Okay

.10.

"That was good." Mo says. "Don't you think?"

I mutter a yeah even though I hated every minute of it.

"That woman's story." He blows out a breath of disbelief. "Man."

Shoving through the doors, my eyes momentarily blinded by the blaring sun I once again agree half heartedly. Her story sounded like it sucked, I give her props for turning her life around.

But I'm still not an addict.

"So what're your plans now?" Mo asks.

He just keeps pushing on regardless of my answers. Steam rolling everything in sight until I've just learned to give in to him.

"Work."

My phone started buzzing halfway through the N/A meeting. A relentless little hum in my pocket like a god damn fly at a summer barbecue.

"Oh yeah, how is work? You like it? Got any big projects you're working on?" He rattles off, unlocking the doors to his truck so we can get in.

"No."

I slam the door. I'm a little irritated. I've had nothing but people bitching at me all day less the small break to hear depressing stories from current and former addicts. And I'm ready to be done.

Mo blows out a breath, one that usually means I'm about to get scolded in some fashion but he keeps his mouth shut. I've never been more thankful.

My phone goes off again and I wrench it from my pocket. Andrew Adams flashing across the screen. It's my fourth missed call from him.

There's no part of me that wants to accept the call but I know he won't stop blowing up my phone until he gets me to answer. So I slide my thumb across the screen.

He doesn't even give me a chance to say a greeting.

"It's about time. Where have you been?" He barks into the phone so loud I can hear him clear as day even though my phone is no where near my ear.

"Busy." I tell him as Mo pulls out onto the road silently.

"I bet. I'm waiting for my revised plan. Where is it?" He demands.

"I haven't had a chance..."

"This is what I'm paying you for Andrew. The least you could do is pull your damn head out of the clouds and get your job done. We need to launch."

I hate him.

"I know."

"I mean did you even look over it in the first place? The numbers were completely off."

For a brief moment I think about telling him I'm not in finance, I'm in marketing but I hold it in, watching the buildings pass by slowly as traffic keeps us momentarily gridlocked. Accidentally I lock eyes with a pedestrian, they smile but I can't seem to muster one back with my dick of a father screaming in my ear.

"Sorry, I missed it." I've already heard all of this via email and a call first thing this morning.

"You can't miss things like this Andrew."

I really fucking hate him.

"Right, I know."

"Do you?" I almost tell him no just to piss him off farther but he doesn't take a breath from his rant. "Because it sure seems like you don't have a clue."

I can't help it. I know the last thing I should do is make some stupid remark but I can't for the life of me stop myself. He won't stop telling me how much I suck and the world feels like it's gotten ten pounds heavier and those ten pounds are just enough to break me. So I say it anyway.

"I bet it was Mr. Green with the revolver in the billiards room."

And the ranting stops.

Only to be followed be an annoyed sigh.

"Grow up Andrew." He mutters and I can practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration at his disappointment of a son.

I almost tell him I've tried. I've tried to grow up, I went to college like he wanted me to, I got a job like he wanted, bought a place, had a girlfriend, drove a nice a car, had credit cards. I woke up in the morning, drank a cup of coffee while I stared at the news before I drove my rush hour commute to the office building where I sat behind a huge desk in a fancy office that overlooked the minions in their cubicles. I wore a suit and a tie and loosened it after my work day came to an end as I drank overpriced liquor at the watering hole across the street with my fellow employees. And then I went home to my flat where my girlfriend and I ate dinner in silence most nights before I stared mindlessly at the TV in my rumpled suit until I either fell asleep there or dragged my ass to bed. If I did the later, I more than likely got told it was too late for sex and then I'd fall asleep, only to wake up and do it all over again.

I tried to grow up. I tried to hide the loneliness inside me, faking my way through my day because I had what most people want. A good job, a nice place, an expensive car, a beautiful woman. But all it did was break me farther.

He never speaks to me like I'm his son. I'm just another employee. But when the line clicks dead and I realize he didn't even bother to say goodbye I'm still surprised. I'm still hurt.

And I wonder if this desperate need to feel loved will ever go away. Or if I am unloveable. If I'm too problematic and needy.

"Everything okay?" Mo asks, concern in his voice.

I stare at my lap. "I was wrong. Turns out it was Mrs. Peacock with the rope in the kitchen."

—————————

Ugh.

I don't know if it's fucking Michigan and the fact that the sun never shines and everything is shit brown right now. Or if I'm getting to into Drew as I write because let's be honest, when I write my thoughts are consumed with the story whether I'm actively working on it or not. And Drew's messed up. Or if it's because I've been listening to Nothing, Nowhere nonstop and he's also a little depressing but stupidly talented and I just like the sound of his music instrumentally. Or if it's because I just came back from sunny warm Vegas and I'm having Vitamin D withdrawals, but guys.

I'm seriously down and I think I'm about to cycle through one of those lame anxiety trips I get. Like come on. I ain't got time for this bullshit. And I don't want to make time for it either.

God damn.