early2000s | fuckshit x oc | mid90s

January 1, 2000

Update:

Unfortunately, Y2K didn't happen.

Kian does that crucifix thing that Catholics do. "I lived to see another year."

"I don't feel any different," I say, cocking my head.

"Don't kill the mood. It's 2000," he crosses his arms. "Fuck, that sounds so weird. 2000."

I roll my eyes. "I wanted to party like it was 1999. But no, here I am."

"Stop being a party pooper."

"Yeah, yeah, let me know if Y2K does end up happening. I'm going to bed," I say, tilting my head back and yawning.

"Negative fucking Nancy."

For real, I didn't feel any different. I knew it was just going to be another year. It's always the same fucking shit. I really don't know why people think a change in a number is going to change their life. It's not that serious. Everything you make as a resolution for the next year is just an excuse not to do it now.

Fuck.

I woke up and did the usual shit you do at rehab. I had my breakfast, played some tennis, I know, tennis. Later that morning Khalil popped into the room.

He nodded at me. "What's up?"

"Yo."

"Individual therapy."

Shit, I don't even know if this would help me. I know I didn't do too well at the group circle yesterday but does it really matter? I still have to go back, I still have to talk about my shit. Fuck a group, fuck one person, I just didn't really want to talk.

Khalil sits across from me in an office almost identical to Lisa's office.

"How are you?" Khalil asks.

"Shit, I mean, I'm here."

"Right, but how are you really?" he says, pulling out a notepad.

"If I knew the answer, I'd tell you."

"That's fine." he says, inhaling through his nostrils. "How do you feel about the New Year?"

"I don't know. I already missed Christmas didn't I? What's so special about this?" I shrug.

"Hmm. Usually people enjoy holidays. Is there a reason why you don't?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you did say you felt lonely, right?"

"So?"

He shrugs. "What if we could fix that?"

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "What is this?" Raising another eyebrow. "A fucking Hallmark movie?"

"Come on man, you gotta take this serious," he says, shaking his head.

"How the fuck do you fix that?" I drop my weight on the chair.

"Well, do you have friends?" he asks.

"Hell yeah I have friends. Who do you think I am?"

"Fine, fine. How about relationships?"

"It's not like I have a hard time getting girls. Shit, I'm a pretty ass nigga, what can I say?" I chuckle. "I'm not really into relationships though."

"So you think highly of yourself."

"You're making it sound like I'm conceited."

"Well, are you?"

"No."

I can see how people can think that I'm conceited, but I'm really not. I just know my worth, that's all.

"Okay," Khalil inhales through his nose. "Let me ask you this."

I raise my eyebrows, face in my hand, preparing for the question.

"When you leave rehab, are you going to make the effort to stay sober?"

"I mean, I'm gonna try."

Maybe.

"It's just I've been taking shit for so long—"

"I don't care how long you've gone in this direction." He interrupts, making me furrow my eyebrows.

"You know why?" he crosses his arms.

"Because you can turn around," he says, palming the table.