Cheating to Survive (Fix It or Get Out) by Christine Ardigo

replaced themselves with worry and fear.
    A game of Candy Land, Sara and Andrew playing in the middle of the brown rug fighting over the blue gingerbread man, resurfaced. Although Andrew leaving for college proved difficult, Sara venturing out every night with her friends broke her heart. Every mother wished their children success and happiness, but their concurrent departure caused muscle aches and migraines.
    The anguish inside her needed to go.
    Her head pounded as she searched for ideas to bring life to the cancer fundraiser, but surrounded by this emotionless fog, inspiration concealed itself. Victoria shoved her yellow notepad aside. It remained empty and laid fallow like her. She tilted into the sofa and wound into a cocoon.
    Heartache submerged deeper into her core and took over every cell. Hidden, locked away, she refused to reveal her collapse to anyone. She kept her sobs low in the event Sara returned without warning, refusing to let her see her in this state.
    She promised her father she wouldn’t settle for less than the best. Excellence in all achievements, but Victoria’s enthusiasm and motivation washed away with each passing year. Tears saturated the pillow, visions of her father’s cachectic body and frail hands surfaced while her creativity sank further into the hollow gorge within her.
    No inspiration left.

     
     

Chapter 7
Heather
    Heather stomped out of Jean’s office after another exhilarating ass whipping. Did Jean twirl a spinner with Heather’s name on it this morning? Let’s attack Heather for no apparent reason, I’m bored and need to feel important.
    Another argument with Lance yesterday and now Jean reminded her of some ridiculous thing Heather did three months ago. “Those that forget the past are condemned to repeat it.” Did she really think Heather would forget how she reamed her out after the Pharmacy and Therapeutics meeting in January, simply because she answered a question Jean didn’t know the answer to? Sure, Jean looked like an idiot, but she was one. How was that her fault?
    Heather took a short cut through the kitchen, ignoring the hairnet box on the wall to her right.
    “Hey, hey, Heather, don’t look so sad.” Tyrell, one of the cook’s sang to her. He rubbed his eyes like a small child.
    “Stop, I’m not crying.” She hid the smile growing on her face.
    “Yes you are, boo hoo hoo.”
    Heather took a towel from the counter and whipped it at him.
    “Ooh, rough, I like it.”
    “Knock it off, silly.” She shook her head and grinned.
    Tyrell was extremely intelligent and it upset Heather that he worked here. She encouraged him to go to college and find another job, but he worked with his classmates, neighbors and relatives. None of them went to college; he only knew this life, a wasted talent.
    Heather charged up the six flights of stairs to her floor. They had their weekly nutrition meeting in fifteen minutes but she needed time to cool down after the bout with Jean. She reached the stairwell door and shook her thighs to release the inferno, then rubbed them, discharging the lactic acid.
    She pulled out a chair on Six-North but a nurse immediately approached her.
    “Heather, don’t kill me but that lady in 614a wants to see you.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know, she just said she wanted to see a dietitian.”
    Heather groaned. Did it ever end? She shoved her chair back under the counter and then entered the patient’s room.
    Unbrushed mat of hair, crusty feet with long yellowed toenails, the room reeked of body odor. She pretended to scratch her nose as she inhaled into her hand. “Hello, I’m Heather, the dietitian for the floor. You wanted to see me?”
    “Yeah, the food here sucks, can’t I get something real?” Her low scratchy voice let Heather know a carton of cigarettes was her best friend.
    Of course it was about her meal. God forbid they wanted nutrition literature and education. Perhaps enhance their health so they wouldn’t be a