Contraindication

Eleven| Cheese & Angry Steve

"You can't make everyone happy.
You're not pizza."
- Anonymous

I don't care about anyone's happiness... I don't even care about my own...

"Let me guess, you had an eventful day today?" Steve looked at the puddle of dried blood in the corner of the living room.

I sighed and rolled over on the couch. "Sure I guess," I held my hand over my beating heart, "you could say that?"

I told my friends about my ability a few days ago and now I don't know where I stand with them. They all just nodded their heads and eventually said they had to go. Felix was the last one to leave, of course. He decided to stay with me for a little while. He asked me so many questions, about it. Like when did it start? How did I know? I of course answered all of them to the best of my abilities, but even some of the questions I didn't have answer to. In the end I asked him if was alright and he gave me an his strange answer. "Sure."

At least he was open with me, unlike Tracy and Darren.

I've known Tracy the longest, and this scare may have messed her up. And poor Darren; he witnessed my regeneration 3 times now. Ugh!

"You know there's bleach and floor cleaner, right?" Steve spun around, "I've been here plenty of times to know where things are." He crossed his arms and towered over me.

I frowned and turned away. I wasn't in the mood to deal with his authority—he wasn't the boss of me. I could leave dried blood in the corner if I wanted to. Plus, my mom's boss extended her trip by another week. This meant I didn't have to clean up now. This also meant that I couldn't possibly make it to the play—so I shredded my ticket.

"How old is the stain?" Steve questioned.

"3 days..." I responded like a zombie.

Steve choked on his words, "what? 3 days?" He kicked the couch, "what have you been doing for 3 days, that you couldn't clean it up?"

"Catching up on work?"

Steve kicked the couch again, and I groaned while putting a pillow over my face. "What do you mean catching up on work? Aren't you going to school?" He asked.

"Nope." I huffed.

This time Steve grabbed the pillow from off my head and rolled my body over. I glared at him with a sour face. How dare he disturb my nap time? My awful headache wasn't going to go away on its own.

"Why haven't you been going to school? You have a broken ankle that healed the moment you entered the hospital." He threw his hands in the air, "You're able to go to school."

I sighed and slowly sat up—I felt woozy. Without thinking about it, I reached over on the glass table and grabbed my medication.

He did say take it when I was stressed? And Steve was stressing me out right now.

Nefore I could open the bottle Steve grabbed it from my hands. "You're not taking these until you tell me what's going on?"

I glanced at the pills, then at him. I sighed and leaned back on the couch. "For your information Mr. Man Bun, I went through a very traumatic experience the other day and I deserve a break." I held out my hand, "now give me..."

Steve's eyebrows scrunched up as he passed me the bottle. I grabbed them and swallowed a few of them dry.

He took off his suit jacket and sat down on the couch beside me, "Yes, I know what you went through was traumatic... but do you know what is truly traumatic? Walking into the house and seeing you with a knife in your chest." He recalled from a few weeks ago.

I smiled at the fact that the same pizza boy also shot me in the head and chucked rocks at me a few days after that. He was so determined to get his Xbox back that when he found out he couldn't; he looked so defeated. I wonder what happened to him? Maybe he realized that taking my life wasn't worth a Xbox.

Steve ignored my snickering and continued, "And what is also traumatizing is finding out that my girlfriend's daughter hasn't been to school in 3 days."

"A week and 3 days." I corrected him.

"A week and Oh God, Evelyn!" He slapped his forehead and groaned, "you're so lucky I came to check on you before I left. If I did it after I came back, who knows how many pounds you would have lost?"

"Wait? You're going somewhere?" I stopped his rambling. Steve was a workaholic, but not as bad as my mom. Like I said before, he owned a pharmaceutical lab company called ThriftWay Co. Yeah, I know it's a stupid name but Steve like stupid things. The lab supplied medication for many pharmacies across the country—hence why he can supply higher doses of my daily unknowns medication. He's a stay at home boss. He owns a fancy condo and a cottage, and to be honest, I don't even know how my mom met him? Must have been fate?

"Yeah," Steve responded, "I have to go to the new manufacturing lab for a few meetings. Plus, I need to oversee a new creation, so I'm going to be gone for a bit. Maybe 2 weeks?"

ThriftWay's new lab was two hours away in the middle of nowhere.

Great.

I sighed and leaned more into the couch, "Great." I shook my pill bottle, "Could you at least get me more of these..." I placed them on the table; the bottle had about 14 left, "or at least tell me what they are for?" I spoke under my breath and looked away, making sure he didn't see my mouth move. I know I would get the same answer if I asked him.

All my life I was told to take them, and all my life I've been questioning the reason why.

Steve frowned and tapped his hands. "Well, as for getting you more, that's why I'm going to the manufacturers." He sighed, "the higher dosage that I gave to you a while ago, seemed to have a major side effect..." his voice trailed off, "but the ones that are a step-down... You know the ones you have been taking for years?"

I nodded.

"Well, they have been doing wonders!" He smiled.

Wonders? Wonders for what? From what I could tell I'm perfectly fine, minus the whole not dying thing.

"So in essence, I'm getting you more, while I oversee the production of some laxatives."

"Coolio." I spun the bottle on the glass table, "but I don't think this would last that long?" I picked it up and shook it.

Steve contemplated my observation before he spoke, "No sense." He took the bottle and opened it, "you shouldn't be stressed all the time, maybe pop two twice a day?" He counted the pills, "you'll have just enough for two weeks."

"Sure..." I took the bottle back from him and placed it under the table.

"I'm serious, Evelyn." He leaned closer to me, "you shouldn't be taking them all the time. Yes, I said when you're stressed but you can't possibly be stressed all the time."

I rolled my eyes and got up from the couch. My left foot was still in a cast, and Steve promised to take me to get it removed in a few days. I waddled over to the kitchen and grabbed a can of pop from the double door fridge. "So when are you leaving?" I asked, trying to change the conversation.

Steve pulled his feet up and leaned back on the couch. "Monday or should I say tomorrow morning."

I stopped chugging.

"Or right after you get your cast off, and after I drive your butt to school."