Read Online The Problem With Crazy by Lauren McKellar - Free Book Online
Authors: Lauren McKellar
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cracking in two?
“Don’t you get it? I mean I don’t want one. I don’t want a girlfriend who might lose her freaking mind,” Dave yelled. He grabbed my jeans off the floor and threw them at me, the metal button connecting with my wrist. “Honestly, I was going to let you come on tour, but do you think I could seriously have a girlfriend with a crazy father when we make the big time? Put your clothes on. Go, get out!”
I blinked. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening, not after two years of dating and all the work I’d completed on the tour and just—just everything. I felt a solitary tear snake its way out of my eye, over my cheekbone, and down my face, playing kamikaze off my jaw.
“We’re over, Kate. O-ver.” Dave sucked the marrow out of the word. A flimsy breath shuddered up my throat. “Move.”
His word snapped me into action. I threw one leg into my jeans, and then the other, pulling them up so hard and fast I was worried I’d push through the material. I held the sides closed and did up the fly, threw my shirt over my head, and grabbed my clutch and shoes as I ran for the exit, sobs heaving in my chest.
I slammed the door behind me and ran for the stairs, not wanting to risk taking the lift and running into other people, people who would see the ugly mess of tears that had taken over my face.
I charged past the receptionist who moments ago had looked so in awe of me being taken up to the room by my romantic rock star boyfriend, and ignored the now-smug shape of her upturned lips.
When I got to my car, I turned the lock and slammed my body against the seat. I draped my arms over the steering wheel, shoulders hunched as I tried to shut out the world.
I slumped there till the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, and filtered through the tall brick buildings in the surrounding car parks.
In three days, my dad had embarrassed me at school, I’d learned about his disease, discovered my chances of developing it, found out the guy I thought I loved had told his friends and a Grammy Award winning band about my potential illness, lost my boyfriend, ruined the start of my tour-organising career and said goodbye to my ticket out of this stupid town.
There was nothing I needed saving from more than my past, my future, and myself.
Chapter Six
“S O, HOW come there’s no psycho couch?” It was the first question that came to mind when I stepped into the genetics counsellor’s office. It was a small room with a big, open window framed by deep-blue curtains on either side. A desk cluttered with paper, books, and a model of a brain with moving parts was in the corner, two slimline office chairs next to it.
“Pardon me?” A woman whose name I’d learned was Leslie asked. She looked to be about Mum’s age, maybe a little older, and had blonde frizzy hair loosely pulled back into a bun. Streaks of grey ran through her locks, and tiny wrinkles gathered near her eyes. Was that a side effect of the job? Counselling people who were going through a whole lot of issues would surely bring out the greys in anyone.
“You know, like in the movies. When people go see a psychiatrist, they lie on one of those chaise lounge thingys.” I took a seat, a plain black one, close to the window. “Nothing offensive, but this isn’t anywhere near as comfortable as it looks.”
“Firstly, I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m a genetics counsellor,” Leslie explained. “And secondly, if you’re not comfortable, I can grab a cushion for you.”
“It’s fine.” I shifted my weight from one side of the chair to the other. “I just kind of feel like maybe if I was super relaxed and at a chaise lounge level of comfort I’d be more inclined to share my deepest, darkest secrets with you, you know?”
“I don’t intend to trick you into revealing any secrets, Kate.” Leslie leaned back in her own chair. Over her shoulder, I could see her computer, an open Word document with my name at the top
“Don’t you get it? I mean I don’t want one. I don’t want a girlfriend who might lose her freaking mind,” Dave yelled. He grabbed my jeans off the floor and threw them at me, the metal button connecting with my wrist. “Honestly, I was going to let you come on tour, but do you think I could seriously have a girlfriend with a crazy father when we make the big time? Put your clothes on. Go, get out!”
I blinked. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening, not after two years of dating and all the work I’d completed on the tour and just—just everything. I felt a solitary tear snake its way out of my eye, over my cheekbone, and down my face, playing kamikaze off my jaw.
“We’re over, Kate. O-ver.” Dave sucked the marrow out of the word. A flimsy breath shuddered up my throat. “Move.”
His word snapped me into action. I threw one leg into my jeans, and then the other, pulling them up so hard and fast I was worried I’d push through the material. I held the sides closed and did up the fly, threw my shirt over my head, and grabbed my clutch and shoes as I ran for the exit, sobs heaving in my chest.
I slammed the door behind me and ran for the stairs, not wanting to risk taking the lift and running into other people, people who would see the ugly mess of tears that had taken over my face.
I charged past the receptionist who moments ago had looked so in awe of me being taken up to the room by my romantic rock star boyfriend, and ignored the now-smug shape of her upturned lips.
When I got to my car, I turned the lock and slammed my body against the seat. I draped my arms over the steering wheel, shoulders hunched as I tried to shut out the world.
I slumped there till the first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, and filtered through the tall brick buildings in the surrounding car parks.
In three days, my dad had embarrassed me at school, I’d learned about his disease, discovered my chances of developing it, found out the guy I thought I loved had told his friends and a Grammy Award winning band about my potential illness, lost my boyfriend, ruined the start of my tour-organising career and said goodbye to my ticket out of this stupid town.
There was nothing I needed saving from more than my past, my future, and myself.
Chapter Six
“S O, HOW come there’s no psycho couch?” It was the first question that came to mind when I stepped into the genetics counsellor’s office. It was a small room with a big, open window framed by deep-blue curtains on either side. A desk cluttered with paper, books, and a model of a brain with moving parts was in the corner, two slimline office chairs next to it.
“Pardon me?” A woman whose name I’d learned was Leslie asked. She looked to be about Mum’s age, maybe a little older, and had blonde frizzy hair loosely pulled back into a bun. Streaks of grey ran through her locks, and tiny wrinkles gathered near her eyes. Was that a side effect of the job? Counselling people who were going through a whole lot of issues would surely bring out the greys in anyone.
“You know, like in the movies. When people go see a psychiatrist, they lie on one of those chaise lounge thingys.” I took a seat, a plain black one, close to the window. “Nothing offensive, but this isn’t anywhere near as comfortable as it looks.”
“Firstly, I’m not a psychiatrist, I’m a genetics counsellor,” Leslie explained. “And secondly, if you’re not comfortable, I can grab a cushion for you.”
“It’s fine.” I shifted my weight from one side of the chair to the other. “I just kind of feel like maybe if I was super relaxed and at a chaise lounge level of comfort I’d be more inclined to share my deepest, darkest secrets with you, you know?”
“I don’t intend to trick you into revealing any secrets, Kate.” Leslie leaned back in her own chair. Over her shoulder, I could see her computer, an open Word document with my name at the top
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