Says Who? (WIP)

Chapter Fifteen

Ein and chocolate are the perfect amount of serotonin.

Although the sweets were extremely delicious, they didn't appeal to my stomach as much as they did my heart.

I spent the next four hours hunched over the toilet, excreting all of the contents from my stomach into the porcelain bowl, in less than favorable ways. 

Even if I was feeling like absolute garbage, we had things to get done today. After my stomach was completely empty, and my breath smelled of stomach acid and total asshole, I hopped in the shower.

The water felt best on the warmest setting, although it burnt the tips of my toes, it massaged the sore muscles in my back in the best ways possible.

I brushed my teeth thoroughly, making sure I didn't greet my ex-wife with vomit breath. My gums bled, but that's the price I pay for never flossing. After I rinsed my mouth in the chemicals labeled "mouth wash", I ran my fingers through my sopping wet hair and really got a good look at myself.

fucking awful.

The bags under my eyes were so intensely dark that I looked as if I had been sucker punched by a drunk, overweight, redneck in each. I had a fair amount of facial hair, but the fact that I was starting to grow in a mustache that had the likeness of Chester the Child Molester, I whipped out the razor.

"Great. Clean face, if only I could shave away the racoon eyes."

I sighed heavily, and shook my mop out like a domesticated puppy.

It fluffed out in slight waves as I ran my towel through it. At least I have nice hair.

I walked out of the bathroom to see Ein hunched over his laptop playing some knock off flappy bird. Without looking at me he mumbled a groggy "morning." and chugged a redbull.

Shaking my head, I walked to Ein's closet to see if there was something I could throw together that would make me look less like a 'I-was-thrown out-of-my-house-because-my-wife-found-out-I'm-gay, pile of shit.'  I settled on a pair of faded black jeans and a white button up. The only shoes I currently had with me were dirt-covered army green converse, so I pulled those on as well.

I looked pretty good, for a guy who'd been through a traumatic amount of shit in less than a fucking month.

I grabbed my shattered phone and slid it in my pocket, along with a half empty pack of cigarettes and a black bic lighter. 

I tried to quit, but sometimes you really just need a damn cigarette.

I kissed Ein goodbye as I made my way out.

It's ironically convenient that my ex wife happens to be my therapist. 

Maybe getting into my head on a professional stand point will help her understand things personally.

Feeling the anxiety set in, i whipped out a cigarette, lit it, and began walking down the cracked sidewalk. I took hits of it in a steady rhythm, letting the smoke escape from my mouth and wander into the air.

I can't help but hope she empathizes with me.