Read Online Scarleton Series I : Before the Cult by Sandy Masia - Free Book Online Page B

battling the craving was what mostly occupied him
the last few weeks with impulsive bursts of rage, mostly he was
irritable. But seeing me fail somehow put a wide grin on his face.
In general the despair, pain and faithlessness were sucking the
momentum off the rest of us. The suicidal thoughts were pestering
and wearisome, it packed an almost demonic compulsion and
enamouring promise. Skins were burned and slit, bottles were downed
and pillows sunk with tears. The philosophical studies were even
more dispiriting, sacking all the hope I had in reason. And when
Courtney first talked to me it was saddening, she had said, “Dude,
are you alright? You don’t look so well.” Whether the pain carried
a scent with it, the many showers I had missed or my downcast
demeanour that gave it away was not clear.
    “Seriously, I’m
not sure. She hasn’t said much about me, the calling or
what’s really going on. She seems reluctant,” I told Macfearson. “I
will make her tell me this Friday.”
    We walked down
the hallway past a few other silent doors, to the glass double door
marked “Counselling Centre”.
    Macfearson
pushed it open. “It’s too quiet here. It is quite unnerving,” he
lowered his voice walking into the reception and waiting area.
“Witches be scheming.”
    The
receptionist acknowledged us with a smile from her desk. She was a
middle-aged Indian lady, beautiful in that Bollywood film star
manner. I often found myself wondering who lockdown such a divine
creature, and if she was as happy at home or if this was just
professionalism. An act. Congratulations to whoever came back home
to that.
    “Sandy?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You are here
for you one o’clock appointment I presume,” her voice could bend a
knife and lower the gun without even trying, without even a slight
moment of hesitation. There was no telling what men would do if she
tried.
    “Yeah.” I
forced a smile.
    “Okay, have a
seat and I’ll let her know that you’re here,” she grinned, her head
tilted in a flirt-like manner, or maybe I saw things.
    For a moment I
ogled, pistol whipped. I shuffled on and took a seat, still
relishing what I had seen.
    “Don’t you
wonder?” Macfearson asked, looking up at the notice board.
    “Wonder what?”
I replied.
    “If she really
cares.” He paused and turned to me. “I mean it’s her job. What if
the whole thing is just a job to her and she has to pretend to
care, be interested and invested?”
    We can’t have
that, our deathling souls are poured into this project. Yeah, who
knows what she really thinks or says when she is with friends and
family. What if deep down she thinks I’m just a dumb freak, she
does not like me. What if I mean nothing?
    “You mean who
exactly?” I stalled. Unnerved by the thought.
    “Your
therapist. Cheryl.”
    I quivered
inside at the sound of her name. “To be honest I do think about it.
And by the way she is our therapist, we agreed I would do this on
the behalf of all of us.”
    “Quite
troubling thoughts. How many people does she see in a week or a
day? It makes you wonder about your significance to her. She is
whoring herself. You are just one of many, maybe our situation is
blurred and diluted by all the whoring.” Macxermillio added.
    “Look at her,”
Macfearson pointed at the receptionist, “nobody can be that happy
and nice all the time. Shit’s getting on my nerve. Doesn’t seem
like she has an odd bad day at all. Being that happy or acting like
that all the time is not normal, or at least impossible. Doesn’t
make sense.”
    I studied her
for a moment, she passed a bright glance while busy sorting some
paperwork. A beep of a smile accompanying it. It was eerily
mesmerizing etiquette, puzzling at the same time. It started to
make me nervous.
    “If she really
is happy how does she do it?” I uttered.
    “Maybe it’s all
a courtesy or in the job description,” Macxermillio said.
    “Do they even
go to lunch? They are always here. It is lunch now