I Drank the Toxic Cocktail

Fairly looked around the room anxiously. The sterile white walls were no comfort; the spotted plaster of the ceiling was not much better. The beaten linoleum floor shone with a dim glow from the overhead fluorescent lighting, showing a reflection of his jeans where the mop had washed most recently. Fairly exhaled deeply, hoping to quell the trembling that overtook his body whenever he had to take a needle. It’s just a blood test, he told himself unconvincingly. They’re not going to put anything in you, just take a bit of something out, and you have five litres of it anyway. That was what the sources he had read had said. Five litres, and only one needle’s worth will be coming out. Still not how I want to be spending my first Friday afternoon off in weeks.