CHAPTER 1: We’re Here Now
“So this shit is supposed to help me?
“That’s not up to me,” he peered back over his notes.”This thing here is like most anything in life. You
get what you put in. If you’re not willing to try it is a waste of time. You have to want to. You have to
want to make changes and be a better person.”
“How do you know what I want? We’ve spoken for 20 minutes. I’m sorry, let me stop myself quickly. I
know it’s not immediate. It just feels like you don’t give a shit what I’m going through?”
He drops his notes in his lap and looks back at him.
“Why do you think that?”
“Think what? That you don’t give a fuck? You don’t.”
“Yes, I do give a “fuck,” why would you think I don’t?”
“I’m nothing but a number to you. A paycheck. I get it. You can’t get attached to every client you have.
I’m not saying you even should, but maybe drop the act? You have a job to do and it ends as soon as
our time does.”
He looks down at the carpeted floor, black with golden tassel trim on the outskirts. Towards the middle
of the carpet design was ancient sigils. It looked like them, anyways.
“Expensive,” he shot at his therapist.
“Me?”
“Ha. I meant the carpeting, but yeah. You too.”
“The best money can buy some say. That’s not the point here. You’ve been staring at the floor and have
said ten words since you walked in. Are you sure you really want to be here?”
He shook his head around, stood up and peered out the window. Letting out a deep exhale and
rubbing his facial hair, he leaned against the wall next to the pane glass. He folds his arms and begins
to explain.
“Do I want to be here? No. Of course I don’t. I am here by choice though. I’m asking a lot of you. To
figure out what’s wrong with me. To tell me why I am the way I am. I HAVE to be here. For my own
good. I’m paying you to fix me. Do you think you are capable of it? I’m asking seriously and honestly.
I have a lot wrong with me so just be honest. If you can’t, I’ll respect that and walk out the door.”
Collecting his thoughts briefly, he responded with a deep breath of his own. It sounded like he gave up
before he even started the process.
“I’m not saying you ‘get me, can fix me, or even want to. I’m asking you to be honest about your
motives and reasoning so I can figure out where to go from here. I have no time to waste, my livelihood
is hanging in the balance and you’re sitting there nodding along like a fucking idiot.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Am I wrong?
“It sounds like an accurate representation, but we’re still on new ground here. I’m getting to know
you.”
The client wipes his face and turns his back to the bald headed, clean shaven therapist. He rattles the
blackout curtains next to him and looks back at him.
“That’s the problem,” he says, looking at him with disgust. “You people don’t give enough of a
shit to CARE. Which is fine. As I said you have many clients, I’m nothing to you but an hourly fee.
Which again,is fine. It comes with the territory. I need someone who will be committed to me healing
and becoming the person I should be, the one I need to be.
“And do you think I can do that?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m willing to give you another session to find out. I’m still learning you, too.”
The client stands up as soon as the therapists iPhone alarm goes off. Session over.
“Perfect timing, huh?”
The client stands up and heads towards the mahogany door. As he pulls for the door handle he feels a
grip on his shoulder.
“Give us a shot, would ya?”
“I said I would. See you next week, yeah?”
“Sure thing. See
you then, John.”
“Yeah.”
The client pulls the door open and steps out into the lobby. The door shuts behind him. He crumples up
the business card he was given from a friend two weeks ago and shoves it into his mouth, eating it.
Pressing the ground floor button the elevator, he gets in as the doors close in front of him. The ding of
the doors opening cause his sight to shift upwards as he stepped on.
The doors shut as he heads downstairs.
CHAPTER 2: TAKE MY HAND
She walked in the door, shutting the door behind her lightly. The smooth spring breeze caused
the curtains to do a little dance behind her as she tossed the mail on the table. Underneath the stack of
bills was something she had received for months, but never opened. She had been getting these letters
in the mail periodically, almost like they were aligned to arrive on the 1st and 15th. Very rarely did they
come later than that, and if they did it was only about a day or two. Expert planning in the COVID era
of slow mail delivery, it seemed.
It was impossible, anyways. It was clearly a prank, after all. A sick one, to be clear. To send a
widow of three years letters from her long dead husband was twisted in a way she couldn’t begin to
process. The only reason she held on to them was for the “what if?” Maybe some day she would get the
courage to rip them open and see what this sick fuck was trying to do, but for now, she didn’t have the
strength to do so.
Her blonde hair run ragged from the daily grind, working sixty hour weeks to make ends meet.
Joseph didn’t have any life insurance policies in place at the time of his passing. They were married
young, and to be fair nobody expected his life to be cut short at the age of 28. It wasn’t like he had
a dangerous profession like a police officer or firefighter, it was genetic. They say heart disease is the
silent killer, and unfortunately he fell victim to it.
Karina brushed the hair out of her face and took a deep breath. She could almost feel a deep
scream come out of her when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked behind her but didn’t see
anybody. She chalked it up to stress and rose up out of the wooden chair tucked into the dining room
table, littered with bills and celebrity gossip magazines. The magazines helped her escape the madness
of her own life. It was easy to be amused and even entertained by the lives of those who were meant to
be glamorous. The scandals, the dirty smear headlines, the Hollywood feuds that meant nothing in the
grand scheme of things.
A welcome distraction.
Walking towards the kitchen she cracked open the fridge and reached for a bottle of green tea.
Always striving for health over wealth wasn’t working for her at this point, but it’s all she had ever
known. The pile of bills scattered across her table in the adjacent room. Again, a tap on the shoulder as
she put the bottle to her lips just after cracking it open. This time, a whisper accompanied the tap.
“Karina,” in the softest voice she had ever heard. It sounded like safety, it sounded like warmth, it
sounded like a hug. The bottle of tea splashed off of the floor and she jumped back, banging her waist
off of the kitchen counter directly behind her. Panic mode set in and she ran towards the door, twisting
the handle but to no avail.
Whatever was in here with her wasn’t letting her out of the house, but in the back of her mind
was comfort. Maybe it was Joseph. She thought to herself that it couldn’t be, the voice she heard was a
woman. A soothing voice. She walked slowly back towards the kitchen, very weary of the surroundings
she had called home for the last three plus years.
Something in her told her to clear the table of every bill she had and rip open the very first letter
from Joseph. She sat at the table, light tears streaming down her delicate face. She wasn’t prepared for
this moment, but maybe she was. She had put this off for 18 months. A letter every two weeks.
“Yes,” the voice whispered as she reached for the very first envelope. Her hands shuttered as
she picked it up and removed the top of the envelope.
CHAPTER 3: RIGHT WHERE I BELONG
July has never been our month. In fact, if we’re being honest, there’s sections of the year where
we have to be our “best selves.” If you’ve been where I’ve been you know exactly what I’m talking
about. Every couple has a three month stretch where things are awful, it’s unavoidable. Ours happen
to be May through July. Devastating.
I’ve caught myself half jokingly saying I’d rather be in a Chinese torture rack than fight with
him on any level. I don’t have to tell you that it’s a losing battle. Life happens. When life happens, you
need to have a plan, but most people don’t. Let me rephrase that. When life happens to everybody else,
you don’t have a plan. Our dynamic is very different. Not in a bad way, to be clear. It’s just I’ve learned
to expect the unexpected, to never comprehend exactly what is up with him today. I sound like an
abused wife to my friends and family, but it’s not like that at all.
Well, ‘at all,’ would be a stretch. If I said he never put his hands on me in that way I would be
lying. But they don’t get us. They don’t get what makes us, us. They will never understand what makes
us tick like I do, and how can I expect them to? They don’t live my life. They don’t live our life. They
are guarded from it. They only hear the bad. It’s something innate in me that doesn’t like to share our
good times, the great 98% we share. It may be my victim complex, even if unintentional.
Have we fought, physically? Yes.
Is it every day? No.
Do I initiate more than half of it? Yes.
The drugs play a role, of course. I can’t say no to him. All he cares about is my happiness and
whether he perceives me as happy, whether he sees a smile on my face. He thinks it’s all about drugs.
It’s not. I do not love him any more and haven’t for some time. I love his company, he is my honest to
God best friend. I’d be lost without him, but I don’t want this anymore. I wish I did. I wish I was still
enamored with his spirit, his face, his love, his gestures. There was a time that I would have done
anything in this world to be in his arms. Now, I can’t look at his face without wanting to spit in it.
I know this makes me an awful person. I would not deny that to God himself. I have been
emotionally cheating on him with multiple others. I haven’t crossed that particular line as of yet, but
the urge is there. I can’t help it. It’s not that I hate him, I don’t. I’m just unable to let go of some things,
and he knows it. He sees a difference in me, he just doesn’t know exactly what it is. To his credit, our
relationship is and always has been built on trust and me speaking honestly, and I haven’t been doing
that as of late.
It’s out of necessity. Survival. He makes me happy, he provides for me, he’s my best friend. I
feel selfish. I feel incredibly selfish, what else could I ask for? He’s everything I could ever want and
ask for, so why am I not satisfied? I should be. I ask, want and need for nothing. He always tells me he
loves me more than he loves himself. From anybody else, those are just words. From him, its a
promise. He means every syllable. Every consonant, every vowel. Every noun and verb, down to his
soul.
I wish I was better. He deserves the best of me and I don’t have it in me to give it. I want to. It’s
not a matter of want, it’s a matter of will. I can’t do this. It’s overwhelming. He makes up for every
thing he’s ever done, ten fold. I just can’t let go, and I don’t know why. I know one thing, though. I’m
right where I belong.
And he doesn’t even know it. Lucky me.
CHAPTER 4: NEXT WEEK, YEAH?
“So, what have you learned?”
John sat up from his laid back position on the couch, gripping the dirty sand colored couch arms
to pull himself up before addressing his therapist. He opened his mouth as if a dam was about to roll
out, but quickly corrected course before he demeaned his character.
“You take my money and send me home with homework.” He chuckled to himself ahead of
speaking to him directly. “What’s your name again, doc?”
“Williams. Paul Williams. We have been scheduling your session for months before you every
stepped into the room, you don’t know my name?”
John robbed his facial hair and sprung towards the front of the couch, still sitting, hands now
on his knees, looking down at the floor.
“You admiring the carpeting again? I’ll get rid of it, if it means getting you to a healthy place.
I’m not fucking around, John. I think you are my most….,” Paul sat back for a moment, making the
finger pyramid around his lips before speaking further. “I think you are my most damaged, hurt
client.”
“Will you please stop fucking call me that?”
“Calling you what exactly?”
“A fucking client. You see this stupid fucking picture behind you? The giraffe grazing around a
god damn barn? It makes no fucking sense, Paul. None. Zero. Why the fuck is a giraffe hanging out at
a farm? Please tell me, go ahead.”
“Well why don’t you tell me why he is somewhere he doesn’t belong. You said it yourself. He
doesn’t belong there, right? I’m not gonna lead you into any thoughts, so go ahead. Tell me what that
means to you.”
“What it means to me? He doesn’t belong, what else is there to say? I already said it. Giraffes
historically do not chill on a farm, dude.”
“So what does that make you?”
John rolled back into the couch with a look of disappointment on his face, gripping the leather
edges of the couch. “So, to be clear, you see as a fucking giraffe?” He rose up from the chair and
gestured that he was over the entire process before Paul cut him off.
“Sit down and allow me to explain myself. Please,” Paul gestured back, his arms open,
welcoming him to sit back on the therapy couch. “John, you need to stop taking everything so
personally. This is part of the process. I have to poke and prod, I have to figure you out. Allow that
to happen.” John rustled around the cushions, visibly uncomfortable.
“John,
relax. You are taking it as an insult, it’s not. Listen to me. You
aren’t a giraffe, but
you are a giraffe. You are the giraffe. You are him but not in the way you think.”
“So he’s a he? A boy? How do you know that?”
John gazes back at the portrait, taking in the reds, browns and spots on his neck. Paul
spouts back, why does it matter? For right now, in this moment, for all intents and purposes, the
giraffe is named John, and he is you, you get me?”
John shook his head no, and again stood up as if he was about to leave.
“This is stupid, Mr Williams. You’re telling me I’m a fucking giraffe. I’m this close,” gesturing
towards his impeccable hairline, “to walking out the mother fucking door. You’re supposed to help me
work through this and you’re comparing me to an animal.”
“I did no such thing. You said he doesn’t belong there. You don’t belong here either. Am I
wrong?”
John paced around the room for a couple of seconds before sitting back down on the couch.
“So, you see what I see? In myself?”
Paul shot back, “this place isn’t yours and we both know it. The question here is, why can’t
anybody else? You’re the giraffe, but where do you belong, John?”
John sat forward, head in his hands, tears streaming down his face.
“I don’t fucking know, but I don’t want to be a giraffe.”
“You’re not a giraffe.”
“I’m the giraffe. Thee fucking giraffe.”
“That’s how you see yourself?”
“You have helped me more than anybody else, so I’ll be honest with you. I’m the
giraffe. I’m the god damn giraffe.”
Paul sat up a bit in his recliner and threw his notes beside him on the desk. “So are you ready to
get to fucking work, or are we still playing games here?” Paul grabbed the check that John had tossed
on his desk upon entering his office, and ripped it in half.
“Your money means nothing here. Take my hand.” Paul stretched out his open palm, awaiting
John to accept it and embrace.
CHAPTER 5: FOLLOW ME
She ripped open the envelope and threw it on the floor out of fear. Instinctively, she knew that
whatever was inside was not something she was prepared for. Tears streamed down her face as she
buried her head into her lap, crying. Her sadness dripping on to her jeans, wet spots dropping by the
second.
“it’s too much, it’s too much to deal with, it’s too much,” repeating the phrase over and over
until again, a tap on the shoulder. She let out a scream that emanated deep within the bowels of her
soul. Turning around, she seen nothing behind her but the wind playing with the curtains behind her
from the open window. Her plants twisted in the wind as if they had a supporting role on Broadway.
Nothing but wind.
She paced around back and forth, putting her hand on the beige wall to think things over. She
was convinced she was losing her mind. There was no other explanation. Taps on the shoulder, letters
from her late husband, she looked down at the hard wood floor and cried some more. This time out of
despair more than sadness. She was totally lost. Lost and alone wasn’t a feeling she was used to. She
always had Joseph to depend on, and for the first time in two and a half years, his absence hit her hard.
The taps on the shoulder subsided and accelerated to more of a push, a shove in the small of her
back. Whatever, whoever it was, wanted her attention and she knew it. She turned once more and
shouted, “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!,” at such a level she could feel the energy shift in
front of her face. Rage. The mood switched, and when it did, she revealed herself.
A stoic woman, slender and tall appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She extended her hand to
introduce herself, but Karina took a step back, visibly shaken. She had never seen this woman in her
life, and there she stood, in her dining room where many memories were made between her and Joseph.
She tried to speak but words could not be uttered. She was taken aback by her presence itself, and
finally the mysterious woman spoke.
“You know who I am, yes?”
“No,” Karina said, again taking a step back away from her.
The woman took one step towards her and again extended her hand as a gesture of openness,
and
once more, Karina took one
back.
“Be not afraid of me, I am no enemy. I am a friend, I have been with you your entire life. On the
day you got married, I was in the first pew. On the day of your Confirmation, I knelt with you. When
your mother died, I held your hand and every time you were lost I guided you home. I know you well,
Karina Michelle Salton.”
Her full name being spoken by someone, or something she had never seen took her breath away.
In front of her stood an olive skinned woman, beads around her neck, shells around both wrists. A black
band held them both together.
“My name is Sasha and I have been with you since birth, for every bad thing and every good
one. I was assigned to you over 437 years ago, and I’m tired of dancing with you in the shadows. It’s
time to graduate, do you understand?”
Karina shook her head no.
“Sit. Pull up a chair and listen to me. I don’t like repeating myself so listen well.”
Karina apprehensively took a seat and looked down at the letters spread across the table and let
out a small shriek before throwing her arms at them, tossing them on the floor.
“Now why you go and do that? Now you got a whole ass mess… you know what? It’s your
mess, it ain’t mine. Which means by extension it ain’t my fucking problem. You mind if I smoke in
here?,” she asked as she pulled out a brand new pack of cigars. Reaching into her gray cloak, she
pulled out a BIC lighter and sparked the cigar almost instantaneously. The smell wasn’t of a normal
cigar, but a mixture of a small hint of marijuana and sage.
Sasha pounded the table with her first, shaking not only the table itself but the dreadlocks from
her head as well.
“Now you know why I’m here, don’t you?”
Karina shook her head no and stood up from the chair, pacing back and forth before shouting,
“What the fuck do you want from me?!” Prompting Sasha again to extend her hand.
“Take my hand and follow me. I will show you everything.”
Karina reached back for the first time and they both dissipated into thin air, leaving an empty
room behind, bills and letters scattered across the floor. The wind sent the curtains into a frenzy, doing
a small number along the base boards. Nothing but silence was heard throughout the room. A knock at
front door sent the dining room into a tail spin, every letter, every bill as if it was in a hurricane. The
energy had shifted.
CHAPTER 6: ROOM 205
Waking up every day in a panic. Same as every other day. I wake up in the same room.
But I know she’s in the next room over. This isn’t the same place. I can’t believe I was panicking ten
minutes ago. I gotta pee. My body is so stiff but I don’t got any bruises, though. I know I swim when I
sleep, but it’s not always pleasant. Sometimes I wake up feeling like went to war with myself in my
dreams.
In the same position to be clear.
in my sleep. Another trip to the bathroom, another long journey.
“Oh hello there, ain’t you a little pretty ugly thang,” I said which I guess could be described as a
southern drawl. “I picked that up in Virginia.” I talk to myself, and? Act like you don’t. Oh damn.
Here we fucking go. “Good morning to you, you ugly ass,” she said directed towards the upstairs
window. Again, awoken in the morning by her neighbor, Alexander. She felt the soil around her plants
to check to see if they needed to be tended to. The apartment building was something of a sanctuary for
her. A revolving door of side characters who came and left as quick as they pushed their way in.
Temporary people. Annoying if we’re being honest. She looked up at the ceiling and had a brief
moment in the past. That’s common place for me. I used to be scared of it but I just accept it now. I like
to look at it as I’m traveling through time, because in that moment, I am fucking there. I feel it. I know
it.
I am still dealing with hospital anxiety. Every time I look up, I am reminded of my own
personal hell. The funny thing is if you had to guess what my anchor was, you’d never know, and I
ain’t ever telling.
“Well good morning to you to too, Darrel, with your stanky ass cigarettes. I do need his help
today though, damn. I looked over at my crutch, that I know is exactly that, a crutch. My whole life
feels like a metaphor, or some kind of twisted joke. Everything always circles back.
Alright, let me call this bastard. You know what, let me chill. He always looks out for me,
he ain’t ever been a bastard to me. Shit, we haven’t even really ever had it out like that now that
I think about it. Well, there was one time. We had it out over him and his girl, actually. I don’t even
know why I’m thinking about this, HA! Probably because I’m about to call his ass and say good
morning.
Anyway, what had happened was, him and his girl got into it. I mean, really got into it.
You get what I mean by that I hope cause I ain’t going no further with that one. So anyways, she
got kicked out and this bitch ass mother fucker who lives above me refused to pay her way home so
I had to do it. He told me he didn’t have the money and I knew he was lying anyways, he was just
deep in his feelings. I’m saying though, like Michael Phelps Olympic pool in his feelings, so I had to
check his ass right quick. I told him straight up, you better give me my money back cause if we’re
being realistic, that’s my girl now. I paid her way, did I not? Oh that’s right I did, that’s my bitch now.
When I tell you he ran that paper back within seconds of me hanging up that day, I ain’t playing
with you one bit. Anyway. Fuck! Where is my god damn phone at? Oh shit, ok. I forget my power
sometimes. I’ll get into that later, though. I reached for my phone that was on my work desk to the right ‘
of me and pulled up his number.
“Good mornin’”
“Yeooooo!”
“You always gotta say that, switch it up.”
“That shit bothers you though?”
“Shit, kind of. Anyways, I need a favor, come see me, doll.”
“You gotta gimme a few, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Middle of what? An 8 ball? You better get your ass down here right now.”
He sighed cause he knew he couldn’t say no.
“I’ll be right there.”
I hung the phone up with a smile like the Cheshire cat. He had no idea the journey he was about
to go on. I’m gonna fix him once and for all. Rock with me. I’ll see ya’ll soon.
CHAPTER 7: IN WHICH WE MEET LAURAINA
She hiked up the mountain, looking down at her phone, which she turned to airplane mode. It
was just something she did to avoid being disturbed in a place that felt like home. It felt natural to be
here, and she believed she knew why. Peace live here. It was like being hugged by the most loving
spirit in the world. Imagine the day after you drop ecstasy. On top of the world, confident, not
questioning a single thing in the world no matter what you’re going through.
That was it, the feeling. The one we all chase, the one fake churches sell to desperate people looking
for inner peace. Chasing it is always better than having it, and she knew that too.
on at the drop of a hat offering any drug you could muster, and she’d be there ten minutes later? That
girl. Self care and therapy were the reasons she cited when people asked, but in her soul she knew it
was all her. Her commitment, her drive.
Her dirty blonde her briefly waved in her face, causing her to push it back into place for a
second before reaching into her back pocket for a black hairband, wrapping a ponytail within seconds.
A brief flash came over her, taking her back to roughly five years ago, when she was ‘that girl,’ Visions
of bright lights, being escorted to the toilet to vomit and a guy who she knew was attracted to but
couldn’t remember his name. She turned towards her friend, handing her drink to monitor while she
away before she snapped back to the hike she was on. She stumbled a bit, rocking her head from side to
side, acting like she was shaking some cobwebs loose within her head.
Suddenly, a tap on the shoulder.
“Lauraina! Are you ok? I was having a conversation with a brick wall for about two minutes.
You totally zoned out. Are you good?”
She took a deep breath and smiled her beautiful smile, which she faked, as she always did
to get out of undesirable situations. She looked back at him, watching him size up her slender figure
which actually disgusted her. “I’m fine,” she shot back, “just got lost in my thoughts.”
“Oh, okay I guess. I didn’t think you had anything in there,” he said with a sheepishly
jerk kind of smile. She did the same back, sizing him up. His ripped jeans, his bald head, his unkempt
beard. She didn’t even know why she was with this guy. She deserved better and she knew it, but time
and comfortably can be a real mother fucker. That’s what she chalked it up to. The breeze picked up,
the sky darkened like there was a storm coming within minutes, causing her to leave what she was
about to say back for later.
“We should get going, you know what that means,” pointing up to the slate gray sky above them
both. He nodded in agreement before insulting her again, even if unintentionally. “You knew this was a
stupid idea before we ever headed out here. We have an appointment this evening and you want to go
hiking.”
Lauraina looked back at him, before scoping out the area and admiring the forest green leaves
twisting in the wind.
“You really wanna be an asshole right now, dude? I’m the only one who knows the way back
and you’re gonna do this?” She plopped down next to her baby blue backpack and pulled out a
thermal bottle of water. “I got all day, Gavin. Why you’re fucking with me right now is beyond me, but
let’s do this. Sit down next to me.”
Gavin paced around the high grass and let out a visceral growl. “You always, always, always
fucking do this.”
“I do it? How in the… excuse me, how did you reach that conclusion?”
“Lauraina…. Can we please, for the love of God and everything holy pack our shit up and
LEAVE?!”
“Nope. We can’t. Sit down.” The wind picked up fiercely, as if her anger was dictating the
gusts themselves. “You’re really make me do this to you, because you won’t be honest with me? You
are literally the biggest joke I ever played on myself. I’m so fu--- I’m so stupid.”
This caused him to sit down next to her.
“Fine. What is it? What I do that is so fucking awful? I’m dying to know.”
Another tap on her shoulder. She turned to look at Gavin and let him know she heard him,
but when she turned her head, she was no longer in the woods. She was no longer with Gavin, but she
didn’t panic. She felt comfortable.
She felt comfortable in the waiting room of the therapists office. Out walked John,
surprised to see her. He tipped his cap to her regardless, and wished her well.
The doctor came out, scanning the room, acting like she wasn’t the only one in the room.
“Well then. Guess it’s your turn. Lauraina, right? Come on in.”
CHAPTER 8: SESSION THREE
Peering around the waiting room, he noticed a woman who wasn’t there just a second ago, or
so it seemed. John wanted to make a comment about it but was taken aback by her beauty. For the first
time in his life he couldn’t come up with a wise crack about it or her. Suddenly, the door swung open,
his therapist standing in the doorway. “John? Ah, there you are Lauraina,” he said with a smile, “we’ve
been expecting you. Just sit tight, grab a magazine there, we’ll be with you shortly.”
The door shut without John even stepping through it. He didn’t get much sleep last night,
and he couldn’t blame the medication, because he flushed it as soon as he got home.
“Oh, are you experiencing a time loss, John? We’ve been trying to get your attention for the
past hour. You completely ruined Lauraina’s time with me, you should really apologize.”
John bit back, “you should apologize to me, god damn it. Take that fucking giraffe picture down
now. I ain’t no giraffe, you’re really pissing me off with this thing, dude.” Lauraina gave him a
glimpse, and then back to the doctor, “ what is he talking about?”
“Behind you, there,” he instructed.
Lauraina first pulled herself around to see it, inspect it, and unload on John.
“Wait, why the fuck is a gir… I can swear here, right?”
Dr. Williams nodded in approval.
Pointing at the painting, she shouted, “So why the FUCK is a giraffe on a god damn
farm?” She definitely needed that outlet to shoot that anger out of her.
John sat up from his recliner he had sat down on less than a minute prior, shoved his
arms out in front of himself and yelled, “Exactly!”
“Don’t get too excited, you piece of shit. Bastard. Mother fucker!! You ruined my entire
fucking hour!” John started to scramble into his back pocket for his wallet and offered to paycheck
for the hour, and then some. “I’ll give you, well,” he paused to thumb through his cash, “four hundred
dollars to forgive me for this. I didn’t hear a thing, I promise.”
Her neck twisted to the side ever so slightly, her hair dangling across her shoulders, “Keep
it. But come out with me, let’s go grab a drink.” The therapist tried to intervene and reason with the
both of them about how this was a horrible idea.
“Says the guy with a phD, supposedly, with a giraffe painting hanging out with Old McDonald,
dude, shut the fuck up. You said I can swear in here!”
Dr Williamson took a step back when Lauriana raised her arm, maybe out of experience or fear.
“Yeah, you can!”
“Thanks for the permission, fuck you, pal. See ya next week. That’s the game we play over here
right? She grabbed John by the arm and lead him out the door before slamming it shut. Dr. Williamson
yelled something about how they were ruining everything, but she didn’t care. Her more than him, to
be honest. Lauriana mashed the elevator buttons until they pushed open. As they stepped inside, and the
doors shut, she looked John in the eyes and asked if he was ready for what came next. His eyes told
the story, but he shook his head yes.
An unwilling participant to astral projection.
=================================================
She requested a booth as the short and slender, brunette waitress grabbed two menus after
Lauraina confirmed back it was only a party of two. Billy Joel played on the jukebox as they were
seated, to the vocal dismay of John. An audible grunt of disgust accompanied a shake of his head just
before he slid into his side of the booth.
“So, what can we start you with,” asked the waitress whose name tag read ‘STACI.’
John answered with a double shot of Evan Williams. “So much better than Jack.”
“Yeah, what he said, but can I grab a side of ginger ale with mine?”
John looked kind of surprised, “didn’t expect that.”
The waitress scurried away to grab their drinks. John was checking her out she walked off
towards the bar.
“I’m Irish,” she said with a slight giggle. “Twenty bucks says I can out drink you,” she
challenged, digging into her purse for a twenty dollar bill to place on the table.
The walls by their booth were decorated with old actors and actresses, entertainers, singers,
there wasn’t a person on the establishment’s décor who was not a household name. Photos of
Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin giving a cheers before downing a martini. Marilyn Monroe posing
on the edge of a bar top with a white dress.
“You think this shit on the walls, is it tacky?”
She rolled her eyes, “nope, but way to avoid the bet.”
“Wasn’t avoiding, was trying to get your attention of me eyeing the waitress’ ass. Anywho,
yeah, I’m in. I’ll drink you under the table.”
“if I had a dollar for every time I heard that one,” she shot back.
Before she could finish her sentence, John was digging in his pocket to place a dollar on the
red oak table. “Now you do,” he said with a half-laugh. The waitress approached with their drinks and
placed them in front of John and Lauraina each.
“That’ll be it for now,” she said, “we’re only drinking tonight. We have somewhere to be.”
John glanced back with a confused look on his face, “we do?”
“Just wait to see what I have planned for you.”
He chuckled and took a sip of his drink, “should I be scared?”
“You tell me,” licking the corner of her lips, soaking up every drop of the shot she just drank
down.
=======================================
An hour had passed and they were still at the booth with tacky décor. The conversation was
consistent and humorous, John was impressed. He never had a connection like this right off the bat in
this life, or any other. Well, he took that back, saying that assumed they didn’t have a forever
connection spanning several lifetimes. He imagined being her husband while she served over a
kingdom that was the envy of the world. All she required was him to wave and be friendly to her
public. Nothing more and nothing less. Just as he was about to venture off to another lifetime she
banged on the table with a closed fist.
“Hey!” You’re up. We’re tied, 7-7. I think I’m winning.”
He snapped back to reality and played it off like he was just daydreaming, which technically
speaking, he was. Reaching for the clear shot glass filled with the golden elixir, he tipped it back and
took it down. “Going down like water, you’re in trouble now.” He reached for the next one, he assumed
while he was spaced out that Lauraina went extra hard and ordered a dozen shots. Drinking one more
and slamming the glass down, letting out a satisfying, “ahhh.”
“I’m in the lead now,” John remarked.
“You are, and luckily for you, you’ll stay there for a few minutes. I gotta go to the bathroom,
you want to accompany me?”
“Sure. Let’s go.”
Lauraina first scooted out of the booth, John was next out. They rose up to their feet and
collected themselves and their balance.
“You good?”
“Yeah. I’ve been here before,” Lauraina said. John reached for the middle of her back and lead
her towards the signs that directed patrons to the restrooms. They walked past a big crowd at a table,
cracking jokes about a business deal they had just closed. He disdained people like this, loathed them.
He never understood why they did this, a whole pack of businessmen acting like commoners. It was
almost like they were rubbing the nine to five crowd, the working people’s face. If it wasn’t for his
company he would have said something to them. He thought back to his past life.
Friendly to the public, no matter who they may be. They arrived at the restroom and Lauraina
turned to him before entering.
“Tell me everything you know about mirrors.”
“What? I don’t know. Vampires can’t see their reflection in them. Humans can. That’s about it.”
She bent over in laughter.
“Come in with me, I have to show you something.”
“What? Are you some kind of sicko? Why would I do that? You want people to think I’m some
kind of freak?”
“I’m being serious. Besides, you’re allowed in there. Obama said so, remember?”
It wasn’t too often that a woman got a laugh out of him, but she pulled it off. She grabbed his
hand and pulled the handle, pushing the door open. Following her lead, the door slammed behind them
both. Her hand still in his they stared into the mirror together.
“I really have to show you this. Do you trust me, John?”
He paused for a moment and shook his head yes while vocalizing it as well.
“I’m so glad to hear that. I think you’re ready. Go put your arms on the sink, relax yourself
neck and take a deep look into your eyes. Tell me what you see.”
He did as he was told, just as he had in his past live, or lives with her. Trust wasn’t an easy thing
for John, but for whatever reason he believed her. He believed in them. The brown ceramic wall tiles
began to fade around him and the only thing in the room that he acknowledged was his own reflection,
the hazel of his eyes. As he got lost in them, he felt a rush of warmth run down from his wrist, dripping
to the floor.
“Roll with it, ignore it,” Lauraina said, razor in hand, crouching up from underneath the sink.
She had slit his wrist the long way, causing him to bleed profusely until he could stand no more. As he
fell to the floor softly, she caught his head to make sure it was as painless as possible.
“You have to trust me. It has to be this way. I’ll be back for you, I love you. I always have.”
She closed the door behind her, walked back to their table and left a twenty dollar tip for Staci.
As she reached the door, she pushed it open, the wind chimes above the door singing as she left the
establishment.
CHAPTER 9: YOU ASKED FOR THIS
Sasha escorted her into a world eerily similar to her own, but very different than the one she had
left behind. The walls were painted differently, but the dimensions were the same. There were slight
changes that only should would know. The paint was a different shade of blue, but barely. This place
had a cerulean blue shade, while the place Karina had left had donned a baby blue paint job. To the
untrained eye, they would be the same, but cerulean blue was just a tad lighter. It was perfect. It looked
like the sky on a day you’d plan a beach trip and a picnic.
Sitting on the now pink sheets, which were previously navy blue, Sasha glanced over at Karina
with a side eye, waiting for her to become accustomed to her new surroundings.
“You good now, baby doll?”
Karina placed her hands on her head, as if she mimicking Psyduck. She rolled around on the
hardwood floor, looking up at Sasha, who was lighting another cigar. “Fuck. It feels like I got slammed
on to the floor and hit by an eighteen wheeler, and there you are. Just A-fucking OK, smoking some
kind of joint or whatever it is you do.”
Inhaling and then speaking, Sasha said, “maybe that’s how it went. It used to be that way for
me too. You ain’t special.”
Putting her hands on the floor behind her back to help her raise up from the floor, she let out a
groan. “You’re supposed to be my friend and you talk to me like that? Some friend you are.”
Sasha almost choked on her smoke. “I ain’t say shit about your friend. I am your guide. I’m
tired. In fact, Karina, I’m sick too.”
With a concerned tone, Karina asked, “you’re sick? Sick how?”
“Sick and tired of seeing you fuck up, bitch. You don’t ever listen.”
Karina stood up and started pacing around the bedroom. “How am I supposed to listen to you?
I’ve never MET you!”
“Sit down next to me right here, hit this while I tell you a short story. Don’t be scared. I ain’t
gonna slap you, even though I should.” That made Karina giggle and opened her trust up a bit, causing
her sit next to her, and eventually lay back. She apologized for doing so, “I’m sorry. I’m so tired. It
feels like jet lag. I feel like from here to China on a non stop flight.”
Holding out her cigar, Sasha demanded, “take it. I got a story to tell.”
Apprehensively, Karina took the smoke stick and looked at it, twirling it around her fingers. “I
don’t really do this.” Sasha gave her a dismissive look, causing her to take a hit without even saying a
word.
“Ha! So we just gonna erase college, huh? You know, what never mind, back to what we were
talking about. So you said I never spoke to you. I shouldn’t have to. You really have no idea how our
relationship is supposed to work, so let me break it down for you. I show you signs, you’re supposed to
see them. You never do though, and you never have. I don’t get it. I’ve been assigned to you for
hundreds of years. You are easily the most difficult soul I’ve ever had to work with. Do you realize
I’ve worked with starlets, musicians, actors… none as difficult as you. Now…”
Karina sat up from her laid back position and attempted to ask a question.
“Excuse me, I ain’t done.” The sunlight just protruded through the window, causing a
reflection to show up on the floor right below it. “Sorry, I kinda got sidetracked there,” Sasha said.
“There was once a man,”
“Oh god,” Karina sighed.
“If you’re gonna be like that, gimme that back.”
“No, I’m sorry. Go. Go on,” Karina bounced back, hitting the blunt.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” causing a sarcastic snicker from Karina.
“There once was a man who fell victim to a flood. He climbed up the attic and made his
way onto the roof. He sat up there for days. Days and days, we are talking like, about a week. No
food, no clean water, nothing. Just him and his dog he carried out the attic window and up onto
the roof. The third day he was up there, they sent a boat to get him. He screamed to them, ‘don’t
worry about me, God has got me!’ The fifth day they sent another, and he said the same. The sixth day
they sent a helicopter, and he said the same. They all left his ass right where he was, and on the seventh
day he was up there, both him and his dog had died. The water got too high, he drowned on the roof.”
Karina, hitting it one more looked back at her, side eyed and glossy eyed, “what the fuck
is that supposed to mean?”
“Girl, first of all, you better pass that shit back, secondly, you missed it didn’t you?”
Passing it back, coughing slightly, Karina said through a cough, or tried to that she had
missed the point.
“Damn, Karina. I really thought you were smarter than that. The point is,” ashing on the
floor before she was cut off by Karina. “Do NOT ash on my floor.”
Sasha looked back at her with a look that could kill, “it ain’t your floor, it’s mine. Secondly,
the floor is mine to explain the point to your blind ass self.” Karina laid back, sprawling on the bed.
“My point is, you have been sitting here asking, damn near begging for signs when they’ve been in
front of you this whole time. How many I gotta send you? You require me to take human form and
break this down to you, in your language? It should have never come to this, baby girl. You ain’t
stupid, and we both know it.” As soon as she finished her sentence she deaded the blunt and stood to
her feet.
“Come
with me.”
“Come with you where?”
“That matters now? It didn’t matter where we went but now it matters where we go,” she said
before finishing her sentence with a loud LOL, spoken aloud. “Girl, get your ass up, you gotta go talk
to Sara.”
Karina stood up, finally noticing her hair was in tendrils, wearing loose fitting white clothing.
She was confused but just rolled with it. She had learned her lesson when it came to questioning Sasha,
she would never get a clear answer, and only got scolded for asking what it meant. “Alright, show me
Sara.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“Oh, Christ. What do I have to do, open my heart to the love of the almighty Sara? I give
myself over to my lord and savior, Sara? This is crazy, where the fuck am I?
Sasha chuckled and looked her dead in her eyes, “which one do you want me to answer first?
Because the answer to one is, ‘exactly, and the other is not exactly. Actually, let’s keep it like this, it’ll
be fun.”
“It was literally a joke…,” Karina said.
“So was your life before this, now come here.” Karina didn’t find the comment funny, but
Sasha did. She lead the way, Karina right behind her, twisting the door handle and kicking the bottom
of the door to open it.
They stepped into the kitchen, which again was exactly like hers, except the paint was indigo
blue. The realization caused her to take a step back, which in turn caused Sasha to allow her to step in
front of her.
“Oh, we ain’t playing this game, you first then.”
Karina gave her a look back, rolling her eyes slightly.
“And we ain’t doing that either. Go forward and trust me. You see that door ahead of you?”
She did, it was her closet in the other place. The place where she would place her plastic bags
for any reason whatsoever. Sasha had to gently shove her back towards the door.
“Knock like you’re at a speakeasy. An identifiable knock.”
She followed her words, and knocked a patdadapatpatpatpat.
“Wait, who is Sara to you?”
“You pick a bad time to ask a question like that,” she said as the door opened. “She’s
like my boss.”
Karina took a deep breath and stumbled into what she always knew as a closet.
CHAPTER 10: WHERE IT LIVES
It’s been over a week. I don’t hate you any less. I feel like I have to convince myself to do so.
It’s unfair to both of us, really. More so you than me. I’m the one putting roadblocks in your way. My
hair is so long now. This journal is probably my most prized possession. It’s all of me. If God forbid
there was ever a fire and I could save one thing, it would be this. It means just as much as you do. I
know, that sounds silly, ridiculous, however you want to put it. I guess that makes me a hypocrite,
doesn’t it?
Oh, well. I’ve been worse than that. I’ve been called a number of four and five letter words, but
never a nine letter one. Bitch. Whore. Slut. Cunt. Never a hypocrite, or even a liar. I am a liar, I just do
it well enough to where I’m never questioned about it. A skill or a habit? Does it even matter? It’s just
as bad no matter the reasoning. It’s a sin, isn’t it? A lying tongue hates it’s victims, and a flattering
mouth works ruin. Proverbs 26:28. If that’s the case, half the world, maybe even three quarters of this
hellscape we inhabit is living in it as well. I don’t even care.
I’m the type of girl to make you break up with your boyfriend just because she has you and I
don’t, knowing I don’t even like you in that way. Only sometimes though, it really depends. It depends
on how bored I am, or if I’m in a relationship. Speaking of, you really infuriate me. I haven’t talked to
you in months, or at least it felt like it.
I wish I hadn’t killed you. I told that’s exactly what I came here to do, and you laughed at me,
Like I was a fucking joke, a god damn punchline to you. You fell asleep next to me, like you trusted
me, even after all of it. You had it coming, right? Everything you did, everything you put me through.
Even through all of that, I wish I didn’t. Digging that hole took a week. As of today I’m 5’2, 114
pounds. It felt like I was lifting Mount Olympus with every scoop of dirt. I read something once, it
was a joke, I think.
The guy in the video detailed how to get away with murder if it ever came down to it. He
said to bury an animal two feet above where you put the corpse, so when the police send the cadaver
dogs they would smell the animal and not the human. You bury a person eight feet deep, with the
animal at six. I wish I wasn’t blind to it all, numbed. The drugs accomplish that at least. Obviously
it’s not healthy, but it’s what I need right now.
I twirl my hair around my fingers, looking at the split ends and not really caring too much at
the moment, they’re just kinda there. My thoughts are all over the place, but what do you expect out
of me here? I’ve been through it, and that’s not me throwing a pity party for myself, that’s just being
honest.
I heard a gentle knock at my door, it was probably the neighbor boy who always flirts with
me. He’s very endearing, but he’s only sixteen years old. I don’t even view him that way, but
perception is reality in our world. The voice in my head came back to nudge me into having lunch
with the kid. I slammed my foot to the floor to tell them I was in control. They had no say here, not
anymore. It’s a fucked up spot that I’m in, I’m sure others have been there too, but I’ve never met
someone who has ever told me that their thoughts aren’t their own. That’s what I go through every day.
Every single one. Literally there is not a day that goes by where I’m not being pushed into something
I don’t want to to. I’m not saying every thought is a bad one, but they’re not mine, which means in turn
that they’re not authentic. The only ones that are mine, and the ones about you, and how fucking
fucked is that?
Haunted by our good times and the bad ones. The good ones might be worse because it makes
me remember everything you made me take away from not only you, but me. Twisting the knife in
chest, the shock on your face, the blood dripping from your mouth felt orgasmic. I felt above it all,
above the heavens, above you. I never counted on losing you, taking you, however you want to word it,
would devastate me in this way. Clearly I loved you, I gave you everything I had, even when I didn’t
have it to give, and it still wasn’t enough. Never enough to satisfy you, right? No, never. All I can do is
keep trying. You reminded me of those ancient ruins they’d find in the middle of the jungle where they
would sacrifice people to appease the Gods.
I guess in the end that’s what I’m doing here, isn’t it? There is no amount of blood I won’t spill,
no throat I won’t cut in order to get you back in my life. I would move mountains, I would sacrifice
entire villages, I would slaughter civilizations to hold you once more. I’d give myself for it, and
everything I ever was and will be. You told me three months ago we were a forever thing. You better
hope and pray that you meant it, because I believed you. She draped her bare right palm across her
chest, right in the middle and repeated out loud, “I pledge allegiance to you and this calling. It lives
here. I know you are yearning to be fed. I promise you, my Lord, this is the last time you ever
experience hunger pains.”
She side stepped into the frame of the mirror that was inside the bathroom just one doorway
over. She dug into her chest with her long, white nails. With every inch they broke the skin, they got
sharper and more strong. She laughed to herself and she tore her chest apart, right above her breast
plate. Blood circled around her breasts and soaked into her white pajama top. She laughed with a
sinister pervasiveness, like she was watching a Sam Kinnison clip on YouTube for the first time. She
slinked down to the floor, crawling towards the closet in the bathroom.
Her split end hair dragging across the tile floor, she reached the closet and was able to
partition it open. Her laughs got more consistent and she revealed a shrine, complete with horns at the
head and tarot cards at the base. It appeared as if she was claiming some type of power from this shrine,
as her face suddenly got more serious and she stood up as if the last three minutes was all her
imagination. Again, facing the mirror, with a bigger smile than before, she shook her head in approval.
“So, you haven’t given up on me yet?”
Her wounds healed in front of her very eyes, and the blood dissipated. She reached into a
drawer that was attached to the left side of the sink. She pulled out a small handheld notebook and
sat down at the dining room table to create a list. With a black gel pen in hand, she got to work.
