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Words I never thought I’d say? I’m so sick of cock.
Seriously, I’ve seen more cock than a chicken farm over the last twenty-four hours. If you’re going to insist on sending me a photo of your manhood, then for God’s sake, at least make sure it’s impressive. But do you know what offends me even more than that?
The fact that “Aaron” sent me this at four in the morning.
Four in the fucking morning.
All I can say Is thank God I don’t have notifications hooked up. Does nobody care about first impressions anymore? I guess when you’re sending a dick pic, making a good first impression isn’t high on your list of priorities.
When I can’t avoid it any longer, I reluctantly kick back the blankets and stomp down the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I get dressed and then make my way into the kitchen. After living alone for nearly three years, I moved back in with Mom and Jim last week, because the hospital is literally right there. This is definitely a temporary thing until I find somewhere nearby. I love Mom and Jim—sometimes even Mack is okay, but I love the independence of living alone more and boy do I miss it.
I trudge into the kitchen, put my phone down on the table, then I make myself a coffee. My body is desperate for caffeine, like it is every morning. I don’t function until after at least cup three, which is usually consumed within an hour of getting up. My phone is still buzzing every five minutes, which for someone who’s usually glued to her phone, is as irritating as hell. As I wait for my coffee to be ready, I silently thank Jim for moving in with his stupidly expensive Italian cappuccino maker.
Will they miss it if I take it with me when I move out?
I stand up and throw some bread into the toaster, which I know I’ll have to force myself to eat. I’m not hungry in the slightest, thanks to the fifty different cock pictures I’ve been forced to look at. My phone continues to buzz behind me on the table as I slather my toast with peanut butter.
“Oooh, another sex call.”
I turn around to find Mack holding my phone, reading my messages. He looks up, grins at me and then keeps reading.
That little shit.
I lunge forward and snatch it off him.
“Dude … privacy,” I growl, shaking my head. “Respect it. Reading my texts is not okay.”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you shouldn’t leave your phone unattended if you don’t want people reading your messages. But can I just say, these are way more entertaining than Cam’s emails?”
I shake my head at the little smartass.
“Stay out of my shit,” I warn him.
“Which is apparently, what you’ll be saying to these creeps,” Mack cackles.
I reach over to slap the back side of his head while trying not to laugh.
“Have a nice day, Mack. Try not to get yourself expelled, okay?”
He grins at me. “Nah, the teachers love me.”
I bet they do.
I grab my peanut butter toast, drink down the last of my coffee, then head for the door.The psych facility is just a short drive from home, so less than five minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot. I’m shitting myself, which is strange, because I don’t usually get nervous about anything. I just can’t shake the fear that’s floating in the back of my mind … and in my stomach.
What if I hate it?
I’m not even talking about specifically here, at this place, but more psychology in general. I chose it as my major because I had to choose something, and I didn’t know what I wanted. The idea was that when I figured it out, I’d change my major, but I never did. Now, at twenty-three, I’m still not sure what I want and that’s scary as hell to admit.
My phone beeps. I don’t think twice about looking at it, but as soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t.
What kind of sick fuck…
I shudder. That can’t be what I think it is, can it? There is no fucking way someone would take a photo of themselves doing that. Wait, how the hell did he get it all the way up there in the first place? I forward the image to both Katie and Sasha, because if I have to visualize an internal picture of someone taking a dump, then so should they.
Getting out of my car, I walk over to the entrance. As you’d expect, there’s a lot of security before I even make it inside. Security cameras are positioned everywhere and When I finally make it through, there’s a whole new round waiting for me. I get it, with such high-profile celebrities paying a fortune for treatment here, they need to be thorough, but fuck … are they going to pay me for the hour will take to get through this circus every single day?
