Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Nodding is absentmindedly done.
“The real lesson you need to address, Collins, is the fact it’s alright to feel shit.”
His blunt announcement receives my glare once more.
“Pain is a necessity to feel. As is sadness. Remorse. Emotions are not something to be buried fucking six feet under, Collins, they’re something to be grappled with. Embraced. Fucking felt.”
The urge to claw at my own skin to get away from all of those things grows yet the tiniest thimble of compassion strokes the seared nerves.
Encourages me to keep listening.
“Emotions, Collins, are verifications that you are alive. Consider yourself fucking fortunate. Not only for having felt things some people spend an entire goddamn lifetime searching for and never find, but because you are – in spite of all your efforts to change it – still alive. You look around this place and you see the other privileged faces who have survived. Get caught up in the false notion that everyone does when the grim fucking reality is many don’t.”
The word lands in my chest like a boxer’s victory blow.
“Many fail.”
Another punch, this one lower.
Stronger.
“Many die.”
His final hit knocks the candy out of my clutches.
Fuck, I know he’s right.
I’ve seen the statistics.
I’ve read the reports.
I’ve heard the testimonies of loved ones who were left behind.
I’ve witnessed and been the one to find overdose victims before.
It’s fucking insane because you never think that shit can happen to you. You never think you’ll get the bad batch or that your number will just be up without warning. You believe you’re better than they are or more careful, but the truth is, your time just hasn’t arrived yet. Fact of the matter is, no one gets to live like we live as addicts…chasing high after high after high…and make it to the finish line.
Whatever the fucking finish line may be.
The only way to not become another sob story about a dead loved one used to scare someone straight is to accept the shit I’ve done.
Decide on what the fuck I wanna do.
And be grateful I’m being given the chance to do it.
Doc’s disappearance doesn’t register; however, his words definitely fucking do.
For the first time in years, I feel slightly relieved.
Not quite optimistic but damn sure not so fucking pessimistic.
I let my shifting outlook lead me to The Treaty, the entertainment area I’ve always avoided like the fucking plague.
As I arrive at the practically vacant room, I find myself doing something else I haven’t before.
I flop down on the couch.
Right in the middle.
Accept that I deserve to breathe this air.
All air.
Any air.
Just as I reach for the remote on the glass coffee table, a blonde unexpectedly mimics my movements. Our hands knock into one another, and I immediately surrender.
She drops onto the cushion beside me at the same time she declares, “I’m totally open to like compromising on what we watch, but dibs on the remote.”
Unsure of what to say or do leaves me paralyzed in place.
“Hate to sound like a total bitch, but I am not about to watch another Desperate House Whores of Wherever marathon.” Her face snaps the direction of mine, revealing blue eyes that are kind and pretty to see. “Not that I think you’re that kinda guy, but I’d rather not take the chance.”
Uncomfortable by her proximity, the speed of her mouth, and the sheer intensiveness of energy, I feel myself prepare to get up.
Flee.
It’s all a bit much for how fragile my mindset is.
My frame has barely begun its upward motion when she flies an arm out to block me from bailing. “Whoa there, Flash. No need to fucking run away. Just chill.” She offers up the object in surrender. “You can have the fucking remote if it’s that big of a deal.”
Gingerly, I move her hand off of me.
I barely wanna be talked to.
I damn sure don’t wanna be fucking touched.
“It doesn’t matter to me at all.”
“Cool beans.” She turns the flat screen on. “What do we think about that? It’s a phrase my grandma used to say, and I’m trying to like trend it back.”
Her gaze latches onto my face just in time to see me cringe.
“Yeah…that’s what I thought too. But you know, I figure the shit is like any other shit that gets popular. If I just use it enough, people will jump on board.”
I feel the urge to smile yet don’t cave.
“What do you wanna watch?”
Instinct to resume my departure initially kicks in; however, Doc’s word blare through my brain like an unpredicted siren.
I am alive.
I can feel.
I’m fucking luckier than most.
It’s time to accept that and act on it.
“Whatever,” I casually answer and lean back against the couch.
“Alright, I’ll scroll. Holler if you see something you wanna watch, and I’ll do the same.” My nodding is proceeded by an introduction. “I’m Kara.”
“Collins.”
“Last name kind of guy,” she playfully teases while crossing her legs. “You like an ex-athlete or some shit?”