Shut up you want my petty annoyances that threaten your days serenity to disappear by putting me on drugs that will make my personality evaporate

Doctor don’t you see how combative he is sometimes I think I cant control it

That’s what you’d like right you snake complete control maybe that’s all you’ve ever wanted

I can see that your attempts to stave off his acting out only anger him more

What the fuck else would they do how can I even go home now what is there to go back to

It was one week that is bullshit you can’t make me take anything

If you want any chance at going back you’re gonna take this or we’ll shove it down your gullet

The mountains in Arizona are spectacular but the desert’s not cold like they said it was that would make Michelle sad I hope she’s never sad

I won’t take those stupid fucking pills how thick are you how do any of you not notice I’m just on speed and that’s all its so obvious but I feel Fortunes warm grasp in knowing that as long as they don’t know I can just spit it all out when they’re not looking

We want the best for you just to help you we just want to help you help you help you take that step, just one foot at a time on the red beams lining the walkway, and keep your palms on the railing. Take your time Grant. You may take as long as you want, we’re in no hurry to have you. Zach’s here and he wants to see you, but he can wait a little bit longer. All roads lead to Rome. Cold, dark, and deep. Violent waves crash and roar. You know all that water eventually comes around back again in a current? Remember Driver’s Ed with Coach? Two french fries or one waffle-cut fry. Pelahatchie in the early afternoon. Sunshine and dust on the road. He gave you his Concerta.

I’m looking for a record store the map said it was right here

Sonnuh, this is a Generaul Sto’ in Learned you needuh go t’Raymond

Sorry sir have a good day

Where is Raymond

Mushrooms after the ACT I got a 34 Parked my car in the bushes next to the county road and I’m out of water and find nothing but shit skinning my shins on burrs in the field and there’s blood in my socks but I get to the store and get that Led Zeppelin double album which makes a good alias

Son you could really hurt someone with that

But it’s just for Scouts

Mom sits on my bed and opens the Bible and reads from the Revelation of St. John the Divine A man comes on a white horse a warrior king and she says that the warrior king is the baby in the manger and to never forget that especially in Sunday School and church

I didn’t look at bad stuff on the computer I swear

You’re bipolar now

Grant we love you and know what’s best for you what is best is what the doctor says we can hear you crying about her and we know you’re really depressed and need help

I don’t need help I just need solitude and for y’all to let go

Mom was Adam white and Eve black

No

He will come on a white horse

We will all disappear

What did I do to her I’m not that spoiled not any more than she is I didn’t do anything wrong I just panicked and didn’t know what to say and now she’s gone for good

I heard you like Star Wars

Here’s my number we should have a screening sometime

Thanks Michelle you just got a text with my number

That’s a funny quote but I’m sending you a better one

Thursday nights are always a drag but it was really good to see my dad and brother and get a meal with them I bet you would think my family is so boring but to be honest I kind of like it that way no drama or problems divorces and all that kind of shit

Mine’s not like that I can’t even tell my grandma where I go to school she thinks I go to UC Davis If she did know I was here in the Bay she would come here and beg me for money She lives in Alameda and has had a gambling addiction for decades I think it really did a number on my dad Even better my mom’s half Indian so I and everyone on that side has a real risk for alcoholism

That sucks now I feel bad that I don’t have any real issues worth mentioning Well I did leave the church and that was kind of a big deal because most in the South are Christian and expect everyone else to be too

That’s kind of an issue Do you think its bad if I would go alone at night and drink liquor from my parents’ cabinet while I was in high school

No everyone experiments A frequent habit of drinking alone as an adult or late adolescent is something to worry about but you’re not like that Michelle you’re too nice and sweet

Aww Granty

You’re bipolar now

The lights are off and she’s on top of me rubbing her body against mine and kissing me and she blurts out I love you and I say the same back but she gets upset and doesn’t accept my response

Hi I’m Sean are you Grant

Nice to meet you Sean I guess we’re both getting everything all set up and unpacked

Mom don’t intrude

Grant look at his tag Eighty Seventh and Park that’s unbelievable

We will all disappear

Everything will be perfect again

But what if I don’t

How I found the Goose is a whole different story. Get a call from the Shoe-Store Kid, round three that afternoon, “You gotta take this mark for me, can’t do it tonight….I’ll reward you handsomely.” And what was I to say? I mean, the Kid, he had his connections. He didn’t frighten me, but his associates–any of them–the Vigilante, the Doctor, Giles the Plumber…I don’t wanna have to answer their call when the Kid comes up a mark short and puts it on me.

Tracing the marks comes easy now. They’ll put a boy on him, Willy the Disk in earlier days, now I think it’s a narc fuzz turned tracker pigeon named Arnie Black. The Network aids in all of this. Practically advertising for marks at this point. You know, late night commercials, colon cleansing…they’ll say you’ve got pounds of fecal matter stored up in your bowels so you decide to check, just a digit or two up it–and the connection is made–like a hot-wire straight to the brain, sending back signals to sprout new sex organs around the contact point. And the brain, like an FM beacon, starts sending out low frequency signals, pulses of affirmation–notification of a new mark, ready for business.

Arnie picks these up like a fuzz dispatcher, doesn’t even need any assistance, it’s all in his head, years and years of tracking junkies and fags through countless dark alleys and tunnels, the man learns how to pick up a good mark signal when there’s one to be had. You should see the cat at work when he picks one up–boy, it’s a sight to behold. He sits in the same chair all day, eyes listless, with an expression of dazed enlightenment, and then suddenly–it hits him and he swivels around into the mark’s direction, feeling around with his frontal lobes, sensing distance, height, the strength of the signal, before he lets the others around in on what he’s found. It’s usually in the form of, “Three blocks down, to the right, up two stories, young kid,” or the like. Up until now he’s been operation in this shit-hole cellar off Waverly, to catch most of the fags that move through Washington Square Park, but there’s been recent talk of moving him uptown, or even down to Philly, to cover new ground. All the time the corporation is expanding its bounds.

We event got this guy, Grant, who works in a telecommunications company south of here. He networks all the digital stuff we do, like traces on phones and some of the TV ‘advertising’ the company has or sponsors. He’s great with it, and coupled with a massive speed addiction, makes quite a player in the structure of the organization. I’ve met the guy twice, and you can tell, just upon meeting him—that he’s seen things.

Trent speaks up first. “Guys, this is Grant…one of my roommates…he’s cool with it.” He then points out each of the three others in the room. “That’s Reid, that’s Devin, and this guy…I think he’s down for the count…is Evan.”

I nod at each of them and say, “Nice to meet y’all. What’s y’all’s agenda this evening?”

Reid looks up and, in a very tired voice, says, “We had a bag of brown earlier, but that’s all gone…so now we’re shooting Dillies. Do you shoot at all?” I get a queasy feeling in my stomach.

“No, I never have before and it’s never appealed to me that much…I’ve got too much of an addictive personality. I’ll rail some though.”

Reid nods and says, “It’s cool bro…Trent could you crush him up two two’s?”

“Sure thing…you’re about to feel real good Grant—my man…and by the way everybody this is the man responsible for hooking us up with these blue jewels tonight…so good vibes for him, everybody.” Trent crushes two of the pills from the envelope from earlier and I get out my student ID and cut three fat lines, then get out a dollar from my wallet and roll it up nice and tight. I do the first and it burns a little bit, then I come back up and inhale in my nose, to make sure I get it all in. I then repeat the process for the other two lines, alternating nostrils. My nose is burning by the time I’m done but within a minute or so I sink into the couch and begin to feel that warm pleasurable sensation one can only get from opiates as the effects creep in.

Devin, who has been lying nearly unconscious the entire time looks over at me and says, “Man…you about to get real nice—might even get a nod.” I try to nod in acknowledgement but it has hit me so hard by this point that I’m glued to the couch, almost in a trance from the music. I feel warmer and warmer and lighter and my ears feel like they are stuffed with cotton and I continue to lie back, reveling in the pleasure of the Dilaudid. I’m nothing. I’m surrounded by nothing. There isn’t anything, only peace and warmth. Hydro-morphone. My head feels like it is wrapped in a soft blanket and I begin to nod in and out of consciousness. I have a brief foggy dream in my unconscious state that a girl, I think Alana, and I are sitting atop a hill, basking in the sun, eating fruit. My mind slowly reenters the room and I see that Reid is prepping a shot for Trent, having crushed three twos, now heating them in water in a spoon, while Trent ties a belt around his right arm and palpates the crook of his elbow, trying to find the easiest vein to pierce.

I get my bearings back a little bit and say to Reid, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to use a wheel filter for shooting pharmies? I think there’s like gunk in there that’s terrible for your veins.”

“Nah, dude, not with Dillies, they just dissolve into the water perfectly…maybe for Oxys, yeah, but not these…it’s pretty safe.” Reid then takes the rig, a 1cc insulin syringe, and sucks up the dissolved mixture from the spoon and then flicks it, squeezing out a little bit to make sure there are no bubbles in the mix. “Alrighty, Trent, my man…you ready for this?”

He moves over next to Reid, saying, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” The vein is now clearly visible in Trent’s arm and Reid hands him the syringe. He tightens the belt a bit and then pierces the skin, entering the vein and a tiny drop of blood from the needle slit trickles down his forearm. I wince slightly. Next he pulls the plunger back a little bit, and some blood enters the syringe, which I learn is called ‘registering’. Trent then slowly injects the mix into his arm and removes the needle and belt, sinking back into the couch, experiencing the famous ‘Dilly rush’, which is supposedly the best among all IV drugs.

I still have a good buzz from the rails and I begin to notice it wearing off gently, I’m regaining my composure, becoming fully conscious again. I then get a text from Alana asking where I am and telling me she took two hits of ecstasy at the party and that she really wants to see me. I figure I’ll soon have to return to the party. Trent is nodding very hard at this point, hit eyes completely closed, his body sunk deep into the couch. He is still breathing, but in very slow and shallow breaths.

I decide that I need to leave pretty soon and get back to the party and need some energy after being in an opiate haze so I take out my vial of coke and cut two lines on the table and quickly do them, sucking in afterward and shaking my head to wake myself up. I tell Reid and the guys that I am headed back to the party to meet up with a girl stress to them to watch Trent closely, because it looks like he could stop breathing at any moment. I tell them not to be afraid to call an ambulance if his breathing stops, because they always carry Narcan or Naltrexone, which will wake anyone who’s overdosed right back up. They nod and say goodbye and that it was nice meeting me and I say the same and walk back out the door, which I hear lock behind me.

I head down the dark hallway and down the stairs and out the door, shivering as I walk out, it having gotten cooler since I came over. I light a cigarette and begin to feel the coke and walk more and more quickly up Ninth, toward the music, just as I had earlier. I finally reach Halton House and find Sean, still outside, talking to Amy.

            So he calls me up one day, “Say, Trent, what you been up to buddy?”

            “Nothing much, about the same as always, been working this job here in Memphis at a pain clinic, doesn’t pay much dough….but it’s enough for me to get by.”           

            “Good to hear, good to hear…look man, I’m in the car right now, coming fast down 95. I’m needin’ some cash at the moment and I figured you would know some good means of doing so.”

            “Well…I can’t say I know of any good ones as the moment…but we could figure something out—are you coming over on the 40 once you hit it down south?”

            “Yeah…I’ll be in your neck of the woods in a few days. In the meantime, you think you could snag some pain pills from that clinic you’re at? I’m figuring we could get into some good cash if we could manage to stock up a good supply of those.”

            “Yeah, buddy…I mean I could try…they usually keep that stuff on the lockdown, but I’ll see what I can do.”

            “Okay man…thanks. I’ll be seeing you in a few days, yes?”

            “Sounds like it.”

            “Good deal. See you soon.”

            “You too,” I hung up and wondered if there was any way I could sneak into the doctors’ area and snag some pain pills. I’m gonna have to really be sly about it to pull a stunt like this off. The next day, I took the late shift at work, so I could be there when everything closed down for the day.            

            Sure enough, closing time came around, and I took my normal post, sweeping up the waiting rooms, the work-up rooms, and all of the hallways. Soon as it seemed like most of the staff was out, I went to the doctors’ area and swiped my security card, which, to my surprise, allowed me access. Once I was in, I went over to the cabinets in which they keep the samples of all the drugs they use at the clinic. There was a lock on it, but luckily my janitor’s master key let me right in. Inside, there were stacks and stacks of Watson Vicodin samples, Percocet blister packs, and, what I was really looking for, Roxicodone blister packs. I took all of them, and most of the Percocets as well, figuring this was likely the end of my tenure as a janitor at the clinic.

            Once I had filled my coat, I locked the cabinet back up, and exited the place, leaving everything just as it was when I had arrived that afternoon. Now I just needed to wait on Aaron to get here so we could devise a plan. It’s bizarre, but the realization came to me that I am ditching my current life and moving into a new phase, hopefully one more successful than the last couple.

9/3

I see you walking by, your blond hair dancing in the wind. I want to call out to you, embrace you tenderly, yet powerfully, and feel your beating heart against mine, then cradle your head on my shoulder. The feeling as you pass rushes through my veins, first icy, then warm, extending throughout my body. You talk to other guys and it pains me, to see you waste yourself on souls so shallow and devoid of value. When I see you at parties, I want to hill the guys who flirt with you, dance with you, try to coax you into giving away that sweet innocence you maintain with such grace. I need you, have to have you, know you beyond momentary glances and my own thoughts. You’re mine.

9/27

I yearn for the knowledge of what your embrace feels like, the feeling of our lips touching. I want to take you, entering, gently as your green eyes enrapture mine. Making sweet love to you, feeling your breath against my face, and hearing your voice, I cannot imagine anything more gratifying. The thought of you with someone else crushes me. I disintegrate, and only you can reanimate me. You’re out there now, giving away your innocence, the key to your beauty. I don’t want to hold you and keep you all to myself, and yet a part of me does. Is it selfish? I don’t want it to be. I only want you and nothing more.

10/21

I saw you in the record store today. I love your taste. I just wish those indie punks who hang around in there didn’t waste your time. They’re so beneath you. You’re brilliant, charming, and beautiful, yet you let your time be taken by vampires. My obsession grows stronger daily, and yet it feels not like one, for it is much too pure. I wish I could gather the strength to talk to you, but I’d likely only embarrass myself. Yet, I have to have you.

11/4

We passed each other in the dining hall today. You didn’t notice me at all, but I managed to catch a glimpse of your green jewel eyes. I took my seat, alone, unnoticed, and see you across the way sitting with your friends, members of your sorority. I wish you weren’t involved in that, you’re much too smart and creative to be lumped in with the rest of those empty headed excuses for ‘cute coeds’. They drag you down, take you to parties you shouldn’t be at, places your innocence is risked at every turn, introduce you to guys who want you only for your body and nothing more. I hate it, and yet, am powerless to do anything about it. I wonder if you have any inkling of my identity yet, and if you appreciate my interest. I only mean everything in the kindest of ways. I love you.

11/21

Everyone’s about to leave for break and the big show was tonight. I knew you’d be there, it being too good of an opportunity to hang out with the cool kids to pass up. And you were beautiful there, in your vintage-looking indie blouse and skirt. Your style is so alluring. I watched from the back as you swayed to the rhythms, like some tall sunflower moving in the breeze. It was angelic. You couldn’t have had any idea I was there, hovering in the back like some bat or creature of the night, looking forward, smoking cigarettes. Why did you go off with that guy after the set? What did you do? It pains me to even briefly think of the possibilities. You’re so above him. Where are you now? Have you given it away? Please, I beg of you, don’t. You are mine, you’re meant for me. We belong together. I hope to see you again in a week’s time.

12/1

Last night before Dead Week. Everyone’s going to be out tonight. You will, I will, those below you will. Vampires. I am going to see you. I will have you, and take you with grace and tenderness. Tonight is the night. We will finally become one. Tonight’s the night. Tonight’s the night. Tonight’s the night. Tonight.

12/2

I was there. I saw you leave with him, that punk from the big show. He is so far below what you deserve. You probably know who I am by now, and did that just to hurt me. Well it worked, and I am in pain, pain that must be ceased. This is my last note to you. There won’t be any more after this.

A boy walks into a bathroom. He is young, maybe eighteen or nineteen years of age. He seems sad. He locks the door and approaches the tub, then filling it with warm water. He disrobes and he glances at his pale, thin body in the mirror, now beginning to fog from the hot water. He begins to tear up as he approaches the tub and steps in, one foot at a time, then slides his entire body into the water. He reaches over, into his pants pocket, and pulls out a razorblade. He is now sobbing as he takes the blade out. He then, with his left hand, slices deep into his right wrist, and blood begins to flow quickly into the tub, quickly turning the clear water red. He writhes in pain and gasps several times, then relaxes his head down onto the back of the tub. The blood continues to flow as he loses consciousness and finally, expires.

      I went back to my old house, one I had lived in for ten years, a year or two ago. After we moved out in ‘03, a family moved in and out fairly quickly, and then a friend of mine, not a really good friend, but nevertheless a friend, and his family moved in when I was in tenth grade or so. I didn’t think much of it, and would occasionally joke with him about it. One Saturday night toward the end of eleventh grade when his parents weren’t there he decided to have a party. I was apprehensive, but I went anyway, completely sober (don’t know why).

      As it turns out, nothing had changed. Everything was arranged exactly as it was when I lived there, just with slightly different furniture. The only difference was that I was older, and a quarter of my grade was packed in and around the house, drinking, spilling stuff everywhere, smoking bowls in the backyard, and the like. I laugh remembering noticing the swing-set was still in the very back, though by then everything wooden had begun to rot away. No one was hanging out back there, so I went back there and stood around a bit, as the swings were much too small by then to fit in by then, and I had doubts about the strength of the frame.

      I walked back toward the house, past all of the people smoking and trashing where I used to play as a kid, places I still had vivid specific memories around. The worst part was, no one around knew I had ever lived there, except my friends I had come to the party with, who really didn’t care much anyway. I might have spoken five sentences total the entire time. I was just kind of sadly, quietly, slowly walking around, just looking, and reminiscing.

      I went back inside, into the crowd of people who knew nothing, and saw my friend, the owner of the house. I wasn’t mad or disappointed with him; it was his house, he could do what he wanted. If I had anyone to be mad at, it was myself, for going to the stupid party. We laughed together about the house, or at least I faked laughter, and I asked if I could go back into the house and see my old room. He was happy to let me go check it out. I walked down the hallway, now much smaller and shorter than I could remember, past the line of girls at the bathroom I used to shower in, and headed for my room. Luckily, no one was hooking up in there; they were using my younger brother’s room for that. As it turned out, it was my friend’s room now, and nearly everything was arranged similarly. I just leaned there against the door frame, just standing there for nearly ten minutes, just thinking. I didn’t cry, I didn’t smile, I just sat there in the doorway with a blank look on my face. I felt nothing; there was nothing to go back to, only fading memories.

      At that point I backed out and walked back into the den, where everyone was still partying. I signaled to my buddy that it was time to go, and he understood well. I silently left. Looking back now, I feel like I was a ghost, when I suppose, in reality, I was indeed chasing one. It doesn’t matter anymore.

      Don’t put all of your nostalgic value in places like homes, schools, or the like. Rather, cherish the memories themselves, because they are the real evidence, the real proof of what occurred, of where and who you were. Places don’t last forever, not even for a short time, and if they seem to, they aren’t the same.

       Your red-haired friend’s companions have joined him now. They are drinking. One of them, Tom or Sam or something, hands you a beer. You were uncomfortable, you felt vulnerable. I wanted to take you away from all of that, keep you safe, and get to know you again. You smiled at me, as we passed in the hallway, on the last day of the term. You awakened something in me, something beautiful and pure, something I wanted to reciprocate, if you would let me.

       You walk away from the shore and toss your cup back into the wind. There’s a crowd of people you know, some your age and some older, standing around in front of the boardwalk. I was in the crowd, a year older than you, and saw you approach some girls your age, who you took photos with. I just wanted to talk to you, if but for a few sentences, to laugh with you, to see you smile and pale blue eyes behind your wavy blonde hair. You looked better than anyone else there that night, and were smarter than most, which you didn’t give yourself credit for, and I hated that. Maybe you wanted to fit in, to not seem so alien and above them. But I know that isn’t who you really are. You’re more.

       A cool breeze passes and you look up at the moon, full, appearing to you like some jewel in the sky, a crystal radiating its beams down upon your tan skin. There is a ship, far off the shore, steadily moving parallel to the beach. The moon is slowly setting in the same direction, hovering over your head. You walk away from the crowd and stop at a small pool of seawater the tide filled. By the light of the jewel moon, you study the reflection of your face and body in the pool. You aren’t satisfied with what you see. Maybe you think that your forehead is too large, that your nose looks funny, that your breasts are too small. You’re perfect. I wish you could stay like that forever.

       I can still see you from the crowd, and you seem sad. I turn away from you as you walk back to the crowd. You’re closer to me now, and I see you talking to a guy, I think his name is Brandon, and he’s mixing you a drink, and hands you a cup. You drink some of it, standing there with him, and you taste what seems like backwash as you keep sipping. You walk away from him toward the boardwalk, stop and listen to some strangers’ conversation. You ditch the cup as you listen to them, and then walk toward Anna and Grace. You feel comfortable again. As you look down the boardwalk, I come into your frame of vision, and as I pass you, we make eye contact, but nothing more. As I step off the boardwalk, we unknowingly notice the same thing, the crystal moon steadily towing the ship, far out now, along the beach, away forever.

       I loved you.

      I order tea and think I see someone that might be you, but she’s too far away to tell. Can I distinguish your face? Should I be able to? I talk to her anyway, and though it’s not you, she knows my friends, and my friends know you. I try to read my book, but cannot focus, maybe because I’m nervous, maybe because I haven’t eaten more than a PowerBar today, maybe because I skipped class to escape the test. You shouldn’t make me nervous. I think if I saw you I would be excited, then anxious. Your move or mine? More people come in that look like they could be friends of yours, maybe you’re one of them and I don’t recognize you. Is that bad? Maybe not. I talk to some artsy punks while smoking outside. They’re trashy, but they get me. I wonder if you would. I wonder if anyone does, ever has gotten me. Did Michelle? She thought she did. And then there’s Her. She probably would, but I would be so blinded by love that it wouldn’t matter. She is a dream. I cannot get Her. The deal is done, was done, years ago. I still remember, and if I try hard enough it stings, but as long as She’s happy where she is I’ll manage.

      You’re not here. I’m certain. Your friends, definitely, but not you. Facsimiles of you, all around, with chubbier faces and shorter hair. I see more people I know, and they know the artsy punks, my tolerance for which is waning. I smoke with Vanden, tell him to quit his job and then I think I see you. It can’t be you. I really only saw you from behind. I can’t be certain. I keep smoking. Does this disgust you? Her. It has to be you, but you’re inside now. Is your hair that long? I take another drag and you walk outside, do a quick circle, look at me, and go back in. It’s you. I know it. Timidity and fatigue hold me down from approaching you, as much as I want to. I think you’re inside talking to some guy. Things like that used to bother me, whatever the dynamic between ‘us’ is at the moment. Jealousy didn’t work last time. Why awaken it now?

      I stay outside and get under the shade and ask a girl with tattoos, a friend of the artsy punks, to read my short piece for Her, I hope. Will I even have the courage to publish it? She reads and I wonder where you are and want to get up and scout around inside, but that would be too obvious. My move? The girl with tattoos keeps reading and it looks like it’s affecting her, but when she’s done, she doesn’t have much to offer. I have to prod her to tell me it was longing. You would have probably done a better job. And you probably don’t have tattoos or hardware embedded in your skin. I think I’ve had enough. This is it. I’m gonna throw away my cup and scout around briefly, see what you’re up to. I see you right when I come in, but you don’t notice me. I toss the cup and follow you and the guy outside as we both get ready to get in our cars. There’s a brief moment where I pass within a few feet of you, and I think you know. But it’s time to go. You get in yours and I get in mine, and wait for you to pull out, so I can see your license plate, but it almost seems like a stalemate, so I go ahead and leave, spotting your plate in the rearview mirror and then I know that it is you for certain.

      It was nice to see you in person. Your move next time?

      He prescribed them I guess in an emergency to quell a manic episode I had been having last week, in which I made a quart of homemade napalm and poured it all out in the middle of our cul-de-sac and lit it, at night after I had snuck out and gotten the jar of it from the garage. A neighbor spotted the flames and I was out in the street just racing around the fire, dancing like a wild Indian until the police and fire department showed up, and I almost got committed, but my parents got me out of it and I’ve basically been a prisoner in my own house ever since, but it beats the hospital.

      I think we’re in the middle of a coping skills group and I look over at Chad, who always brings a Monster energy and whisper, “You think I could snag a sip? I ain’t sick it’s just this fucking medicine’s weighing me down like fucking lead boots.”

      “Go ahead, help yourself,” he whispers back, handing me the can, from which I take two large chugs. Minutes pass, and I steadily reanimate, still sedated. I look across the room at Denise, she’s in here for addiction to Addy or some shit like that. She’s twenty-one, brown hair, green eyes, very tan. I want her so badly. I want to jump off of the couch, run to her, rip her clothes off and fuck her right here in the room. She catches me looking at her and I turn the other direction, but when I look back, I see she’s smiling. Good sign.

      The goddamn doctor is going on and on and on about ‘developing coping skills’ and I can’t stand every word pouring out of his closeted cocksucking chops. He’s saying, “When you guys eventually get out of here…and I know that each and every one of you will—you’re going to have to have these skills to make it out there.” Out where? In the fucking jungle? Now he says we need to learn meditation techniques. Fuck this shit. Fuck Denise, that’s what I want to do. I stand fifteen more minutes of this bullshit pseudoyogabuddhist nonsense and then it’s break time. Chad, Denise, and I go out on the patio to grab a smoke.

      Denise smokes Turkish Royals, and offers me one, but I decline, going for one of my P-funk Lights. Chad is dipping Skoal. I look up toward the sun and say, at no one in particular, “How…much…fucking…longer—am I gonna have to take this shit from Connors? I want to gut him, pull out his intestines, and hang them up…whoa coming back—he’s really getting to me though.”

      Denise takes a drag and says, “I feel pretty similar,” then laughs, “Maybe not as intensely,” she then tilts her head and smiles and I start getting a hardon, but try to keep my left arm on my thigh so it doesn’t show through my shorts. “We should start a rebellion in Group, just stand up and start calling the shots—do it our way.” I’m nearly in love with her, and have forgotten about my cigarette, which is almost out. I take three more drags and look at my phone and we have a minute until the next group. Worse, the participants rotate, so Denise won’t be there. I’ve no idea what the next one is, but I’m feeling a lot better and pretty aroused. They call us back in and we go to our separate rooms.

      The leader, Greg, begins by saying, “Okay, guys, this group is a trauma discussion. Today we’re going to hear from Taylor and Jessica, who both endured traumatic situations not long ago, and are still struggling to cope. Everyone, respectfully give each of these ladies the floor and refrain from comments or questions until I say it is okay.” Great. This is gonna be a real upper. Taylor starts.

      “Well…I…I’ll just say up front…two years ago, I was at a party, and I was raped.” Major downer, man. “I can’t remember much, just getting there and drinking more and more…and some guys giving me some drinks,” she starts to tear up and her voice gets shakier, “And maybe they put something in it…but I don’t remember much after that.” This is awful. I want Denise. I want her right now. I start getting harder and harder as I think about her, in that tight top, those black taper jeans, and I stop listening to Taylor. She keeps on though, and I eventually start to hear her again, but this time with an erection, “And I have this brief moment…its like an image—of the guy on me…and nothing else.” SHUT. “I just feel so stupid…ugh.” THE. “And I don’t know why, but I feel guilty for all of it.” FUCK.  “For drinking all that much, for being taken in by those…those monsters—I can’t be alone with guys now.” UP!!! I’m losing the hardon and slowly getting pulled down by the group. I try to think more and more about Denise, but it’s not really working.

      She’s sobbing now and I don’t know how much more I can handle. Eventually she finishes and I’m soft by then. Thanks Taylor. Jessica begins talking about how a coach molested her in high school and both of my knees start bouncing up and down, more and more rapidly. I consciously and unconsciously have to get up. Finally, soon after Jessica begins, I bolt for the door. Greg gives me a look of disappointment and I shake my head and widen my eyes. I dash down the hall and out to the patio where I let out a raucous scream, releasing nearly all of the tension. I hop the fence, get in my car, light a cigarette, and speed off, toward god knows where.