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)
“No.”
“Okay.”
His caving causes me to deliver a skeptical stare.
As I should’ve predicted, he stands to his feet at the same instant he states, “This session is over.”
“You’re fucking serious?”
Doc’s head immediately tilts at the stupidity of my question.
“You can’t be serious!”
The unaffected expression along with his body continuing to exit indicates otherwise.
“Where the fuck are you going?”
“Out.”
“But this is my fucking session! This is my time!”
“And you are wasting mine, Collins.”
“We’re supposed to discuss what I want! What I decide!”
“If you truly believe that shit, then our time together has been fucking pointless.”
My forehead wrinkles in worry while my vocal cords constrict in dread.
What if he walks out that door?
What if he doesn’t come back?
What if I have to start this bullshit all over from the beginning?
Never move forward?
Or onward?
Or rediscover a life truly worth giving a shit about?
“Wait!” is squeezed out of me in so much desperation that it not only stops his foot from crossing the threshold but sends his stare over his shoulder my direction. “Just…please…wait.”
“Only if you’re gonna talk about it, Collins. Otherwise, I walk, and I won’t come back.”
I slowly slide down to the ground in submission. “I’ll…talk…”
He gives me a stern expression to complete the sentence.
“I’ll talk about the shit.” Threading my fingers through my hair, anxious for some sort of appeasement, I submit further. “All of it.”
His body turns to face yet doesn’t come closer. “Start.”
“Will you please sit the fuck down?”
“No.”
“Doc, I need…,” helplessness grows rapid as the disdain for myself begins its forceful choke hold, “I need…I need you to sit for this shit.”
Reluctance remains.
“For fucks sake, please.”
Doc shuts the door he was almost out of, crosses the room, and drops back into his seat, clipboard ready for notes in spite of the fact his pen is still capped. “Tell me what you did to her, Collins.”
Fuck, his voice is stiff and parental, commanding absolute admission for the crimes I have yet to be held accountable for in the light.
“Tell me what happened when your drug habit overlapped with the very thing you were getting high to cope with losing.”
“It was…” the words drip down the back of my throat, the dismal nature of them so foul my stomach churns. The chalky flavor of the fake cigarette should help curve the disgust swirling around my tongue, yet it only somehow enhances it. Adds to the sickness that’s causing me to sweat. To twitch. “It was like an out of body experience. I was so fucked up that I honestly don’t even know how I made it to her house that night…”
--
Getting out of my car, I slam the door closed, cigarette on my lips still burning.
Fuck, I need to put this shit out.
She hates when I smoke.
She hates when I drink.
She hates when I’m fucking high.
She’s become such an uppity little bitch over the last couple of months. I mean who fucking hates all the shit I enjoy doing? I mean, like one or two things, whatever, but all of the shit? Everyone else loves me when I’m on coke. I’m the life of the goddamn party. A comedian that could run with the best of them. Why doesn’t she?
Why can’t she climb down off her fucking high camel and be more fun?
Camel?
Is that right?
That feels right.
Then again when I’m popping Ivo’s “Diamonds” everything feels right.
Not exactly sure what’s in those expensive little shits but they give me the good vibes of great blow, all the horniness of good x, and all the longevity of some good sticky. The only real fucking drawback is the shitty comedown. That’s where “Diamond” earns the sharpness in its name. I always get angry or fucking annoyed or a splitting goddamn headache like I haven’t slept since October. Sometimes I’m fucking itchy. Sometimes I’m fucking twitchy. And sometimes…sometimes I don’t even remember where the fuck I am.
The shit sucks.
And this cigarette isn’t fucking helping like I hoped it would.
I toss the still burning thing into the street and jog up to her front door fairly certain I’m late.
Nowadays, I’m pretty much always late.
Time isn’t really shit I give a fuck about.
Shit happens when it happens.
After delivering a heavy pound, I rock impatiently on my feet.
Try to ignore the twitch in my shoulder.
The buzzing in my left ear.
Fuck, I’m hungry.
Like…eating a whole fucking cow hungry.
Wonder how pissed she’ll be if I suggest just ordering pizza and feeling her up on her parents’ couch while we wait. Maybe I’ll take her back to her room instead. Strip her out of those tight clothes she loves parading her cock tease ass around in and show her why we shouldn’t wait to bang like we have been. Show her why Bambi and all of Bambi’s friends can’t get enough of my dick.
Fuck me, man!
What the fuck is taking her so long to open the goddamn door?