High time

I want to talk to you. The way she says it makes me feel sick. The last thing I want to do is have a conversation.
I roll my eyes and look up at the ceiling, studying the fly sitting on the cracked plaster. When was the last time the ceiling was whitewashed?
I said I want to talk to you, which means right now and not in an hour or tomorrow.
Her voice sounds impatient. If there's one thing I hate, it's being forced. I shrug my shoulders and decide not to make a move. Why should I come to her office when she can say what she wants to say here? I wait and see that the fly is still there. She seems irritated. I'm not going to look her in the eye because if I'll burst out laughing, or she'll see my disapproving look, although she's probably too blind to see what I think of her. I hear a song in my head and start humming softly. What year was this a hit? It seems I am getting old because I don't remember. She grabs her bag and stands at the door and clearly doesn't feel like talking to me but instead starts a conversation with the receptionist.
What I don't see is that she calls the van that arrives not much later. I see through the window how the paramedics come out and rush inside. When they rush into the room with a syringe in their hands, I think about her for a minute and wonder if I shouldn't have started that conversation. It gets dark and everything goes back to how it was. Peaceful and quiet.

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@aneukpineung78 @wakeupkitty