But reading through the side effects, I’d rather not waste my time worrying about shitting myself in public or feeling like my skin’s on fire. Some of the stories I read... I don’t ever want to know what that feels like.
One comment even suggested getting pregnant. Apparently, it triggers some protective mode in your body.
But…no, thank you.
I’d rather chew my nails down to the quick and never play guitar again than fall pregnant right now.
Even if I want to be a mom one day, it’s not an option for me.
So I chose the injection.
Three times a week. Possible reaction at the injection site. Headaches. Maybe tightness in my chest.
The lesser of all evils, I guess.
By the time Akira's voice quietens and her soundcheck ends, I’ve made up my mind. I shoot Doctor Minton an email, asking him to send the script to my phone.
And the second the text comes through, I’m out the door.
Hood up, headphones in with nothing playing, I walk toward the nearest drug store my map can find.
The door buzzes once I step through it, alerting everybody of my presence, but no one seems to care or look up from what they are doing.
I make my way to the back of the store, hand the pharmacist my phone to scan the script, and patiently wait.
When I hear his voice call my first and last name, I let out a sigh of relief, knowing this is all about to be over. That I can tuck it under my arm, pay for it, and hurry back into the privacy of my hotel room, store it away, and hope I make it back in time to MSG for my set.
Taking one headphone out of my ear, I look up at the man with concern etched over his features, and I know I’ve missed whatever he just said.
"Did you say something?" I ask.
"I did." He nods, his sky-blue shirt buttoned all the way up his neck, his name badge readingKenji.His light brown hair combed over to the side, making him seem cute in that nerdy kind of way. But the look on his face tells me that while he might be worried, he’s also annoyed at my ability to concentrate.
I mean, it’s almost closing time, he’s probably just exhausted and ready for the day to be over.
"Sorry." I smile weakly, trying my hardest to make it appear genuine. "It’s been a day."
"No worries, Ms. Herring," he says. "I asked if you’ve used the medication before?"
That’s his first mistake: assuming I’m not new to this. That I know exactly what I’m doing. And my first mistake: not correcting him.
Instead, I just nod.
I hand over the cash, take the box out of his hands, and cradle it in my arms before making a desperate dash to the exit.
"Remember to keep it in the refrigerator!" he shouts behind me.
I wave my hand in the air to let him know I heard him.
My shoulder collides with what feels like a brick wall, but I don’t look up. "Sorry," I mutter, hugging the medicine to my chest tighter.
He grumbles under his breath before pushing past me. "Hey, Kenji. You got the good stuff for me?" His deep voice rumbles, and I keep my eyes trained on the ground.
"The order arrived earlier today, Mr. Davis. I’ll ring it up for you."
I ignore the rest of their conversation and slip out the door and onto the street.
The walk back to the hotel is a blur. I store the medication like the pharmacist told me and sit there for a while, staring at the refrigerator door like it might bite.
