Page 26 of Absolution

“Shit, shit, shit,” I curse, as I fly down the road at least thirty miles-an-hour over the speed limit. My truck speeds around the corner flicking up rocks and dust as I skid. I mutter silent prayers that the police don’t see me driving through down like I’m a Tokyo drift stunt driver on a practice run. Jail is not where I need to be for reckless driving, but if I don’t make it to my appointment with my therapist, she might just throw me into the psych ward for being late. Neither of those options would bode well for me. I’m not big on padded rooms or jail cells. It’s just not my cup of tea.

“Come on!” I yell, as a car pulls out in front of me at the last minute. The white minivan creeps along at a glacial pace. “It’s not even fucking Sunday! Move!”

As the seconds tick by, the white van continues its course in front of me, until my patience snaps. My hands tightly grasp the steering wheel, and I jerk out to the left of the van. My eyes bug as I see that the coast wasn’t clear and a large semi is barreling towards me.

“FUCK!” I scream.

I jerk back over behind the van as my heart begins to pound wildly. The woman behind the wheel of the minivan flips me the bird and pulls over to the side of the road to let me by.

I wave a half-heartedly apologizing as I zoom past her. My fucking rage at Ratchet could have killed us both had I not swerved at the last second. Just one day here and Ratchet already has me on the borderline of stupidity-induced suicide. That fucking man has came crashing into my world, making unreasonable demands, and destroying every single shred of common sense that I still have left. All in one fucking day. Really?

My destination quickly approaches as I shut down the mental bitch fest I am having with myself. How could I be so fucking stupid to agree to let him into my plans here? Why would he want to stay when he finds out? Ratchet doesn’t exactly scream family man to me, and putting my brother on the line, shouldn’t have even been an option. Yet, I offered up my reasons on a silver platter with the long shot of his reaction being a positive one. The idea in itself is the complete and total opposite of my expectations. Maybe Dr. Matthews should have me committed after all because apparently, I’m insane enough to think Ratchet and Asher would be a good idea to mix together.

On the other hand, maybe him knowing would solve one of the problems for me. He’d leave, and I could go on without his interference. Two birds with one stone. The odds may be stacked pretty heavily against me at this point with everything else, but this one might actually go in my favor.

Skidding into the parking lot of Dr. Matthew’s office, I find a place and park. I almost jump from the truck, before it completely stops, and dash for the door. Being late isn’t an option for me in the eyes of the law. They need to see that I am committed to fictitiously working through my problems. It might not be real to me, but it would be to them on a piece of paper. Had it not been for my prior convictions as a juvenile for drug use, I wouldn’t have even needed to go through with this farce of a recovery program. Thankfully for me, my other past discretions where below the involvement of the law, thus saving me from being one hundred percent completely fucked. I doubt the state would look to kindly on being prostituted out by your mother, drug trafficking, and being an accessory to multiple murders thanks to the man who had gang raped me along with his club for his own pleasure. I am so fucking glad he’s dead, or I would kill him myself all over again.

The waiting room lies empty, and I sigh in relief that no one saw my rapid-fire barrel roll into this place. Signing in on the piece of paper on the front desk, I hear someone clearing their throat. In an instant, I can feel the eyes of someone watching me and for a split second, I fear that Ratchet has followed me, but it’s not him. I peer up from the sign-in sheet and find Dr. Matthews leaning against the doorframe of her office. Her furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips, tell me all I need to know. She had seen the entire display and is pissed at my tardiness.

“Hi, Doc,” I sweetly reply, hoping that my act of innocence pays off.

“Erica,” she nags. “I wasn’t aware that NASCAR was recruiting drivers here in our little town.”

My eyes fill with horror. There’s no way I’m getting out of this one. I don’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.

“About that,” I stammer. “Something came up, and I lost track of the time. I promise that I won’t be late again, Dr. Matthews.”

She shifts from her rigid stance in the doorway, and waves me into her open office. Though she seems to be a patient and understanding woman in our sessions, I get the feeling that she might not be the sunshine and rainbows kind of person that I had originally pegged her to be.

Brushing past the doc, I make my way towards the couch of misery as I named it after my last session with her. Ever since my great revelation to her that my childhood wasn’t gumdrops and rainbows, she seems to have taken an unhealthy interest in that period of my life. Not that I blame her because unlike most people in this town that would come to see her, my problems didn’t revolve around the local gossip and church ladies luncheon drama over who stole who’s casserole recipe. The latter made for quite the interesting week at the dinner as I had the privilege of listening to the women cackle about it.

Dr. Matthews quietly shuts the door behind her and heads towards her chair. She pulls a notepad from her side table and clicks the pen, ready to hear my confessions today.

“How have you been since our last session?” she begins, her eyes focusing on me closely. “Any new developments?”

“Nope,” I sharply reply. “Nothing new in the land of me.”

Her eyes narrow, and a look of disbelief settles on her face.

Shit. What does she know?

“It was my understanding that a new arrival has developed quite an interest in you. Wouldn’t that classify as something new?”

“God, I hate the rumor mill in this place. You can’t take your trash out without someone alerting the rumor mill media about it,” I exclaim. “Don’t any of these old broads have anything else better to talk about?”

“The day those women stop gossiping is the day this world ends,” she smirks. We both share a quiet laugh, but the momentary amusement is short lived. She plasters her game face back on, and I get the feeling she has an agenda today.

“Is this man a friend of yours?” she bluntly asks, looking for more of an elaboration.

I sigh before answering her. Ratchet and his storm the gates entry into this town has already cost me my day job, risked my chances at getting full custody of my brother, and now is invading my therapy sessions. What’s next? Will I go home to find him already moved in and demanding a home-cooked meal?

Shit, I shouldn’t have thought about that. The way things have gone today, I may have just wished that thought into existence.

Dr. Matthews clears her throat and brings me back to reality.

“He’s an acquaintance, yes.”

“An acquaintance?” she teases.

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