Joanie Wicker | The Wicked Witch of the West (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} wickedwicker) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} bellumlogs, |
As he rushed off to fumble about with glass bottles, Joanie stood awkwardly in the apartment. Crossing her arms self-consciously - taking off that turtleneck made her feel so exposed - she began to wander a bit, peering about like a curious little cat. She dismissed the old adage about cats and curiosity as she crept after the frantic doctor, catching sight of him gripping his head in pain. She cringed.
Maybe he was a junkie.
The implications of getting medical advice from a junkie doc began to nibble at her nerves as he called her inside. Suddenly, storming up here with all the fire and brimstone she possessed didn't seem like such a good idea. She bit on her lower lip, shuffling into the kitchen and sitting stiffly on the stool.
"Thanks," she said quietly, looking down at her knees. An apology tickled her throat, but she swallowed it. Finally glancing up at the scattered doctor, she uncrossed her arms, holding out her hands. Her fingers were spread, palms facing the floor, and the trembling in her digits was painfully obvious. Looking at them made her sick. Gulping, she fixed the doctor with a horrified, pleading look. "So, quickly, what...what would do this to me?"