Pull (Seaside #2)(8)

I never claimed to be the smartest guy when it came to the opposite sex, but she seemed like she was in to me, and then like flipping a switch, she turned indifferent.

I shrugged it off and went into Mrs. Murray’s office. It was a familiar place for me over the past year, especially since she had single-handedly been responsible for giving me the ability to move through my twelve-step program without jumping headfirst into the ocean.

“Demetri, you’re early.” Mrs. Murray said sarcastically.

Okay, fine. So I was rarely early to anything. Crap, I bet I was late to my own birth. But in my defense, the whole job thing had me running on a different schedule. I started getting up at seven, eating lunch at noon like most people in this world, and going to bed at a decent hour in order to keep myself from falling asleep once I had to start work. Clearly it was a good idea, considering all the drama that took place at the taffy shop today.

I had only been at my new schedule for a few days, and already I was feeling a bit suicidal, like any minute the boredom would finally get to me, and I’d wake up to find myself actually crazy. You know, the type of crazy where drool flows out of a guy’s mouth and he think cats talk to him.

“Have a seat.” Mrs. Murray pointed to the usual couch. I laughed and sat on the floor as was my custom. Something about sitting on the couch made me uncomfortable. I mean, I’m sure it was a comfortable couch — it was leather after all, but it made the whole situation seem too real.

If I sat on the couch, it meant I was actually in therapy.

If I sat on the floor, I could convince myself I was just at Nat’s house hanging out. Most the time I would go into the kitchen halfway through our session, grab some popcorn and soda, then return and spill my guts.

I was always like that.

Lucky for me, Mrs. Murray didn’t mind, as long as I stayed out of trouble and actually participated in our sessions.

I leaned my back against the couch and sighed, running my hand through my still wet hair.

“How has work been?” Mrs. Murray asked once she took a seat and grabbed her notepad.

“Well, let’s see.” I cracked my knuckles and laughed. “I sing a taffy jingle on a street corner like some cheaply paid whore, and today I almost got my car towed.” I ended with a little smile and waited while she wrote stuff down.

“So it’s going well then?”

“I haven’t been arrested yet for public intoxication or selling drugs to little kids, so sure. It’s going well.”

“Two sarcastic appointments in a row. How did I get so lucky?” Mrs. Murray mumbled behind her notepad. I don’t think she meant for me to hear.

“What was that?” I cupped my ear. “You weren’t just complaining about your favorite client, were you?”

Mrs. Murray rolled her eyes. I laughed at her expression. She knew me far better than even Alec these days. I told her everything.

It helped that her daughter was my best friend, even though it made Alec want to punch me most the time.

“So, this taffy job… do you feel like it’s keeping you out of trouble?”

I leaned forward. “That’s a dumb question.”

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows lifted.

“Watch.” I cleared my throat. “Asking if it’s keeping me out of trouble is like asking a kid if school keeps him from joining a gang. Or if joining the football team keeps you from doing drugs and having premarital sex. Staying out of trouble has nothing to do with keeping your hands from being idle.”

I cleared my throat.

Mrs. Murray scribbled a few things down. “Now I’m intrigued, Demetri. What does it have to do with?”

I shrugged. “Color me weird, but I don’t think giving away condoms keeps kids from having sex. I also don’t think parents who allow their kids to drink at home are keeping their kids from underage drinking. And keeping me busy doesn’t keep me from doing stupid shit.”

“Then what does?”

I grinned. “It all comes down to my self-control and my desire to be a better person. Occupying my time with tons of busy work just irritates me. If I’m going to do something stupid, or if any kid’s going to do something stupid, they’ll just wait until they have time to do it. Like after football practice, or after their job. Anyway, to answer your previous question, the job makes me want to kill myself, and I mean that in the most sarcastic way possible.” I exhaled and popped my knuckles again. “Half the time I want to get high, the other half I wish I was drunk, which leaves like an hour in my day when I’m not thinking about those things, and during that hour all I can think about is the fact that the one woman I’ve ever truly loved, died, and I could have saved her.”

Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened.

I hadn’t meant to say that much.

I blamed the fact that my head was constantly clear. I was getting more and more honest about my emotions. I couldn’t figure out if that meant I was getting weak or that I’ve always been that guy, I just never knew.

The silence was deafening. I cleared my throat. “I’m just going to go make some popcorn if that’s cool?”

Mrs. Murray nodded.

I pushed to my feet and nearly ran out of the tiny office into the kitchen. Within seconds I felt like I could breathe again, but it didn’t change the fact that I had just admitted, not only to my shrink, but to myself, how completely screwed up I was.