Post by khardaway on Nov 7, 2009 16:06:49 GMT -5
What the hell did she just say? Something about Kimberly. Did she just take a swing at me like that? The fucking nerve of her. She can’t get away with this, so I do the only thing I can think of...I take her and slam her chest to the wall and get behind her, forcing up against her. I take one long pause and whisper gently into her ear, with enough force and anger management issues so that she knows that I’m not one to be messed with. But everybody (including her) should fucking know about that.
“Never....NEVER....bring my daughter into this, you got me?”
“Let me go, Kevin....please.”
“Please answer the question.”
I push up against her more, gripping my nails into her wrist, the blood seeping out gently. I want her to answer the damn question.
“Ow...ple...you’re hurting me. LET ME GO!”
“Answer the question.”
Fingernails digging in further, more blood rushing out of the cuts on her wrist. Her nose is squished up against the cement wall, like it could possibly be broken from the force of myself. I can’t help but scream at her ear, damaging her canals, possibly ruining her hearing for the rest of time.
It’s a loud scream. Piercing scream.
“ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!!!!!”
“YES, I GOT YOU. NOW LET....ME....GO!!!”
See, aren’t you glad you asked nicely now? So that’s what I do...I let her go...gently. Seriously, I move away gently and sit back down in the chair near her desk. The thing is, she doesn’t move from the time-out corner I sent her to. She just stands there, I guess trying to cop a feel of what in holy god’s name just happened, but who the hell really knows, huh? She fixes her hair though and goes to sit down in her chair. But she doesn’t.
What the hell is she doing now?
Apparently coming over to my direction. Heh. Heh. This could get really awesome or really shitty, who’s one to decide? I should decide.
She doesn’t do anything that interests my attention. Instead she kneels over and she gets right into my face. I take the time to smell her once more. Good god. But she’s not in the same type of frame that I am in right now, instead she comes off like a fiery pistol.
“You know, I could honestly call the police right now and arrest you for attempted rape.”
You know, why bother? Let me stir the pot up a little more, honey.
“Then why don’t you pick up the phone and dial the police department. I got all day, sweets.”
Son of a bitch, she’s actually picking up the phone. So much for the pot calling the kettle black. I can be an idiot and make some downright hasty decisions. Hold on, she’s hanging up the phone. What is this now?
“You know...I’m not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can come up with something better to torture you with.”
Ok, just the way that came out of her mouth sounded like an invitation to something sweeter and something a helluva lot better. Images are starting to come up in my head now. Stuff that I won’t even mention because it’s just too damn exciting...plus, why the fuck do you need to know about my personal thoughts? Fucking perverts. Whew, that’s another insane thought. But, of course...reality sticks its ugly head back into frame as I can hear more yelling coming out of her damn mouth. If only I had duct tape with me. Of course....what am I thinking?
“Kevin? KEVIN?!”
“Hmm?”
“I said, your session is over with. You can leave now?”
“Oh...thank you.”
“Whatever, just get the hell out of my office.”
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“And don’t call me “babe” again or I’ll turn your Adam’s apple into apple juice, you got me?”
“Ooooh, stealing a page from the same person who almost killed Angie, huh?”
“Just fucking leave, won’t you?”
“Ok, ok, ok...I’m gone.”
Exit. Stage right. Let me open the door, shall we? Walking towards the lobby door, I just stare out into the vacant glass panel that has Sarah’s name written on the frame. Not even looking at who’s sitting down, who’s next to feel the deadly wrath of the sexiest therapist alive, who’s ready to get the cold, viper-like stare of reality that kicks them where it would hurt the most. I open the door though to hear one faint little message though. Sarah doesn’t know I heard what she said, and I’m never going to tell her. But all I got was....
“Angie? Can I have a word with you please? It will only take a minute.”
Checkmate.
If only I was alone for enough time where I could do the whole “stick a glass to the door to hear what they’re saying or doing” trick, by hell I would. Odds are, they’re talking about what I did. How I forced myself upon Sarah like that. How the hell did I know that was a forceful attack? I wasn’t thinking straight. I never think straight enough, either I veer left or right on the way there. And sometimes I just fall off course in general. But my money is on Sarah, completely yelling at Angie for what I did. Great. Like I need the bitch to yell at me some more, when all I was trying to do was act in self-defense. Sure, it came off as an attempted rape, but like I said...I veer off course half the time.
“I can’t take it anymore...”
I slowly walk back over to the door and press my ear against her door. Of course, the secretary is looking at me like I just ran over her dog, but what’s the point. All I do is tell her to quiet. I need to listen. It’s driving me up the fucking wall.
“....the nerve of him. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I have no idea. I thought you would know. He’s your husband.”
“Well...as of now.”
Blah, blah, blah. Can’t say I was expecting that one. Ok, sarcasm aside...I need more out of this.
“I talked to Zak today.”
“Zak? Really? About what?”
“About everything. I needed someone to talk to and he was the only one there. Surely enough, he was just as confused as I was, but at least he could talk to me without any problem.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me? That sense of look just sprawled upon me like I was some sort of possessed demon. How in the holy hell could he do that? Better yet, what did he do? I swear to god, if he fucking touched her, I was going to cave his head in even further than what I originally planned. Until it turns to a pasty mush of blood, brain, and skull. Remember that scene in Punisher: War Zone where Frank Castle grabs that dude and just caves his head in with a SINGLE. DAMN. PUNCH? Yeah, that’s what I want to do. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Sigh. Need to listen to more. But instead I hear footsteps towards the door. Time to bail on this bitch. Door opens for them. Door closes for me. Nothing happens, nothing is said or done. The secretary could’ve said something but I think she’s too hare-brained for the job.
I need to walk away. Focus on something else. Focus on something more important. Need to get the hell...
“KEVIN?!”
Oh shit...
“Kevin. What the fuck?”
“What the fuck what?”
Angie. Calm as a pistol, right? Wrong.
*SLAP*
Figure I might sell it. We are on the staircase. So I go tumbling down a flight of stairs. She did slap me pretty hard. But I fall down well enough so I don’t hurt myself.
“Oh, I should have you arrested.”
“Geez, deja vu...sounds like something my therapist told me.”
“Yeah, well...she didn’t have the balls to call the cops on you, but I do, asshole.”
“Go ahead, do your worst.”
I slowly get up and walk towards the door, now hearing sounds of bone cracking against flesh. A bad sign. I still keep walking. Still hear that sound. Turn around to see the bitch punching herself like she’s a worthless little narrator herself. Pft, don’t you know that the first rule of Fight Club is to NOT talk about Fight Club. I walk out into the warm, sunny streets of Baltimore to turn around and still see her, bloody as anything. Cuts on her head, bruises forming on her cheek bone. And there’s the phone out now.
9......
1.......
1.......
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Yes...”
Now here come the fake water works. Or as the cool kids like to call it, the “whaaaambulance”. Cute term.
“My...husband can....can’t...stop be.....bea.....beating me. He’s like some sort of....crazed psycho.”
She keeps going on and on like this, as the woman on the other line is listening. Wait, she isn’t serious, is she?
“Outside of Dr. Sar....Sarah Myers’s....off....office. Yes....oh my god, please thank you so much...please help.”
Then she gives out the address to the place. She is serious. Dead serious. So serious, she has a fucking smirk on her face. Now I really want to punch her. But doing that wouldn’t do any harm now would it?
Now she hangs up. The crying has turned to laughter. Evil, sinister laughter. Like The Joker was behind this.
“I’ve had enough of your shit for the longest time, okay? Now it’s my time to bend the rules. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to have a smoke before I see your fucking carcass get thrown into a cop car.”
Good. Walk away. Don’t let me ever see you again. Problem is, I’m in a world of shit, so odds are I’ll have to see her again. Definitely with Kimberly around. Damn, I wish she was old enough to understand all of this. That Angie is wrong and I’m right. I may act like a dick, I may sound like a dick, but I’m fucking right. Dammit, I’m fucking right.
Either way, let me sit down in a comfortable position before the cops arrive. Angie can’t even see me right now. Good.
What to do while waiting for a trip to the human impound lot?
I got an idea...
I close my eyes for a second, letting them rest. They’re , bloodshot, beaten like a mule. I need rest. I feel like I haven’t gotten any in quite awhile. It’s always been moving around like a ball of Bull in me. Well, that crash has finally hit it’s mark.
I take my hat off and run my fingers through my less than stellar hair. Somehow, even though I’m sure the cops have just left the station, but I can still hear the sirens going off. It’s just a gut instinct. Everybody can hear police sirens. It’s a sign that impending doom is coming. Even if it doesn’t involve the people who are not expecting a visit from the fuzz. Anyways, everything I said so far is true, and somebody ends up coming back into my head. The perfect example for this type of problem.
Sigh. The sirens are getting closer. But my depressive state turns into a mental state of anguish. How is that not different? It’s the same fucking thing. What I meant to say was that my depression has turned to one of apathy. I can’t do a damn thing now. Angie is still smoking her damn cigarette, and I think I can see her pushing the butt of the cigarette into her wrists, burning them. I can hear the searing of flesh. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back myself.
Sirens are feeling like piercings to the heart now, just waiting for it’s attack to begin. She’s done with her cigarette, throwing it into the sewer drain as she slowly, but surely walks back over here. I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me to shut the hell up, but what do I care? She won this round. She won this round with a TKO to the fucking temple. I don’t need any more sympathy, you bitch.
It’s respect in the millions and millions of little particles that this world is made of. A little odd for a analogy, but I’m in a weird state of mind right now. The cops are nearly here right now. Maybe I should put my hands on my head right now, so I don’t have to deal with the good cop/bad cop scenario like in EVERY single cop movie/TV show/viral video/porno out there.
Let the sirens ring, loud and proud, brothers. As I go forth to a place once thought as the Mecca of all things grim and ugly. If Andy Dufresne can escape from something as vicious as Shawshank State Penitentiary, then I could escape from something as calm as the Baltimore Police Department. Ok, I’m getting ahead of myself again.
The cuffs feel nice and warm at least. Whether or not it’s because of the warm summer day or just because Tubby here had a bead of neck sweat roll down to them, who knows. That’s a pretty disgusting thought, now don’t you think?
See, even they have comfortable seats. Seats made out of plastic, oh boy. Sarcasm meter is at a 11 now. Yes, these go to 11. But they have seats that you put your hands behind, for a more comfortable feeling, so you don’t feel squished like a cockroach at a motel. Likewise, it’s weird for a police department like Baltimore’s to have them.
Either way, I’m told my rights and I’m told by the cop to “kindly shut the fuck up, please”. Well, least he said “please”. And off I go to jail. And off I go from this narration.
But to end things on a light note, if everybody is now wondering, “Well, how in the hell does he get out, he has a match on Monday?”, I’ll kindly let you all time travel with me. My bail was set to a cool $50K. My bail was made. I was released.
By Sarah.
See, Garth Brooks said it proud and loud...
“We’ve got friends in low places!”
“Never....NEVER....bring my daughter into this, you got me?”
“Let me go, Kevin....please.”
“Please answer the question.”
I push up against her more, gripping my nails into her wrist, the blood seeping out gently. I want her to answer the damn question.
“Ow...ple...you’re hurting me. LET ME GO!”
“Answer the question.”
Fingernails digging in further, more blood rushing out of the cuts on her wrist. Her nose is squished up against the cement wall, like it could possibly be broken from the force of myself. I can’t help but scream at her ear, damaging her canals, possibly ruining her hearing for the rest of time.
It’s a loud scream. Piercing scream.
“ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION!!!!!”
“YES, I GOT YOU. NOW LET....ME....GO!!!”
See, aren’t you glad you asked nicely now? So that’s what I do...I let her go...gently. Seriously, I move away gently and sit back down in the chair near her desk. The thing is, she doesn’t move from the time-out corner I sent her to. She just stands there, I guess trying to cop a feel of what in holy god’s name just happened, but who the hell really knows, huh? She fixes her hair though and goes to sit down in her chair. But she doesn’t.
What the hell is she doing now?
Apparently coming over to my direction. Heh. Heh. This could get really awesome or really shitty, who’s one to decide? I should decide.
She doesn’t do anything that interests my attention. Instead she kneels over and she gets right into my face. I take the time to smell her once more. Good god. But she’s not in the same type of frame that I am in right now, instead she comes off like a fiery pistol.
“You know, I could honestly call the police right now and arrest you for attempted rape.”
You know, why bother? Let me stir the pot up a little more, honey.
“Then why don’t you pick up the phone and dial the police department. I got all day, sweets.”
Son of a bitch, she’s actually picking up the phone. So much for the pot calling the kettle black. I can be an idiot and make some downright hasty decisions. Hold on, she’s hanging up the phone. What is this now?
“You know...I’m not going to.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can come up with something better to torture you with.”
Ok, just the way that came out of her mouth sounded like an invitation to something sweeter and something a helluva lot better. Images are starting to come up in my head now. Stuff that I won’t even mention because it’s just too damn exciting...plus, why the fuck do you need to know about my personal thoughts? Fucking perverts. Whew, that’s another insane thought. But, of course...reality sticks its ugly head back into frame as I can hear more yelling coming out of her damn mouth. If only I had duct tape with me. Of course....what am I thinking?
“Kevin? KEVIN?!”
“Hmm?”
“I said, your session is over with. You can leave now?”
“Oh...thank you.”
“Whatever, just get the hell out of my office.”
“Whatever you say, babe.”
“And don’t call me “babe” again or I’ll turn your Adam’s apple into apple juice, you got me?”
“Ooooh, stealing a page from the same person who almost killed Angie, huh?”
“Just fucking leave, won’t you?”
“Ok, ok, ok...I’m gone.”
Exit. Stage right. Let me open the door, shall we? Walking towards the lobby door, I just stare out into the vacant glass panel that has Sarah’s name written on the frame. Not even looking at who’s sitting down, who’s next to feel the deadly wrath of the sexiest therapist alive, who’s ready to get the cold, viper-like stare of reality that kicks them where it would hurt the most. I open the door though to hear one faint little message though. Sarah doesn’t know I heard what she said, and I’m never going to tell her. But all I got was....
“Angie? Can I have a word with you please? It will only take a minute.”
Checkmate.
If only I was alone for enough time where I could do the whole “stick a glass to the door to hear what they’re saying or doing” trick, by hell I would. Odds are, they’re talking about what I did. How I forced myself upon Sarah like that. How the hell did I know that was a forceful attack? I wasn’t thinking straight. I never think straight enough, either I veer left or right on the way there. And sometimes I just fall off course in general. But my money is on Sarah, completely yelling at Angie for what I did. Great. Like I need the bitch to yell at me some more, when all I was trying to do was act in self-defense. Sure, it came off as an attempted rape, but like I said...I veer off course half the time.
“I can’t take it anymore...”
I slowly walk back over to the door and press my ear against her door. Of course, the secretary is looking at me like I just ran over her dog, but what’s the point. All I do is tell her to quiet. I need to listen. It’s driving me up the fucking wall.
“....the nerve of him. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I have no idea. I thought you would know. He’s your husband.”
“Well...as of now.”
Blah, blah, blah. Can’t say I was expecting that one. Ok, sarcasm aside...I need more out of this.
“I talked to Zak today.”
“Zak? Really? About what?”
“About everything. I needed someone to talk to and he was the only one there. Surely enough, he was just as confused as I was, but at least he could talk to me without any problem.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me? That sense of look just sprawled upon me like I was some sort of possessed demon. How in the holy hell could he do that? Better yet, what did he do? I swear to god, if he fucking touched her, I was going to cave his head in even further than what I originally planned. Until it turns to a pasty mush of blood, brain, and skull. Remember that scene in Punisher: War Zone where Frank Castle grabs that dude and just caves his head in with a SINGLE. DAMN. PUNCH? Yeah, that’s what I want to do. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Sigh. Need to listen to more. But instead I hear footsteps towards the door. Time to bail on this bitch. Door opens for them. Door closes for me. Nothing happens, nothing is said or done. The secretary could’ve said something but I think she’s too hare-brained for the job.
I need to walk away. Focus on something else. Focus on something more important. Need to get the hell...
“KEVIN?!”
Oh shit...
“Kevin. What the fuck?”
“What the fuck what?”
Angie. Calm as a pistol, right? Wrong.
*SLAP*
Figure I might sell it. We are on the staircase. So I go tumbling down a flight of stairs. She did slap me pretty hard. But I fall down well enough so I don’t hurt myself.
“Oh, I should have you arrested.”
“Geez, deja vu...sounds like something my therapist told me.”
“Yeah, well...she didn’t have the balls to call the cops on you, but I do, asshole.”
“Go ahead, do your worst.”
I slowly get up and walk towards the door, now hearing sounds of bone cracking against flesh. A bad sign. I still keep walking. Still hear that sound. Turn around to see the bitch punching herself like she’s a worthless little narrator herself. Pft, don’t you know that the first rule of Fight Club is to NOT talk about Fight Club. I walk out into the warm, sunny streets of Baltimore to turn around and still see her, bloody as anything. Cuts on her head, bruises forming on her cheek bone. And there’s the phone out now.
9......
1.......
1.......
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Yes...”
Now here come the fake water works. Or as the cool kids like to call it, the “whaaaambulance”. Cute term.
“My...husband can....can’t...stop be.....bea.....beating me. He’s like some sort of....crazed psycho.”
She keeps going on and on like this, as the woman on the other line is listening. Wait, she isn’t serious, is she?
“Outside of Dr. Sar....Sarah Myers’s....off....office. Yes....oh my god, please thank you so much...please help.”
Then she gives out the address to the place. She is serious. Dead serious. So serious, she has a fucking smirk on her face. Now I really want to punch her. But doing that wouldn’t do any harm now would it?
Now she hangs up. The crying has turned to laughter. Evil, sinister laughter. Like The Joker was behind this.
“I’ve had enough of your shit for the longest time, okay? Now it’s my time to bend the rules. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to have a smoke before I see your fucking carcass get thrown into a cop car.”
Good. Walk away. Don’t let me ever see you again. Problem is, I’m in a world of shit, so odds are I’ll have to see her again. Definitely with Kimberly around. Damn, I wish she was old enough to understand all of this. That Angie is wrong and I’m right. I may act like a dick, I may sound like a dick, but I’m fucking right. Dammit, I’m fucking right.
Either way, let me sit down in a comfortable position before the cops arrive. Angie can’t even see me right now. Good.
What to do while waiting for a trip to the human impound lot?
I got an idea...
I close my eyes for a second, letting them rest. They’re , bloodshot, beaten like a mule. I need rest. I feel like I haven’t gotten any in quite awhile. It’s always been moving around like a ball of Bull in me. Well, that crash has finally hit it’s mark.
I take my hat off and run my fingers through my less than stellar hair. Somehow, even though I’m sure the cops have just left the station, but I can still hear the sirens going off. It’s just a gut instinct. Everybody can hear police sirens. It’s a sign that impending doom is coming. Even if it doesn’t involve the people who are not expecting a visit from the fuzz. Anyways, everything I said so far is true, and somebody ends up coming back into my head. The perfect example for this type of problem.
Sigh. The sirens are getting closer. But my depressive state turns into a mental state of anguish. How is that not different? It’s the same fucking thing. What I meant to say was that my depression has turned to one of apathy. I can’t do a damn thing now. Angie is still smoking her damn cigarette, and I think I can see her pushing the butt of the cigarette into her wrists, burning them. I can hear the searing of flesh. I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back myself.
Sirens are feeling like piercings to the heart now, just waiting for it’s attack to begin. She’s done with her cigarette, throwing it into the sewer drain as she slowly, but surely walks back over here. I’m pretty sure she’ll tell me to shut the hell up, but what do I care? She won this round. She won this round with a TKO to the fucking temple. I don’t need any more sympathy, you bitch.
It’s respect in the millions and millions of little particles that this world is made of. A little odd for a analogy, but I’m in a weird state of mind right now. The cops are nearly here right now. Maybe I should put my hands on my head right now, so I don’t have to deal with the good cop/bad cop scenario like in EVERY single cop movie/TV show/viral video/porno out there.
Let the sirens ring, loud and proud, brothers. As I go forth to a place once thought as the Mecca of all things grim and ugly. If Andy Dufresne can escape from something as vicious as Shawshank State Penitentiary, then I could escape from something as calm as the Baltimore Police Department. Ok, I’m getting ahead of myself again.
The cuffs feel nice and warm at least. Whether or not it’s because of the warm summer day or just because Tubby here had a bead of neck sweat roll down to them, who knows. That’s a pretty disgusting thought, now don’t you think?
See, even they have comfortable seats. Seats made out of plastic, oh boy. Sarcasm meter is at a 11 now. Yes, these go to 11. But they have seats that you put your hands behind, for a more comfortable feeling, so you don’t feel squished like a cockroach at a motel. Likewise, it’s weird for a police department like Baltimore’s to have them.
Either way, I’m told my rights and I’m told by the cop to “kindly shut the fuck up, please”. Well, least he said “please”. And off I go to jail. And off I go from this narration.
But to end things on a light note, if everybody is now wondering, “Well, how in the hell does he get out, he has a match on Monday?”, I’ll kindly let you all time travel with me. My bail was set to a cool $50K. My bail was made. I was released.
By Sarah.
See, Garth Brooks said it proud and loud...
“We’ve got friends in low places!”
