Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 195(@200wpm)___ 156(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
"Look, Jonas, I appreciate you telling me this, but I don't know what you want from me; I can't do this right now."
"So that's it, huh? One little slip in judgment, and you fuck her life away."
"Listen, asshole; I didn't tell your sister to get in a fucking car with a married man. I didn't tell her to let him dry hump her on the side of the fucking street in fucking LA. Why don't you ask her about this shit instead of putting it on me?"
"I can't ask her shit don't you understand? She's damn near catatonic."
"I don't see how that can be true, seeing as how she's been texting me every day."
"Yeah, in her more lucid moments, but tell me this asshole, when is the last time you actually spoke to her?"
Okay, he had a point, but she has been texting me regularly. Oh yeah, Maddox, and what has she been saying? Please forgive me. Fuck, the same thing over and over.
"Listen, Jonas; I have to think about this. Let me catch you later." I hung up before he could answer. Looks like my day was starting out with a bang. Fuck my life.
CHAPTER 15
I spent the rest of my day torturing myself, shut away in my room, going through the publications Jane had left. There were times I almost snapped, but I held my shit together. I had a two-year-old nephew running around; that shit would probably scare him to death if he saw his uncle acting like a caveman. Some of that shit I couldn't even look at.
I took a break to go play with Rex; he seemed to be holding his own pretty good since I was here, we didn't let him sleep with us at home, but he was so damn lost that at night I was sneaking him into my room. Poor lil tyke missed his mama, the bitch. There was some shit in the rags about us fighting over Rex, like that shit would happen; let's face shit if I can't trust you anymore, why the fuck would I trust you with my kid?
Okay, Rex was a dog, but he was still my responsibility. He couldn't fend for himself, and I'm sure when I signed those papers to take him home, those people expected me to take care of him. If people can't use better judgment, they shouldn't be trusted; enough said. I could give a fuck who agreed with me; that's my stand fuck off.
When I was through driving myself crazy with this fuckery I joined my family downstairs. Jonathan was running the show, as usual, getting into shit.
"Hey, son, you're looking better." My dad gave me one of his smug looks.
"Yeah, dad, I'm cool." The rest of them checked me out like I was a mental patient fresh off the meds. The fuck?
"Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes," Mom called from the kitchen. I wasn't sure I could swallow anything, but if I wanted to keep the women in this house off my ass, I was gonna have to make an effort. We made small talk until dinner was ready. My nephew was pulling the fuck out of my hair and laughing. At least he kept the rest of them distracted from my fuckery; I was jittery as fuck, not knowing what the hell to do with myself.
I wanted to know what the fuck was going on with Suzette, but I didn't want to talk to her brother again; he obviously had a missing link. The only thing I could think of was putting a shadow on her, but that didn't feel right to me; I didn't want any other motherfucker near her, plus this was private, fuck if I knew what to do. I played it cool with the family, bullshitting with them around the dinner table; I guess my acting lessons were paying off because not even mom picked up on my shit, and she was worse than a hound on a fox hunt.
It's two o'clock in the morning, and I can't sleep for shit; I'm restless and twitchy. I've pretty much been in the same state since receiving that phone call. It's a bitch analyzing yourself when you're all alone in the middle of the night without alcohol to cloud your mind. Who am I right now? I don't know who the fuck I've been since this fuckery started; it's like I left my body or something and was just going on fumes. I don't think I really stopped to think about what the fuck I was dealing with. I needed to have a one-to-one, alright but not with that fuck Terry Poole; I needed to have one with myself. This was my life, I wanted it back, and no douchetard motherfucker was going to control what I did or how I felt, fuck that shit. What's mine I keep; I wish a motherfucker would fuck with my shit ever again. Balls to the wall Maddox.