There ain't nothin' good about you. You're naughty to the core."
I'm a little stunned when she says it, and I start to feel seriously offended. Then, she smiles and laughs, and I realize she's giving me a hard time.
"I'll remember you," I say. "And my first solo recording will be named after you."
Damn, it feels good to laugh with someone. Since going to rehab, I've been cut off from most of the people I know. Moving to Dallas without telling anyone isolated me even more. I haven't spoken to my parents in months.
I think about what Sophie said to me about accepting that I'm alone. I wish I knew what really happened before I was taken to the hospital. I've tried hard to remember, but only snapshots from the scene come to me. I was furious about something, but I can't remember what. At some point, I pounded on the door and screamed for Sophie. And then, Hondo was above me, apparently saving my sorry ass.
"OK, troublemaker," Shirlene says. "Time to get your butt out of that bed again."
It's humiliating when she helps me get out of bed and then fastens a strap around my chest. It's a handle she can grab if I start to go down. It makes me feel like a three-year-old on a toddler leash.
We circle the cardiac ward one step at a time. I can't walk at a normal pace without losing my breath, so we move in half-time, trudging along at a pace that makes me desperate to run. Frustration builds in my chest with every step. Maybe Dr. Taylor was right. Maybe I'm much weaker than I think.
This thought settles in my brain, waiting for me to accept it, too. But dammit, this had to be a fluke. I could do coke every day for the rest of my life and never have a problem. It was pure bad luck that my body reacted the way it did that one time.
For the last ten steps, I pick up the pace. I refuse to succumb to fragility. Fuck that.
Scene 21 ~ Hondo
On Monday, Jen and I are heads-down, all business. We're a little behind on our next milestone, and it's way too easy to start blowing through deadlines. But after sitting for hours, the stiffness forces me get up to stretch and walk around. I walk by the windows, looking down on the street below. To me, this is the most beautiful view on earth. I feel free; not even the brick and glass can hold me in.
One person catches my attention on the sidewalk. She has super long, curly hair and is wearing a racing cap and oversized sunglasses. Sophie. What the hell is she doing down here on a weekday? I want to tell her that her hair gives her away every time, but the truth is, the longer Lang is gone, the more Sophie's star fades. She is finally getting what she's always wanted: a private life.
If she spends much more time with Mark Dillon, though, she will lose it again.
The thought of Mark spikes my temper. The son of a bitch should be grateful I bothered to give him CPR. Would he have done the same for me? For anyone? I've never met a more selfish person.
Out of habit, I head out the door to go downstairs to see Sophie. I stop before I reach ground level on the stairs, though. My life has changed, and I can't live halfway in Sophie's world and halfway in mine. If I don't focus on this company, Jen and I will lose everything have been working for. I can't give that up, no matter how sentimental I feel about Sophie.
I turn, climb the stairs again, and walk back to my desk, firmly shoving Sophie out of my mind.
Jen glances up at me and smiles. She has dark circles under her eyes, and if I didn't know better, I would say she's lost weight in the last week. With her appetite, though, it shouldn't be possible.
"That was a quick breath of fresh air," she says. "I was hoping you would come back with your arms full of Greek food. And water. I've gone through everything we had."
I raise my eyebrows. "Really? Are you sure? That was a ton of water. I thought it would last a month."
She picks up her water cup. "The last of it is right here, and it's making me thirsty just thinking about it."
"OK. I'll order
I'm a little stunned when she says it, and I start to feel seriously offended. Then, she smiles and laughs, and I realize she's giving me a hard time.
"I'll remember you," I say. "And my first solo recording will be named after you."
Damn, it feels good to laugh with someone. Since going to rehab, I've been cut off from most of the people I know. Moving to Dallas without telling anyone isolated me even more. I haven't spoken to my parents in months.
I think about what Sophie said to me about accepting that I'm alone. I wish I knew what really happened before I was taken to the hospital. I've tried hard to remember, but only snapshots from the scene come to me. I was furious about something, but I can't remember what. At some point, I pounded on the door and screamed for Sophie. And then, Hondo was above me, apparently saving my sorry ass.
"OK, troublemaker," Shirlene says. "Time to get your butt out of that bed again."
It's humiliating when she helps me get out of bed and then fastens a strap around my chest. It's a handle she can grab if I start to go down. It makes me feel like a three-year-old on a toddler leash.
We circle the cardiac ward one step at a time. I can't walk at a normal pace without losing my breath, so we move in half-time, trudging along at a pace that makes me desperate to run. Frustration builds in my chest with every step. Maybe Dr. Taylor was right. Maybe I'm much weaker than I think.
This thought settles in my brain, waiting for me to accept it, too. But dammit, this had to be a fluke. I could do coke every day for the rest of my life and never have a problem. It was pure bad luck that my body reacted the way it did that one time.
For the last ten steps, I pick up the pace. I refuse to succumb to fragility. Fuck that.
Scene 21 ~ Hondo
On Monday, Jen and I are heads-down, all business. We're a little behind on our next milestone, and it's way too easy to start blowing through deadlines. But after sitting for hours, the stiffness forces me get up to stretch and walk around. I walk by the windows, looking down on the street below. To me, this is the most beautiful view on earth. I feel free; not even the brick and glass can hold me in.
One person catches my attention on the sidewalk. She has super long, curly hair and is wearing a racing cap and oversized sunglasses. Sophie. What the hell is she doing down here on a weekday? I want to tell her that her hair gives her away every time, but the truth is, the longer Lang is gone, the more Sophie's star fades. She is finally getting what she's always wanted: a private life.
If she spends much more time with Mark Dillon, though, she will lose it again.
The thought of Mark spikes my temper. The son of a bitch should be grateful I bothered to give him CPR. Would he have done the same for me? For anyone? I've never met a more selfish person.
Out of habit, I head out the door to go downstairs to see Sophie. I stop before I reach ground level on the stairs, though. My life has changed, and I can't live halfway in Sophie's world and halfway in mine. If I don't focus on this company, Jen and I will lose everything have been working for. I can't give that up, no matter how sentimental I feel about Sophie.
I turn, climb the stairs again, and walk back to my desk, firmly shoving Sophie out of my mind.
Jen glances up at me and smiles. She has dark circles under her eyes, and if I didn't know better, I would say she's lost weight in the last week. With her appetite, though, it shouldn't be possible.
"That was a quick breath of fresh air," she says. "I was hoping you would come back with your arms full of Greek food. And water. I've gone through everything we had."
I raise my eyebrows. "Really? Are you sure? That was a ton of water. I thought it would last a month."
She picks up her water cup. "The last of it is right here, and it's making me thirsty just thinking about it."
"OK. I'll order
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