Almost
Prologue
November 23, 2020
“Tell me about the first time you fell in love.”
I truly tried resisting the urge to find my response within my dead, bloodied cuticles. However, my nervous ticks always failed me, and I found myself ripping the skin around my nails with a sudden rage.
Love.
I felt the heat rush to my face at the thought of love. Who knew a simple noun could make blood legitimately boil? I bet if I used my crusted nails to make a deep-enough cut in my arm, I could cook a pot of pasta for the two of us.
Dr. Nichols cleared his throat and I forced myself to look up. At that moment, I was well aware that he was not at fault. However, he was an young male with a thick, honey colored beard and hands that could crush me and eyes that made me want to rip off my clothes and I couldn’t stop myself before I lunged at him and screamed, “fuck off!”
Amongst other things, the man was blessed with a killer reflex. He jumped out of his brown plush chair as I dove headfirst into the coffee table that, lucky on his part, separated us. I could feel the small glass fragments imprinting themselves into my forehead and I screamed bloody murder.
Many people use that phrase not knowing what bloody murder actually sounds like. I wish I were one of them.
“Tell me about the first time you fell in love.”
I truly tried resisting the urge to find my response within my dead, bloodied cuticles. However, my nervous ticks always failed me, and I found myself ripping the skin around my nails with a sudden rage.
Love.
I felt the heat rush to my face at the thought of love. Who knew a simple noun could make blood legitimately boil? I bet if I used my crusted nails to make a deep-enough cut in my arm, I could cook a pot of pasta for the two of us.
Dr. Nichols cleared his throat and I forced myself to look up. At that moment, I was well aware that he was not at fault. However, he was an young male with a thick, honey colored beard and hands that could crush me and eyes that made me want to rip off my clothes and I couldn’t stop myself before I lunged at him and screamed, “fuck off!”
Amongst other things, the man was blessed with a killer reflex. He jumped out of his brown plush chair as I dove headfirst into the coffee table that, lucky on his part, separated us. I could feel the small glass fragments imprinting themselves into my forehead and I screamed bloody murder.
Many people use that phrase not knowing what bloody murder actually sounds like. I wish I were one of them.