Page 62 of Scoring the Player
“Good to see you too,” Sid says, trailing behind me with grocery bags.
I crash onto the couch and bury my head under my pillow.
“How are you feeling?”
“Doc’s overreacting.”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
Peeking from under the pillow when he returns from the kitchen with a tray of shit, I shake my head. “Nah. I’mma be shitting green for a week.”
“Good. Detox all that garbage you eat.”
“I had soup yesterday,” I fire back as he hands me a fresh bowl. This one is mostly vegetables. I push the spoon around.
Ugh.
It’sallvegetables.
He hands me water and vitamins next. No point asking what they are. When he’s hellbent on shit, it’s easier to just go along with it.
“You’re in pain?”
I shake my head.
“Uh-huh. Where does it hurt?”
For Christ’s sake. “I’m fine.”
“Your head?”
I glare at him. How does he do it? I swear. People think we have some secret mind-reading connection, but it’s all Sid and his weird-ass ability to read people.
“Where are the painkillers?”
“My nightstand.”
I’ve downed the soup by the time he returns with my head meds and the painkillers the doc gave me.
“Eat. Drink.”
I shoot back the pills with a cup of the yellow liquid.
“The hell?” My throat burns, then it mellows. “Tastes like pizza.”
“Oregano oil.”
“What’s the red stuff?” I nod to the second cup.
“Coconut water, kale, beets, celery, orange, and aloe.”
My face twists.Who comes up with this shit?
“Not leaving until it’s down.” He settles next to me and picks up my remote.
I slowly sip the goo as we watch the Arizona and San Francisco football game.I’ll dip a toe in acid before ever admitting it doesn’t taste half bad.
The sun’s up when I wake up to piss, and he’s gone.
