“Well, I call bullshit. And as your sponsor you will open the damn door.” His fist slams into my door. Oooo, he’s getting mad. The so in control preacher is losing his temper.
“Um, one. You’re not my sponsor. Two. I find that you think you are so laughable. Three. I am not five. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Tru, I am your friend and I want to see that you’re ok.” The sound of his pity and begging pisses me off.
“Preacher, I am fine. You hear me, I am talking. I am moving around. I am A-Fucking-Ok.”
“Tru.”
“Blair.”
“Open up.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“Because.”
“Because why? Come on, Preacher, you gotta try harder than that.”
Walking over to the kitchen, it’s a mess as well. Shit’s bad up in my apartment above the city where I have locked myself away because numbing seems to be the best way to deal with all this fucked-up, frustrating, jealousy bullshit. The fuck me, need me, abuse me crap that is being pulled between us all and the way I have fallen back into the clutches for the tiny little white pills.
Searching my handbag for said items I pull a clear bag from inside. The feeling of excitement that washes over me at the false hope of these little pills trying to fix me. The way your mind twists and molds the truth into lies and a false sense of safety, that’s what these pills do. They wrap me in a false sense of ok, of a tomorrow that doesn’t hurt like the yesterday I had to endure. The pills are the villains inside this story. I’m lost and alone as the waves come crashing down around me. Tears roll down my cheeks as I roll the pills inside my hand. Blair still begging and pleading at my door. Will he just shut up and go.
Downing the pills with a glass of water I look over the mess. Shaking the fuzzy feeling from my brain, I stalk back over to the door.
“Blair, you’re killing me with all this caring kindness needy shit. So please I’m asking you nicely to just fuck off, ok? I am fine.”
Silence. He is quiet. Is he gone? Stealing a glance out the peek hole, I find he’s not gone. He’s leaning against the wall across from my door, arms folded over his chest, his eyes burning into my door and his jaw is set in a hard line.
Oh, sweet fucking Jesus! This guy is something else.
MEN! They are fucking idiots.
“Blair, I’m going to have a shower and then I have a doctor’s appointment. So, leave now and do some actual God work for the day because I don’t need you to swoop in and save me.”
I listen at the door. Waiting, watching. He says nothing. He doesn’t move. Fuck, he’s hardly blinking. Fuck him, I walk away from the door and his blank stare. Preacher man is stubborn.
Flicking a text to Jayden as I wait for the shower to warm up, my movements have become slightly slower and heavier as the drug takes effect. It’s hard now to be mad. I am slowly moving toward the wasted state of bliss that I like so much. That I crave and seek.
Me- You can call off your bulldog. I am fucking fine.
Peeling my body from my clothing then pressing play on my playlist the dark voice of Grace’s ft G-Eazy’s You Don’t Own Me whips around me. Yes, this is dead right how spot on this song is right now. You don’t own me. He doesn’t, Blair doesn’t, the world doesn’t. I am ME! I am Tru and I will do me. Fuck them all.
Jayden- Well I am glad he’s there. Took a lot for me to call the dick bag. You know he has a hard on for you, right?
Scoffing at his reply.
Me - Ha jealous are you James Dean?
Instant reply from the man as I stand here naked and shivering though not cold because the little white forget-me-nots have kicked in.
