Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“You don’t have a family?”
“Three kids and an old lady.” He drops his hand and shoves the last of the bread in his mouth. “They more or less understand. My trikes think I’m a superhero – which I fucking love – and my old lady never fails to remind me how my sponsor was and is still there for me when or if I ever need him.”
An impressed grunt thoughtlessly tumbles from me.
“Like the name says, I work in the field. I’m a divorce attorney. My clients consist of mainly women whose husbands are trying to fuck them out of everything because they can’t afford better representation – enter me.” His hands dust away the crumbs on them prior to sliding themselves into his suit pocket. “They’re given a similar all-access pass to my time, so my phone – unless required otherwise by the court or mediation – is always within reach. On the rare occasions where you call or text and I do not answer or cannot answer immediately, I’ll return your call as soon possible.”
I nod my comprehension.
“You’ll also be sharing a calendar with me. This is for your benefit more than mine. It’ll allow you to see what activities may interfere or intervene with an attempt of communication you may make. It’ll also allow me to track your progress across the board. Groups. Interviews. Milestones.”
The idea of the last two shift me uncomfortably around in the new tennis shoes Shelly had waiting for me in my closet on my first day in their home.
“You’re at a crucial crossroads in life. You need to understand that. You need to accept that. And need to have as many allies on your side as possible. Recovery starts in rehab, Collins, but the reality is, this shit is a lifetime commitment.”
No one tells you that when you take your first hit.
It’s not on any fucking warning label.
It’s not a passed around secret that everyone knows yet doesn’t talk about.
No one fucking lectures you about the built-in lifetime responsibility that comes even once you stop fucking with the drug until it’s much too late.
There’s no heads up that your relationship with nicotine or morphine or amphetamines is ‘til death do you part after a certain point in your connection.
That even once you stop loving it, you’re still bound together for fucking forever.
There’s only one decision I hate myself more for making than the pledge to permanently share part of my life with poison, and that’s living without the one person I know my soul will always be devoted to.
Maybe learning to manage one will give me the strength I need to finally learn to heal from the other.
Chapter 2
Presley
Discussion Topic 1: The Relationship Revolution
In utter disbelief, I rest my elbow on my desk, flop my face in the palm of my hand, and rub my temple to soothe the steadily increasing throb. “How is this effing possible?”
“Ma’am-”
“Oh, eff that,” I frustratedly bite into the phone. “Please, for the love of mac and cheese, do not effing ma’am me again.”
“There’s no need to curse-”
“No one’s cursing.” My swift snap is followed by the shutting of my eyes. “Do I wanna curse? Yes. Am I capable of cursing? Absolutely. Has a single curse word been said? No.”
The male chooses not to rebut, which is a wise decision.
“Now,” I irritatedly grouse, fighting the urge to take this call on the go to the cafeteria where I know our head chef, Andrii Allen, has leftover freshly baked blueberry scones just sitting out for the employee taking, “I do not want another excuse. I want an actual answer because this ‘ish is ridiculous.”
“Ma’am-”
“What did I say about calling me ma’am?”
“Mrs. Morrison-”
“Miss Morrison.”
“My apologies,” the nervous voice on the other end swiftly states, “Miss Morrison I understand your frustrations, but there’s nothing I can do. These were unforeseen circumstances-”
“This is the third delay!”
“Again, I understand your frustrations,” the man poorly comforts.
I don’t think he does.
Or if he does, I don’t think he fucking cares.
He’s just reading lines from a stale script.
Would it kill him to use a little improv to make it feel more personal?
“However, per policy, we cannot move a tenant into a residence without it being properly signed off by the inspection board. You will be available to move into your new home next weekend.”
“Okay, but I already have the movers booked for this weekend-”
“We understand this isn’t an ideal situation nor is the continual delay up to our personal company standards. For this reoccurring inconvenience, we are willing to financially compensate you by reducing your first month’s rent.”
Inconvenience?
Talk about one word that seems to be able to define my entire existence now.
Determination to take back more control over my spiraling life, I surprise myself by biting back, “No.”
“I’m sorry…no?”
“No.” Straightening my spine is done at the same time I put my metaphorical foot down. “You or your supervisors have two choices at this point. You can either compensate me three months rent, one for each delay I’ve had to deal with, courtesy of ‘unexpected circumstances’ and keep me as a renter or – and I hope you’re buckled up for this one because it’s about to get bumpy – you can cancel my renter’s agreement altogether and prepare yourselves to deal with a lawsuit for breach of contract and questionable business practices, which would absolutely upset the HOA you’ve already taken fees from me to please as they don’t particularly like renters in their gated community as opposed to homeowners.”