Hello, my name is....
Jul 21, 2019 16:14:19 GMT -5
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The Anarchist, Kyle Shane, and 2 more like this
Post by Holden Ross on Jul 21, 2019 16:14:19 GMT -5
“Thank you, Robert, anyone else want to share? Holden?” Malcolm's soft voice ticks up an as he rounds out the question, making the target of his inquiry wince. Eleven men sit in a circle with Malcolm, each one with issues, or “demons,” of their own. Take Robert, for instance, who just finished sharing that he lets his meth dealer have sex with his wife, sometimes twice a day, in exchange for the crystal shards of Hell. Then there is Jason, a meth addict as well, who lives on the street, having lost his home, wife, and kids to his addiction.
Now all eyes have turned and settled on Holden. His knee bounces with nervous energy and he chews on his thumb, on the corner of his nail. A sigh hisses out between clenched teeth. He hasn’t shaved in three weeks, bathed in nearly two, and is showing it. His red rimmed, bloodshot eyes move from one man to the next and ultimately land on Malcolm. He's sitting there in his gray Dockers and that stupid yellow shirt. The gray tie tries to tie it together…..he wants to punch him.
“Hello, I'm H-Holden and I –“ he is cut of by the good doctor.
“We must rise to the occasion, Mister Ross. Rise up, be seen, and let the World know your transgressions!”
Holden's eyes narrow and he shoots sideways daggers at the doc where he sits, smiling, with the iridescent, bleached white teeth. With a sigh, he rises to his feet, and can feel their eyes on him. He grits his teeth while red blooms of embarrassment flower on his cheeks. His neck is taking the shade of a Kansas farmer in the hot July sun.
“My name is Holden.” he says.
“Hello Holden” “Welcome Holden!” and “Bless you, Holden!” are some of the responses he gets.
“I have been clean from pills for a week and a half. From cocaine, two weeks. And alcohol…thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes, and seventeen seconds……eighteen…..nineteen….”
“And the marijuana?” Doc Malcolm inquires.
“I told you I’m not giving up the weed. I'll quit all the other shit but I’m NOT giving up my pot! A d if that is a requirement then I –“
Doctor Malcolm holds up a hand to ward of the verbal barrage.
“Whoa-whoa-whoa….calm down there big fella. It all takes time, Holden. You say you’ve given up the pills, cocaine, and alcohol –“
“I HAVE!” Holden's roar makes a few members of the circle flinch but the Doc keeps that car salesman's smile screwed on tight.
“Then let us not worry about the cannabis use and celebrate your achievements! You’ve been clean of that other trio, which is far more dangerous, for a good deal of time. Rejoice in your victories! Don’t wallow in your weak spots. You are a good man, Holden Ross, and, in time, you will be free from all of your vices!”
The others gathered cheer and applaud, the men flanking him rise to their feet and clap him on the back and shoulders. A bashful smirk curls Holden's lip at the adulation he is receiving from his fellow meeting participants.
“I don’t want to quit smoking pot, I don’t. And, to be honest, I think it helps me more than it harms.”
Doctor Malcolm smiles and nods knowingly. He has heard this many, many times before and will hear it many, many times in the years to come.
“And that it okay! It is the way your brain is wired to function. We just gotta get in there, remove and replace some of that wiring, and upgrade you to an all new, clean and healthy, Holden Ross! Let me ask you something; are you still seeing that wonderful young lady, Tabitha, I believe her name is?”
Holden nods.
“She's keeping me at arms length, protecting herself I guess, in case I don’t sober up. I havent seen her in about a month but we text back and forth.”
“And do you still own the strip club?” the Doc inquires.
“Yeah. Been fixin it up, too. Frank, my birth Father, has invested in it. We shut down for almost 2 weeks and gutted the place. Looks like a dimly lit million bucks in there!”
“Yeah, it's fuckin nice in there now! And the girls are getting better lookin everyday!” a frail looking white man, about forty with a crew cut and glasses chimes in.
“Food's better, too…” pipes up a middle aged black man with bad acne scars on his cheeks and forehead.
The Doc's mouth has dropped open and his chin is nearly in his lap.
“How many of you have visited this establishment?!” his turn for the blooming of red on his cheeks. All but three of the twelve men in the circle raise their hands. Doc Malcolm shakes his head before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then lets it out, slowly. “Gentlemen, I feel I must remind you that visiting such dens of filth can only lead you back down, or further down, the path you are trying to get off of. Maybe this isn’t the best place for you, Mister Ross? Perhaps we should meet for some one-on-one instruction, rather than infecting the rest of the group….?”
This brings a rabble of protests, apologies, and statements of defense in Holden's honor. When Malcolm makes eye contact with Holden, the latter is grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and the good Doc returns the smile, albeit, less menacing and maniacal. The group carries on for a few more seconds before Malcolm raises his hand again and, immediately, the volume dies out and they all take their seats. All but Holden.
“Holden, do you engage in any sexual acts with the women who work at your club?” The Doc's voice has a bit of an edge to it now. Almost as if he were mocking Holden.
“So what if I do?” is Holden’s reply.
A smug grin curls the Doctor’s lips. “Does, Tabitha, was it? Does she know and approve, or even participate, in these sexual acts?” Holden's jaw muscle tightens. “Does she realize she is sharing you with these good, clean, respectable women?”
“They are good, clean, respectable women!” Holden roars.
“Who have sex with their boss, and I assume, know you are dating another women. Sounds like the kind of woman who will help you on your road to recovery. Have you introduced them to your mother?”
“Fuck you!” Holden makes it to the door, intent on leaving, when the Doctor stops him.
“Remember, you are court ordered to be here. I tell them you stormed out….looking a little worse-for-wear….maybe you get put behind bars? Maybe Tabitha find out you’ve been dipping your pen in Company ink? I just want what's vest for you, Holden, that’s the only thing we ALL want for you!”
The room is filled by the voices of the other men; “That's right” or “Stay” and “You got this” are repeated more than once. Holden releases his grip on the door knob and turns to face the room. He and the Doc lock eyes once more.
“Don't you ever threaten me with telling Tabitha anything, you got me?” Holden's voice is barely above a whisper and full of venom.
“I will do whatever it takes to save a member of my Flock.” he replies matter of factly.
“I'm not a sheep…..these other clowns, maybe, but not me…” Holden looks around at the others who eye him with pity.
“You will come to realize that, being apart of a Flock, with I as your Shepherd, isn’t a bad thing. Pride is a very powerful thing….”
Holden returns to his seat, receives a few more “attaboy's” and pats on the back before the meeting continues.
“Hello, my name is Harold and I am a meth addict…..”
Now all eyes have turned and settled on Holden. His knee bounces with nervous energy and he chews on his thumb, on the corner of his nail. A sigh hisses out between clenched teeth. He hasn’t shaved in three weeks, bathed in nearly two, and is showing it. His red rimmed, bloodshot eyes move from one man to the next and ultimately land on Malcolm. He's sitting there in his gray Dockers and that stupid yellow shirt. The gray tie tries to tie it together…..he wants to punch him.
“Hello, I'm H-Holden and I –“ he is cut of by the good doctor.
“We must rise to the occasion, Mister Ross. Rise up, be seen, and let the World know your transgressions!”
Holden's eyes narrow and he shoots sideways daggers at the doc where he sits, smiling, with the iridescent, bleached white teeth. With a sigh, he rises to his feet, and can feel their eyes on him. He grits his teeth while red blooms of embarrassment flower on his cheeks. His neck is taking the shade of a Kansas farmer in the hot July sun.
“My name is Holden.” he says.
“Hello Holden” “Welcome Holden!” and “Bless you, Holden!” are some of the responses he gets.
“I have been clean from pills for a week and a half. From cocaine, two weeks. And alcohol…thirty-seven hours, twelve minutes, and seventeen seconds……eighteen…..nineteen….”
“And the marijuana?” Doc Malcolm inquires.
“I told you I’m not giving up the weed. I'll quit all the other shit but I’m NOT giving up my pot! A d if that is a requirement then I –“
Doctor Malcolm holds up a hand to ward of the verbal barrage.
“Whoa-whoa-whoa….calm down there big fella. It all takes time, Holden. You say you’ve given up the pills, cocaine, and alcohol –“
“I HAVE!” Holden's roar makes a few members of the circle flinch but the Doc keeps that car salesman's smile screwed on tight.
“Then let us not worry about the cannabis use and celebrate your achievements! You’ve been clean of that other trio, which is far more dangerous, for a good deal of time. Rejoice in your victories! Don’t wallow in your weak spots. You are a good man, Holden Ross, and, in time, you will be free from all of your vices!”
The others gathered cheer and applaud, the men flanking him rise to their feet and clap him on the back and shoulders. A bashful smirk curls Holden's lip at the adulation he is receiving from his fellow meeting participants.
“I don’t want to quit smoking pot, I don’t. And, to be honest, I think it helps me more than it harms.”
Doctor Malcolm smiles and nods knowingly. He has heard this many, many times before and will hear it many, many times in the years to come.
“And that it okay! It is the way your brain is wired to function. We just gotta get in there, remove and replace some of that wiring, and upgrade you to an all new, clean and healthy, Holden Ross! Let me ask you something; are you still seeing that wonderful young lady, Tabitha, I believe her name is?”
Holden nods.
“She's keeping me at arms length, protecting herself I guess, in case I don’t sober up. I havent seen her in about a month but we text back and forth.”
“And do you still own the strip club?” the Doc inquires.
“Yeah. Been fixin it up, too. Frank, my birth Father, has invested in it. We shut down for almost 2 weeks and gutted the place. Looks like a dimly lit million bucks in there!”
“Yeah, it's fuckin nice in there now! And the girls are getting better lookin everyday!” a frail looking white man, about forty with a crew cut and glasses chimes in.
“Food's better, too…” pipes up a middle aged black man with bad acne scars on his cheeks and forehead.
The Doc's mouth has dropped open and his chin is nearly in his lap.
“How many of you have visited this establishment?!” his turn for the blooming of red on his cheeks. All but three of the twelve men in the circle raise their hands. Doc Malcolm shakes his head before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then lets it out, slowly. “Gentlemen, I feel I must remind you that visiting such dens of filth can only lead you back down, or further down, the path you are trying to get off of. Maybe this isn’t the best place for you, Mister Ross? Perhaps we should meet for some one-on-one instruction, rather than infecting the rest of the group….?”
This brings a rabble of protests, apologies, and statements of defense in Holden's honor. When Malcolm makes eye contact with Holden, the latter is grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and the good Doc returns the smile, albeit, less menacing and maniacal. The group carries on for a few more seconds before Malcolm raises his hand again and, immediately, the volume dies out and they all take their seats. All but Holden.
“Holden, do you engage in any sexual acts with the women who work at your club?” The Doc's voice has a bit of an edge to it now. Almost as if he were mocking Holden.
“So what if I do?” is Holden’s reply.
A smug grin curls the Doctor’s lips. “Does, Tabitha, was it? Does she know and approve, or even participate, in these sexual acts?” Holden's jaw muscle tightens. “Does she realize she is sharing you with these good, clean, respectable women?”
“They are good, clean, respectable women!” Holden roars.
“Who have sex with their boss, and I assume, know you are dating another women. Sounds like the kind of woman who will help you on your road to recovery. Have you introduced them to your mother?”
“Fuck you!” Holden makes it to the door, intent on leaving, when the Doctor stops him.
“Remember, you are court ordered to be here. I tell them you stormed out….looking a little worse-for-wear….maybe you get put behind bars? Maybe Tabitha find out you’ve been dipping your pen in Company ink? I just want what's vest for you, Holden, that’s the only thing we ALL want for you!”
The room is filled by the voices of the other men; “That's right” or “Stay” and “You got this” are repeated more than once. Holden releases his grip on the door knob and turns to face the room. He and the Doc lock eyes once more.
“Don't you ever threaten me with telling Tabitha anything, you got me?” Holden's voice is barely above a whisper and full of venom.
“I will do whatever it takes to save a member of my Flock.” he replies matter of factly.
“I'm not a sheep…..these other clowns, maybe, but not me…” Holden looks around at the others who eye him with pity.
“You will come to realize that, being apart of a Flock, with I as your Shepherd, isn’t a bad thing. Pride is a very powerful thing….”
Holden returns to his seat, receives a few more “attaboy's” and pats on the back before the meeting continues.
“Hello, my name is Harold and I am a meth addict…..”