Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43072 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
“I guess there’s no time like the present, huh?” I take a sip of my beer before placing it on the coffee table behind me and leaning up until I’m on my knees. Jolene gets up as well thinking I’m going to leave her. “I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl.” I pet her one last time, then move closer to my record player, trying to find a record to set the tone for the melancholy mood I’m in. Most people would listen to something upbeat to help when they’re down in the dumps. That so isn’t me. My music always matches my mood. For work, I want something heavy metal or with a loud bass thrumming through my ears. A leisurely walk, something mellow. Cleaning the house is definitely something that you want to belt out to the roof. And when I’m in the type of mood I’m in right now, I need something that will either let me breathe through the emotions or allow me to cry it out. Weird but also cathartic when you’ve shut down every feeling you could possibly have for the past few years.
I finally land on the record I’m looking for. Organizing my records in alphabetical order makes life so much easier, and hey, my life might be falling apart, but at least I’m organized, right? I don’t go any further when I reach for my Bill Withers record. I slide the vinyl out of the jacket, move the needle to the track I want once the record is placed on the motor, and when “Ain’t No Sunshine” comes on, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let his words take over my house. It’s louder than normal, probably annoying my neighbors, but ask me if I care. There’ve been plenty of times I’ve had to hear their parties and coming and goings in the middle of the night. My one time won’t kill them. With that in mind, I grab my phone off the floor, fingers going to Madden’s last message, and type out a text.
Me: Hey Madden, I should probably be calling you instead of texting, but I’m worried you’ll give me a taste of my own medicine. If you could find it in your heart to talk, I’d really like to explain a few things.
I watch the screen, hoping he’ll respond, literally praying he’ll respond, and when no bubbles appear telling me he’s sending a text back, I place my phone on the ground beside me, settle until my back is to the coffee table, reach behind me to grab my beer, and settle in for the long haul of whether or not Madden will give me a chance to talk to him. I guess I can’t say that I blame him for not responding. Being a bitch wasn’t my smartest move when it comes to a man dealing with my brand of crazy.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Jolene.” She nuzzles her head into my shoulder. My arm wraps around my fur baby, holding her until she’s ready to settle back down on her side. That’s also when I remember that I put Madden’s notifications on silent last week. Maybe he’s responded, and I don’t know because I’m too busy being a mopey dopey mess to realize another mistake I’ve made. I grab my phone, unlock it, and go to my texts. I don’t see a notification from Madden, and he’s still silenced. I go ahead and fix that little mess-up and put my phone back where it was. There’s no use in staring at a phone, getting my hopes up only for him to possibly be completely done with me. And quite honestly, that would really suck.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Madden
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I tell my administrative assistant, Sharon, at work once I’ve returned from the adventure that happened at my brother’s. Once Forest got there, Mom and Dad took the girls to their place because after they’d calmed down for a little, they became worked up again when they saw their father. I stayed long enough for a police officer to escort Krissy through the house to gather her belongings. Clearly, a restraining order is just a piece of paper. A protective order was in place for the girls until a court date, and things were finally ironed out. Except today was another epic shit show. The hits keep hitting, my family can’t catch a break, and work is busting my balls like the case in point right here. I guess this is what I get for slacking off the past couple of weeks, working from home more and taking time off.
“Sorry, I’m afraid not,” Sharon tells me the news I’m not fucking happy to hear.
“They better buy this game after this bullshit. That meeting this morning should have been open and shut. It was what, hour three when I got the call?” I don’t ask for an answer, more to bitch about the fact that they’re being complete dicks about it and now I’ve got to get on a plane and head to Chicago for a dumb-as-fuck meeting that could be handled through an email.