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I chuckle. “Fillet?”
“You got a problem with that?” Margie calls out.
I shake my head. “No. It seems you guys have enough problems of your own.”
“Okay, I think our session is over for today,” the counselor announces, clapping her hands together. “Let’s revisit this tomorrow when everyone has had a chance to calm down.”
“Really?” I interject, amused. “But I feel like we’re just getting to the good part.”
“Brix, that’s enough,” she says, giving me a stern look. “Do I need to call security to escort you out too?”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Calm down, I’m going.”
I swagger over to the door. Just as I’m walking out, Margie grabs my arm and pulls me up against her. She winks at me, her hand cupping my balls as she gives me what I think is supposed to be a seductive smile, giving me a prime view of her rotting teeth.
“So, do you want to meet me later?” she purrs, her rancid breath nearly enough to make me hurl. “I give really good head.”
“Okay, Margie, that’s enough.”
The counselor’s stern voice interrupts before I get the chance to respond. Too bad, because I knew exactly what I was going to say, too.
“See you later, Margie,” I say, winking at her. “Make sure you look after that Fillet. He seems like a great catch.”I head back to my room to make the most of the free time I’ve been given to “reflect” on my choices and the decisions that led me here. Do my choices include nearly getting my head kicked in by a crazed, jealous maniac?
My real reflection should be on how weak I am. I agreed to switch with him, without so much as an explanation from him. Maybe if I’d been more persistent with him, he would’ve opened up to me. Now I’m stuck, with no idea if he’s in trouble, or what kind of state he’s in, and I can’t bring it up without making things awkward as fuck.
Especially when I made it clear that I was done helping the guy.
Now that I think about it, every time he’s asked me for help in the past, it’s been after a similar incident involving women and drugs, or some kind of scandal.
Maybe all this time, he’s been crying out for my help and I’ve just been too blind to see it. Either that, or all this talking about your feelings bullshit is turning me into a pussy.
“Anyone home?”
I look up and smile at Clarice when she pokes her head through the door. Her lips turn downward when she realizes it’s me.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“You remember me?” I say, both surprised and pleased.
“How could I forget someone called Brick?” she snaps, wheeling her trolley in. “I was going to offer you a magazine, but I’m pretty sure you’re illiterate—”
“Hey, hold up, what’s with the attitude?” I ask, laughing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffs.
“The other day it felt like were on our way to being friends. Best friends, even,” I say, pretending to be hurt.
She shakes her head. “Well, that was before I found out that you're one of those people.”
“One of those people,” I repeat with a laugh. “What does that mean?”
“Mr. rock 'n' roll, you know exactly what I mean.” She waggles a finger at me. “You have as much talent as a dead fish, yet you call yourself an artist.”
“A dead fish?” I manage to repeat with a straight face.
She nods. “You think world is handed to you on a silver platter, but let me tell you something. Your music sucks. It will always suck. Here,” she mutters, picking up a small stack of magazines and tossing them at me.
“You know who you remind me of? Betty White,” I say.
I knew it yesterday when we met, but I couldn’t quite put it together in my head. I thought she’d take it as a compliment, but the way her eyes narrow on mine, I know I’m wrong.
“Don’t you dare mention that name to me,” Clarice rants. “I was pegged for that Golden Girl’s role, you know, till Betty came on the scene and shafted me.”
“You were shafted by Betty White?” I say with a chuckle.
There’s a sentence I won’t be Googling.
“It’s none of your business what happened,” she growls. “And quit trying to monopolize my time,” she adds.
“Is that what I’m doing?” I say.
“I’ve been trying to leave since I walked in here,” she rants.
“You and me both,” I mumble under my breath.
I walk over to the door and hold it open for her.
“Hope I see you again, Clarice.”
Can’t wait to see which personality I get next time.
“I’d rather bathe in a tub full of hungry cockroaches.”
I chuckle as she closes the door with a bang. She’s entertaining, if nothing else.
Feeling a sudden pang of nostalgia, I lay down on my bed and scroll through the few pictures I have saved on my phone. My gran sent them to me before she died. I never replied to her email. Hell, it wasn’t until years later I even read it, because I was sure it was just the usual bullshit about how sorry she was for not stopping something she could’ve stopped. When I realized what it was, I regretted not opening it earlier.
