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)
However, the ones that have been haunting me lately?
They’re the ones I wish I could forget.
The ones I wish had gotten washed away due to the amount of blow I was consuming.
Turns out…it isn’t just the big shit like getting fucking wasted at your only brother’s wedding because he was happy and being numb was the closest you fucking got to that emotion anymore that gets scraped into your soul.
It’s the small shit too.
Like not texting your sister happy birthday because you found out she stopped telling the world she had two brothers, so you figured she wouldn’t care anyway or promising to be there for the big events you haven’t been to in years – Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas morning, family reunions – only to decide the day before or day of that doing shrooms and watching Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone was more important.
And as if that shit wasn’t enough to have replaying in my mind, all the talking about Pres with Doc has me remembering even more shit I fucked up.
Things I guess I just let get overshadowed by the much worse shit.
Lately, I’ll be midbite of something and remember how many times I got too high to text her back “I love you” or mid piss and replay how I’d hit the ignore button to do a bump instead.
Last night while I was brushing my teeth, I got hit by a memory where I had talked hard shit about Pres behind her back to Ivo during a comedown because I was pissy and horny and she wasn’t around when I wanted her around, which then just made me scrub my tongue until I was puking in the sink.
And then I felt so fucking worthless afterward that I just slept on the cold bathroom floor.
Didn’t move until I got up for this fucking run around the property just in time to beat the sunrise.
And fuck, I hate running.
There’s only one thing I hate more yet ending my own life seems less appealing than it used to.
I don’t know if it’s because I wanna meet my niece or properly make amends with Noah like I didn’t the other day or something else.
Whatever it is, is what’s keeping me from paying an orderly a hefty amount under the table for a lethal combo from The Tent.
May not be a fucking chemist but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to bubble bubble toil and turn the fucking lights off forever.
“Good run?”
Doc’s unexpected voice forces my eyes open and face up to the man towering over me. “Define good.”
“You define it, Collins.”
The continued challenge to take control of my life bullshit has me grunting out an answer. “One that comes to a fucking end sooner rather than later.”
He sits down on the edge of the pool chair beside me. “You don’t like to run.”
“I fucking hate it.”
His expression doesn’t change, yet I know he’s expecting an explanation.
“Always have. Even back in high school during my gym rat days. Running was never my go to. Weights. Stairs. Bike. Basketball. Fuck, even tennis once in a while. Loved just about everything in the gym, hated the goddamn treadmill. And the only reason running even stuck around is because the shits free.”
“A cheap way to stay in shape.”
“Exactly.” Wiping away sweat with the back of my hand is followed by more unrequested information. “Between certain drug stints and getting a feel of a new scene in a new city, I’d go through these periods where I’d swing that pendulum back towards ‘healthy’. Stick to mainly weed and cigarettes and hookah. Run my ass off. Bang a yoga or Pilates instructor for free classes. Sneak into neighborhood pool or con my way into a country club to use their shit.” More sweat starts to slip down the side of my face, and I simply let it. “I’d spent most of spare time around bullshit jobs keeping myself physically occupied because I figured out doing that shit helped me fight the incomprehensible need to do destructive shit.”
“You used working out as ammunition against your vices.”
“It worked.”
“I’ve seen your activity log.”
Why am I not surprised this place has that shit too?
“Most hours are in your room – no big fucking surprise – or in Harmony.”
“Too much shit to be distracted by out here. Personnel. Squirrels. Bitches.”
The tiniest tick at the corner of his lips occurs.
“Only ran this morning because it’s the fucking ass crack of dawn.”
He tips his head slightly to one side. “And?”
“And I knew I probably wouldn’t come across people.”
I’m given a slow blink of disbelief.
“And trash panadas aren’t my shit, so I knew their fucking presence wouldn’t deter me.”
This time his head angles slightly to one side commanding I come out with what it is I’m clearly not.
“And…I felt like I was suffocating in my room. I needed the fresh air. I needed…,” the shoulder shrug that escapes is small, “change.”