Page 2 of Bitter Truths

I mean, would it kill the fuckers to provide a padded chair and decent coffee?

The stale air tickles my nose, and I drop the legs of my chair to the floor with a thud, trying to ignore the raised voice of the facilitator across from me. “Okay, let’s talk about that. What could you have done differently?”

“Never fucking went, to begin with.” The woman’s caustic tone brings me out of my thoughts before I look away.

There’s nothing remarkable about her or this, and drowning out the background noise, I silently sigh. I haven’t been to group for nine-plus years. Nine.

Back then, sitting in this chair meant very little to me. The fucking counselor sat across a similar circle and smiled as though he or she—the person didn’t matter—knew of my pain.

But they knew nothing.

Besides, you can’t cut out cancer when it’s feeding on all your damn organs.

Still, I don’t know what else to do. So, here I am. Maybe, just maybe, I can change something because right now, I’m lost, and the weightless sensation scares the shit out of me.

The only person who’s ever grounded me is gone. In her place, a new version of that girl, but this one sees me as I am. That’s the problem though.

I don’t want to be who I am. I never did.

“I see we have a new face,” the counselor says, peering at me over his glasses.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare, ignoring the trickle of sweat sliding down my spine.

“Do you want to introduce yourself, son?”

I’m not your son.“I’m Griffin,” I rumble.

“Hello, Griffin,” a chorus of voices say.

I know I chose to be here, but when I look around at the others, all I can see are the pathetic pieces of myself that I’m not ready to admit to.

Who wants to confront the shitty parts of themselves and sacrifice what makes them tick on the altar of self-righteousness?

I’m not me because I woke up one day and decided to be a little fucker, but no one has ever deigned to go back and ask why.

No one. Not the team of fucking counselors hired to cure me, not the doctors who prescribed medicine. Not even my fucking parents, who refused to look in the mirror and accept their part in this fiasco.

But I guess none of that matters because here I am.

“Hello, Griffin. Do you want to tell us about yourself?”

No. I don’t.

Rubbing my hand over my face, I say, “I broke someone.”

The counselor cocks his head to the side, his eyes considering. Dick. Yeah, it’s fucked up. I know.

“Okay, can you explain?”

Nodding, even though what I’d like to do is stand and walk away from this room, I stare over his shoulder instead.

“I broke her. My best friend. My only . . . love.”

“Why?”

“Because she broke me first.”

“What does that mean, Griffin? She broke you first?”

---