. He pressed the elevator button to the fourth floor, exited out to a long hallway and a flow of arrows that led him to a big brown door with tempered glass. On the front, in big frosted black letters it read: Department of Community and Human Services.

The woman at the desk spoke first. “Hello. Can I please get your name?”

“Heath,” said Heath.

“Welcome in, Heath,” echoed the woman. “Please have a seat and someone will be with you in a moment.”

Heath looked around the mostly empty rectangular shaped room and to the array of singular office chairs that lined the inner walls. There was a picture of some landscape near the door that had little to do with anything besides aesthetics. A small table nestled near the far right corner that housed a variety of magazines that nobody read, and two other caseloads who sat nervously on opposite sides of the room from each other, both picking at some random part of their body and avoiding eye contact.

The first was a woman somewhere in her twenties, but could easily be mistaken for someone much older than that. Life had aged her in a not so pleasant way, and better choices had managed to slip their way through the cracks. She kneaded her body back and forth in the waiting room and scratched at the flakey bits of scab that covered the track marks on the inside part of her arm.

“Sophie!” The receptionist called out.

Heath watched as the woman, without hesitating, stood up and quickly made her way through the inner door of the room and disappeared. He went and sat in the same seat she was sitting in, and could instantly feel the warmth of her body still emanating from out the cushion. He reached down to the carpet and grabbed the piece of dried skin that fell off earlier from her arm and stuck it in his mouth. The other person in the waiting room, an older gentleman somewhere in his late fifties or sixties, watched him do it and then quickly turned away and coughed.

“Get your own,” Heath snapped.

The man ignored him, stood up and walked slowly towards the framed landscape just opposite of where Heath was sitting. He stood and stared at the picture for quite some time. Heath's body began to heat up again, and he could feel the presence of someone nearby.

“Johnathan,” the receptionist called out, and Heath watched with narrowing eyes as the man turned from the framed picture and disappeared behind the door.

“I told you to wait outside,” Heath lashed out at the now empty room. “Now go away!”

The room, to Heath, fell quiet again. The woman at the reception took a quick observant glance over at him but remained calm and ignorant behind her thick glass enclosure as she continued to type away at the keyboard. Several minutes went by and the phone rang. She picked up, muttered a few words, and put the receiver back down.

“Heath,” she finally called out. “You can head over now.”

She pressed down on a small button behind her desk and the door to the inside silently unlocked. Heath stood up, glaring at her intensely as he made his way over to the door. He walked through, and was immediately greeted by a short round woman with oval glasses. Next to her stood a tall, muscular black man in a plain white tucked in shirt and khaki pants.

“Hello Heath,” smiled the woman. “How is everything?”

Heath recognized her, but couldn’t find a name in his memory for the life of him. He stared up at the man in khakis that towered over them both. He did not recognize him, nor did he take a liking to him in the least.

“Hmph,” Heath scowled, looking up at the man.

“Do you remember me? My name is Wendy Myers. We have met a few times before,” the woman addressed. Heath continued to stare down the gentleman next to them.

“This here is Arnold,” Wendy explained. “He will be sitting in with us today and observing.”

Heath caught a brief memory of him and Wendy’s last session together. It involved an episode with a red pin and a scuffle with security. Wendy had decided that this time, she’d rather not take any chances.

“Arnold is going to check you out real quick,” said Wendy. “Anything we should know about?”

Heath shook his head.

Arnold patted his large hands under Heath’s armpits and down to his waist pockets, promptly discovering the outline of the butterfly knife. He removed it, and held it out for all to see. Wendy shook her head.

“Now Heath, you are not allowed to have that. Judges orders,” she reminded him.

Arnold continued to frisk him, bringing out some crinkled notes, a pen, a paperclip, loose wrappers, a pouch of rolling tobacco, and a blue lighter with a fading four leaf clover sticker on the front. Arnold gathered everything together into the palm of his right hand, before giving Wendy the “that’s everything” look. Wendy nodded, and quietly led everyone into the next room.

Arnold set Heath’s possessions on a small table near the door. “I’ll be right outside,” he nodded to Wendy.

“Thanks Arnold,” Wendy nodded. “But I feel like we’ll be just fine without you,” she smiled at Heath who was still standing by the door. “Won’t we?”

Heath dipped his chin down slowly.

“Please, have a seat,” Wendy casually gestured to a long brown davenport sofa, situated in front of a long sliding window with a city view. A burnt orange ottoman stood in front of it.

Heath did not hesitate in the slightest, and quickly sat down almost as soon as she had requested it. She certainly had a way with her outpatients. Maybe Arnold had a little to do with it. For Heath however, he just wanted his prescription refilled.

“So tell me Heath,” Wendy began. “How are things with you?”

“Don’t tell that cunt anything,” the voice in his head commanded. Heath tilted his ear to his shoulder and did his best to ignore it.

“I’m fine,” Heath said disingenuously.

“That’s good to hear,” Wendy played along. “Because the last time you were here, you were a bit upset. You had said that a man named Frederick had been telling you to do things. Terrible things, is that right?”

“That bitch doesn’t know the half of it,” the voice in his head continued.

Heath tilted his head to his shoulder again. “That’s right,” he agreed, trying his best to ignore the voice.

“Has he,” Wendy paused. “Has Fredrick asked you to do anything lately? Maybe something you think you probably shouldn’t have done?”

Heath turned his head towards the door before answering. “I don’t know, not really,” he lied.

Wendy stood up and walked over to the simmering pot of tea that sat high up on the counter. Her short stature forced her to rise up onto her tippy toes in order to grab it. She set it down on top of a brown wooden tray that aligned nicely over the burnt orange ottoman. She brought out two clean ceramic mugs and began to pour the pot into one of them.

“Would you like some?” Wendy smiled.

“If I were you, I would pour that scalding hot water down that wench’s throat if you know what’s good for you,” the voice asserted.

“No, thank you,” Heath declined.

Wendy sat in a chair across from the davenport sofa and cupped the ceramic mug in both her hands. She took a long sip from the cup before finally lifting her head up again. She locked in on Heath’s far away eyes, and leaned her body forward.

“You know Heath,” she spoke calmly, “you can tell me the truth.”

“Don’t tell her shit!” commanded the voice.

Heath remained quiet.

“It’s my job to help you, you know,” Wendy took another sip of her tea. “Whatever is said here, stays here.”

They sat in silence for some time. Wendy counted the minutes on the clock above the door. Heath watched as a robin perched itself outside on the ledge of the window, staring in on them a little longer than Heath was comfortable with.

“It’s a spy,” the voice quickly roared. “Kill it!”

Heath stood up abruptly from his chair and lunged ragingly towards the window. The bird, startled, immediately fluttered up and away to a higher ledge of the building. Wendy watched him in silence, now drinking her tea with one hand and scribbling down some words on a notepad with the other.

“I need a cigarette,” Heath finally spoke.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” Wendy stressed. “And it can’t be very good for you anyhow.”

“The hell does she know?” The voice interjected. “Those are yours, fair and square. She can’t keep them from you!”

“Heath,” Wendy spoke gently. “Please, have a seat.”

“Fuck off!” screamed the voice.

Heath’s body froze.

Wendy set the tea cup down and closed the notepad. She remained still in her seat, before speaking again. This time in a whisper.

“Is Frederick here right now?” she asked softly.

Heath shook his head quickly.

“Now, now, Heath. I can only help you if we are going to be honest with each other,” Wendy reminded him. She hinted at the prescription pad that sat locked away in a desk somewhere in the room. All Heath wanted were his medications, and Wendy was the only person who could get them for him.

“Tell her nothing,” the voice commanded.

“Tell you what,” Wendy had an idea. “Blink once if Fredrick is here, twice if not.”

Heath kept his eyes wide without blinking. Wendy gave him the look. Heath blinked once.

“You think I’m an idiot?” The voice shouted in his head.

“Good, good,” Wendy reassured. “Now let us try and focus on something. Let’s say…” Wendy reached over and grabbed the pouch of rolling tobacco and handed it to him. “...you roll us some cigarettes.”

Heath could not believe it when he reached over to grab the pouch from her. Wendy still held tight to it. “But we won’t be smoking. I just want you to focus on the rolling,” she reminded him. “Do you understand?”

Wendy finally let go of the pouch, releasing it into Heath's eager hands. Heath pulled out a pinch of tobacco and a sheet of rolling paper. “Now, I want you to center your attention on the task at hand. Pay attention to the way the paper feels in your hand,” Wendy directed him, standing close as he licked the glue of the paper and folded around the tobacco.

“Now light it up,” the voice urged. Heath shook his head and placed the rolly on the ottoman.

“Good,” Wendy reassured. “Now let’s try it again. And take your time for this one. Nice and slow.”

Heath pulled out another pinch of tobacco and paper, before looking up to Wendy who gave him an approving nod. “Nice and slow,” she whispered again.

Heath took his time sprinkling the tobacco into the paper. He spread the cut leaves evenly along the vertice, distributing it evenly as he slowly pressed down to level it. He didn’t notice it at first, but his mind became quiet, as he finished rolling his second cigarette and set it down next to the other on the ottoman.

“Great,” Wendy encouraged him. “Now let’s do one more.”

Heath pulled out another paper. Then another pinch of tobacco. He began to feel lighter, and more focused, until the voice came back again.

“You fucking idiot,” said the voice. “She is trying to control you. You don’t have to listen to that bitch. Those are your cigarettes. Fair and square. Come on you little pansy. What are you going to do? Let this fat, know it all tart, tell you what to do? Be a man. Take control. Do it. Do it!”

Heath’s palms began to sweat as he speedily finished rolling his cigarette. He then slyly placed it between his lips and stood up in a flash. Taking a brief glance over at Wendy, he suddenly bolted towards the table near the door, quickly grabbed the blue lighter in his hand, brought it up to his face, and pressed down.