The Debt & the Doormat by Laura Barnard

a little hatch where you can ask for things, like in a petrol station.  Jazz runs over and practically shouts that she wants the morning after pill, all previous embarrassment gone.  The man behind the counter doesn’t seem to flinch, clearly used to this kind of erratic behaviour.  He gives her two pills; one to be taken now and one to be taken tomorrow.  She swallows it down without water. 
    ‘Well thank God that's over.’ she says, the colour already back in her face as we step back onto the street.
    ‘Yeah, let’s just get the hell out of here.’
    The sky is suddenly pitch black, only moonlight and the occasional working street light guiding us along.
    Jazz zips up her hooded tracksuit top and holds my hand as we begin to walk hurriedly along, keeping close to the street lights.  Just keep walking, I will myself.  Everything is going to be fine.  We just need to get on that train and we’ll be fine.  Yet my stomach is not one to be reasoned with and churns with nerves.  My face aches from the tension in it and I have to let go of Jazz’s hand every so often so that I can wipe the sweat from them on my dress.  It’s so hard to avoid everyone’s gazes as we walk past them.  I’m sure that if we catch their gaze they’ll turn on us like wild animals. 
    We turn the corner and I spot the tube station sign, my body starting to release in relief.  Thank God.  Jazz beams at me, clearly as relieved as me.  We start to almost skip towards it, like school girls, the stress of the day leaving our bodies. 
    We’re almost at the entrance when I lose my balance and feel myself falling forward.  I push my hands out in front of myself and scrunch my eyes up, knowing it's going to hurt.  I open my eyes a second later, feeling bruised and disorientated, to see that I’ve fallen face down on the pavement.  I try to pull myself up, but find my hands are grazed quite badly where I’ve tried to break my fall. 
    Oh well, at least they did seem to break my fall;  this could have been my face.  Yet at that moment they start to sting fiercely.  Probably already full of pavement dirt and rat’s faeces.  I’ll probably get the plague.  Maybe I should have a tetanus?  God it stings. 
    I look up to Jazz but she’s nowhere to be seen.
    ‘Jazz?’ I ask, pulling myself slowly up.
    Shit, where is she?  Where the hell is she?  I look around, spinning in a circle, but I can't see anyone.  She wouldn’t have got the train back without me, would she?  She wouldn’t have left me completely in the dark in a shit hole like this, would she?  A figure suddenly appears running round the corner and I tense my body, ready for attack.  That is until I realise it's Jazz.  Where did she go?
    ‘I tried to,’ she says, doubling over, completely out of breath.  ‘I tried to chase him, but...wow, I’m really out of breath.  But he was too fast for me.’
    ‘Chase who?’ I ask confused.  I study her face, trying to read it.  ‘Am I missing something?
    ‘The bastard that stole your bag.’
    I look down and sure enough my bag is no-where to be seen. 
    ‘I...I was mugged?’ I ask totally dazed.
    *                            *                            *
     
     
    When we’re back at the flat, Jazz forces me to have a brandy from the bottle Dad left here two Christmas’s ago. 
    ‘It's what they do in films isn’t it?  Have brandies when they’re in shock,’ she assures me.
    I roll my eyes, but decide to knock it back regardless, the heat stinging the back of my throat.  I run my grazed hands under the tap, hoping Jazz won't find the savlon she’s gone looking for.  I just want to go back to the house and get into bed. 
    ‘Well, I better be off then,’ I shout through to the bedroom where I can hear her rifling through my drawers. 
    ‘Are you crazy?’ she says, sticking her head out of the door.  ‘You’re too shaken up.  Why don't you