Operator

So it’s been almost two hours now and I still want to ram my fist through the wall. And when I still want to ram my fist through a wall, that means my pills have yet to kick in and when my pills have yet to kick in, it means I need more and when I need more… well honestly? I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just hope that I don’t become one of those abnormally laid back hippie dudes who wear nothing but tie dye tee shirts and bandanas with smiley faces on them.

I’m suddenly interrupted with the distinct sound of sharp nails scratching along the crystal of glass. I groan as I realize that its come back.

“You weird-ass cat,” I cuss at the gray fur-ball brushing against my window, attempting to shoo it away with a flick of my hand. “Go away.”

It opens its mouth to mew, no sound coming out of it because of the thickness of the glass. I crank the latch and pull the window up, a sudden blur whipping past my torso.

“What the…” I mumble before I see it settling on the hair-attracting couch, “get the fuck out of my flat, bitch!”

A low growl erupts from its throat as I shout the insult, its back curling up with its ash coloured hairs standing on end.

“What? Are you offended?” I taunt, leaning forward down to it, “you little... bitch?”

As soon as I repeat the slang, something flashes across my eyes and they begin to water at the sudden pain across my nose bridge and right cheek.

“Ah shit!” I holler, my fingers running along the cartilage, pulling them back only to realize it’s bleeding. I run over to the kitchen sink, turning on the tap and dousing my face into the running water.

“I swear if you're a dude,” I begin to threaten, my words muffled by the faucet. “I’m going to cut off your fucking balls.”

I recall the first time it showed that I had a problem with anger management, the two words that force me to swallow the little white coloured capsules since I was seven. Apparently, the separation between my parents had a great impact on the way I reacted and well, I tended to lash out a little more than necessary.

Feeling my nose go numb from the temperature, I turn the tap off and walk over to the cabinet, ripping off a paper towel from the counter before pressing it against my face.

“And if you're a girl,” I say, rummaging through the cupboard, taking the anti-septic off the shelf. “I'm gonna get some desperate bum off the street to fuck you dry.”

I remember my doctor says to watch or think of something I like to calm my nerves down if the medication isn’t working. Hence his words, I would always go down to the adult video and pick up cheap poof porn, always making sure to give the box a good sensual lick to freak out the cashier some more.

But now, sex is a zombie. I’m still waiting for someone to zap the past addiction back to life, making me feel sparks crack in my stomach every time we have contact.

‘Cause you know, ever since the phone hooking I’ve been doing, the whole idea of ‘sticking your cock up holes’ thing is a bit wary to me. I’d probably be taking in the relationship anyway.

“How do you like that?” I finally say, turning around to face the feline, only to see it disappeared.

“Huh,” I chuckle as I drown the towel in alcohol, “must’ve scared it off, the wimp.”

I hiss at the stinging sensation from the chemical as I dab it against the wound before walking over to the bathroom and checking out the damage.

“Jesus Christ…” I mumble, running my fingers over the four red lines. “Thing packs a punch.”

As I continue to wipe the towel across the cut, my body begins to involuntarily move back and forth while my mind suddenly goes on overdrive.

“Back and forth, back and forth,” I say, looking down at my feet before my eyes glint upwards back to my hand that’s doing the same movement on my nose, “back and forth, back and forth…”

I step out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while repeating the same words over and over again.

“Back and forth, back and forth,” I mutter while strumming my fingers in a tapping notion on my thigh. “Back and forth, back and forth.”

The phone rings.

“Back and forth, back and forth,” I continue, walking over to the black cellular phone. “Back and forth, back and forth…”

“Uh huh?” I ask into the holes at the bottom of the cell, going over to the trash can and dumping the used napkin into it.

“Um, hello?” the guy’s voice cracks in barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, hi,” I say back in a dull tone, “what are you wearing?”

I’ve realized now, there’s no point in waiting for the customer to ask the question. But much to my disappointment, he remains quiet.

“Are you going to answer or what?” I snap, “’cause you know, I’ve got other people waiting for me to phone fuck ‘em.”

I hear the sound of him clearing his throat. "I… I don’t want you to phone fuck me.”

I shrug, “okay, bye.”

I pull the cell away from my ear before I hear him shouting. I contemplate the thought of hanging up before I reattach the receiver to the side of my face.

“—ait! Wait!” he shouts.

“Alright, what?” I say, “if you don’t want phone sex, then why did you call?”

“I-I guess I just wanted to talk.”

“Talk? You called a phone sex company to talk? There’s a help line number out there, you know? You could’ve called them to—“

“I know… but I didn't want to,” he replies almost sheepishly, as if ashamed, “it’s like… it’s like when you tell them your problems, they give you advice like false hope. I don’t want false hope.”

“So what do you want then? Because I’m getting paid by the minute here and—“

“I told you, I just want to talk.”

No matter how many times he’s probably repeated it by now, I can’t soak it in. “So… no hanky panky shit?”

He laughs nervously. “No hanky panky shit.”

I can’t help but smile as I lean back against the counter. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Talk.”