"Let me just get this straight," she slowly said as if I were mentally challenged. Bitch. "Your best friend is part of some motorcycle club and something about a drug cartel being involved? Am I correct so far?"
I nod to the bitch, thinking that not talking is the best idea ever at this particular moment.
She continues. "You were in a house where a man was killed because he kidnapped you, and he is an associate of a man named Burns, who." She pauses to flip some papers for dramatic effect before resuming her speech, "It appears was a less than clean leader of said motorcycle club. He got shot in the process and you ended up in St. Louis where this all started? And now you are here seeing me?"
"That about sums it up," I inform her, cuz she got the facts straight. Cue the judgment.
"Christine." Bitch is using my fucking full name. Shoot me now. "That's quite a story. And it's only a part of your story I'm guessing."
"Patient something confidentiality, right?" Just double checking before I let some drug shit slip.
"Of course, everything that is said in this room is confidential unless you express the desire to harm yourself or someone else."
Yeah, yeah. Heard that before. I cross my leg and lean back against the couch, arms spread wide across the back.
"You got the facts. I was locked in a room with my best friend, who I'd kill for by the way but that doesn't mean I'm homicidal so don't go scribbling on your notepad." Just making sure. "Shit was handled somehow or another. Dirty cops would be my guess. That doesn't mean shit's all honkey mother fucking dory though. My girl is struggling with her man, and how she fits in to it all. Plus she's all guilty and shit. And I got this hot guy who is so fucking perfect, but I'm scared as fuck to get near him cuz bastard isn't exactly always in the safest situations. Oh, and how could I forget?"
I throw my head back against the couch and smacked myself in the face, letting my hand rest over my eyes for a moment.
"I thought I found one of the good ones—a university dude—and he turned out by pure luck to be in bed with the fuckers who were dirtying up the MC. His ass bailed as soon as his boss, Burns, got shot. Now I got another MC motha fucka up in my shit. Oh," I pause to let her know I'm about to change back to a previous topic, "we're back to the perfect guy I keep fucking up with. He's sex. Sex on a stick. Damn."
I shake my head, remembering the shit Link did with his tongue and that dick piercing. Shame going all these years without experiencing that. Such an awesome orgasm. Too bad he wants more. Shit I just ain't got to give.
"Toss in my family drama and it's a wrap, yo." Bitch wants to hear my drama? Well, there ya go.
I sit up so I can throw my hands in the air nice and dramatic--Aaron style. I look around at bitch's plaques on the wall, laughing at the thought of my own beauty school certificate in a black, plastic, Wal-Mart frame.
"Let's talk about your family."
God, her voice. It's like Meryl Streep should be sitting in this chair making up one of her great impressionist voices cuz this bitch sounds like a shrink off the mother fuckin TV. Too bad she's old-ish, fat-ish, and bound by law to listen to my bullshit.
"The family. The family. What can I tell you about them?"
"Are you close with them?"
I almost choke on a laugh. "God, no. The opposite. Where they are, I'm not. It's better that way."
"And why's that."
"It's more zen like that." I smile at her, but I lace my voice with sarcasm and pure fucking annoyance.
"So you don't talk to them?"
Is she not getting the hint? "Not until recently. Not until some of them decided to tango with the fucking Delmarcos of all families." I shake my head at my fucking luck. "Look, they all get along better when I'm not around. No one to cause fights or get mo fos locked up." I trail off those last few words, the weight of what Kendrick did for me still lingering in the back of my soul, never really going away. He's the one I miss the most. The brother who saved me even if I couldn't save him.
"Why do you think that is?"
"Huh?" Shit, what is she asking me?
"Why are they better off without you?"
I just done told this bitch why. Did she not listen? Should I write a mother fucking memo?
"It's just—fuck. It's just better when my mom doesn't have to look at me and I don't have to look at her. We love each other better like that."
God, that sounded fucked the hell up even to me. It is what it is. But ole girl is gonna have some shitty little comment coming. I know it.
She taps the stylus to her tablet against her lips. I want to shove it down her throat.
"That's an interesting thing to say."
There it is. I laugh at her and her blindness.
"I look good, right?" Ole bitch tilts her head, surprised I'm sure by my sudden change of topic. Throw ya off ya game, hooker.
"Well, yes, you are a very attractive young lady."
Young Lady. Nice one. Two points, biotch.
"I've been told I could easily do catalog work as a model, maybe some high fashion shit if I really hustled. It's a pretty shell," I motion to my body, "whatever God gave me."
I lean back into the couch, resuming my position of one ankle laying on the other knee, and hands resting casually on the back boards of the sofa.
"But I'll let you in on a little secret." I inch forward slightly. Sweet ole girl does too. "I'm trash. My momma was white trash who spawned four mixed boys and one white girl. She did her best I suppose, but the hood'll eat ya up and spit ya out."
Worse if you gotta take care of your white sister. If I were ugly, they woulda all left me alone and Kendrick wouldn't of had to rip motha fucka's nuts off, even if he did deserve it. Bastard wannabe rapist. Stupid mother fucker tried to fuck with the white girl on the block who had four giant brothers of varying shades of brown ready to throw down at a moments notice. Kendrick was always the one defending me, from the time I was born until the moment they took him away in handcuffs for saving me from violation.
My heart grows heavy. Black and heavy.
I look out the tiny window the court appointed shrink is rocking in her office. It look out onto nothing. Yep, nothing, but it looks like she's hung a hummingbird feeder. How nice.
Fuck, how many more sessions was I gonna have to go to.
"That's all for today Christine, I'll see you next week?"
She lifts her voice up at the end like it was a question, like I had a choice.
I nod and mumble, "Ain't got a choice."
I stand up from the couch that was actually quite comfortable and shoot her the peace sign, but horizontally instead of vertically, changing it's meaning greatly.
"Deuces," I call as I exit her office, adding biotch in my head.
Free at last.