Post by Loki on Jul 14, 2020 19:46:35 GMT -5
“What do you remember about your time in the ring?”
I thought for a moment, what did I remember? It had certainly been long enough since I’d been dumb enough to actively compete inside one. Was it the fear, the excitement? No, it was pain, definitely pain. I remembered the pain of every punch, kick, slam, and drop. I remembered every stitch and staple from being thrown through glass panels and through tables. I remembered the sound of my collarbone snapping and the fire that spread across my chest as Grimm dumped me into an open grave. I remember Grimm smiling his Grimmiest smile as he rained cold earth upon me as I lay curled in a fetal position at the bottom of said grave.
“Brandon?”
I snapped back to my current reality, a cold, sterile exam room with a Doctor who was bordering between bored and grumpy. “Sorry, I was just trying to put my thoughts into whatever words would get you to clear me,” I joked. He wasn’t amused.
“Mr. Noble,” he began dryly, “I asked what you remember from your time in the ring?”
I sighed, “I remember feeling relevant; like I mattered. If I wasn’t wrestling then I was fading from the cultural zeitgeist and that was a fate worse than death.”
He scribbled down some notes, the scratch of his pen made my eye want to twitch. It wasn’t just the pen noises though; it was the harsh lighting, the weird antiseptic smell, and the blasé attitude of the soft little man in the room with me. Luckily I held back, no sense looking crazy in front of the person who held the future of my career in their soft little hands.
“And you felt this way even at home?” he continued.
I laughed bitterly, “What home, my only daughter died in some kind of accident related to whatever it is my wife was involved in. Then our goddamn house burnt down. Then my wife,” I trailed off, “look, the long and short of it is that there wasn’t much of a home life, hadn’t been for a long time.”
More scribbling from him, more eye twitching from me, “Tell me about Melissa Dahlgren?” the Doctor asked.
I stumbled, or at least my brain did. Melissa had been a young woman, only seventeen when I’d taken her on as my protege. She’d been bright, bubbly, full of hope, and most of all excited. She’d been my antithesis as a bitter, not that old, misanthrope. Then I failed her too. The worst part is I couldn’t even remember what I’d done. I’m sure it had been something horrible as it earned me a beating from her rage monster of a father. She had run off and they, rightly I assumed, blamed me for it. As far as I know, it had turned out alright.
Suddenly I couldn’t meet his eye, “What about her? I started training her, I disappointed her, I haven’t seen her since.”
“Not even during,”
I cut him off, “No, not even then. Look she was a teenage girl that I should have had the good sense to stay away from.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Did you two have a,” I could see him mulling over the right words, “a physical relationship?”
My brain didn’t so much stumble as it ran headfirst into a concrete wall at the insinuation of his question, “Are you asking me if I had a sexual relationship with an underage girl who was half my fucking age?”
I wanted to punch his judgemental face, “Jesus Christ, you are asking me that! No, I didn’t have sex with a teenager. What the hell is wrong with you!?”
Paper rasped against paper as he flipped to a blank page, “It’s a fair question, Mr. Noble. People in your line of work have shown to have certain proclivities. Compound that with your history of addiction and I am just trying to make sure you’re not dangerous to yourself or others.”
“You’re not here to psychoanalyze me, Freud,” I snapped, “you’re here to stamp “cleared” on that form on your little desk so I can go home and prepare to get back to my career. So let's focus more on getting me back into the ring and less on my failed interpersonal relationships. I’ve got a big match riding on your rubber stamp and I don’t need another shrink, I already overpay someone else for that.”
“Part of this process is a psychological evaluation, Brandon. Physically, you’re mostly fine to compete. At your advanced age you will of course be more prone to further injury; and while you’ve taken your fair share of rough and tumble over the years, rather miraculously you’ve remained relatively injury-free. Most of your leaves seem to have stemmed from undisclosed issues. Let’s talk about those issues?”
I shrugged again, I was doing a lot of that today, “Simple burn out, Doc. Eventually dealing with the assorted crazies looking to open new orifices and practice new ways to remove your spleen leaves you worn out. You need a break. So I took those breaks and usually came back much better.”
He looked back over his notes, “Is that what happened five years ago?”
There was more insinuation in his tone and I had a sneaking suspicion where he was heading, I didn’t like it. I unconsciously rubbed at my shoulder, “That was a little different. Have you ever had your collarbone broken? They say it’s one of the most painful breaks a person can suffer. I’ve been lucky, I haven’t broken any other bone in my thirty-nine years so I don’t really have anything to compare it to. It’s like getting shot with fire. The initial SNAP,” I emphasized the word, “feels like taking a sledgehammer to the chest. Then the real pain starts. I felt like my shoulder was on fire, like it was being eaten by acid. At the same time I was so cold I was shivering. The EMTs on site said I’d gone into shock and that’s why I felt so cold. I believe it. Having a maniac beat you half to death with a shovel and then bury you alive is certainly a shocking experience. So, fuck me, I decided to take some time. After the initial shock had worn off and I had a chance to really look at my situation I decided that was that.”
Scribble scribble scribble, “I appreciate your candor and your vivid descriptions, however, I’m very concerned with what happened after that. You were prescribed Fentanyl while in the hospital and they sent you home with a new prescription for Oxycodone and with your history of drug abuse,” he let the accusation hang heavy.
“Nothing happened. Check your records if you don’t believe me, I refused the Fentanyl. I couldn’t do anything about the Oxy because they filled it at the hospital but I never took it, I flushed it as soon as I could. I lost, I went home, I dealt with the fact that my career was over and I was no longer relevant.”
“So you’re denying that you relapsed?”
I sagged in the uncomfortable seat, “Look, I’m not denying that I’m an addict. I lost way too many years of my life to those things, I don’t even remember most of it. But I’m in recovery. I haven’t touched anything stronger than Tylenol since I got clean and even then I hesitate. Yeah they prescribed them for me after Grimm broke me, but I didn’t touch them, I didn’t fall off the sober train, I didn’t relapse.”
“I see,” I really don’t think he did, “No one would blame you of course. Addiction is a terrible disease. You’d already lost so much and then to lose your career on top of it, it’s only natural that you’d seek solace in the familiar.”
“You don’t get it,I didn’t relapse. I know I didn’t. Christ, I still have nightmares about the last time I went through withdrawal. Anyone who’s gotten clean from this shit will tell you that’s enough to keep you on the straight and narrow the rest of your life.”
You can insert your own cliche about palpable tension here, the point is it was thick and I hate awkward silences.
“Listen, I get it,” He still didn’t, “You’re doing your job and making sure I’m not going to show up to an event stoned out of my gourd and hurt, maim, kill, or otherwise damage the bottom line. I get it. But I’m good on that front. God knows I’m a mental and emotional mess on pretty much every other front, but not that one. I’m not at the same place in my life as I was then, I’ve got no reason to ever consider those pills again.”
He set down his clipboard, “Most addicts can’t admit when they have a problem or when they relapse.”
“Jesus, you’re exhausting,” I interrupted, “Look, what do you need to hear to understand that I’m not back on the pills? You want to talk to my sponsor? Cause I still have one of those, I’ll get him on the phone right now. Do you want to come to one of the meetings? Because I still go to those as well. You can join the rest of us pitiful motherfuckers sitting in a circle while we chain smoke, drink nasty coffee, and talk about how sorry we are.”
“So you’ve taken up smoking?”
“Oh yeah,” I replied sarcastically, “it goes great with the hookers and blackjack.”
“I understand your frustration, Brandon, but before I can clear you for competition I have to make sure you’re in a stable enough state of mind to deal with the unique stresses this career path brings. You have a history of drug abuse, mental instability, and injury, you may not see it as such but this screening is far more beneficial to you than anything else. What I decide here today could save your life.”
I laughed, it was a bitter, choked affair, “Doc, I’ve seen the people you’ve cleared. Maybe not you specifically but the people you work for. Cult leaders? Hobos? Stalkers? And that’s just Mentis. You want to sit here and break my balls because I have a history of addiction when you’ve cleared a goddamn psychopath like Alexa Black for active competition? That monster was taking to twitter or tik tok or whatever kids are using these days and threatening me with a metal pipe. Yeah, top-notch work on clearing that one.”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Sorry, what?”
“You referred to Alexa Black as a “kid”. She’s two years younger than you and has been competing for just nearly as long. Longer given your accumulated absences. You seem to have made a focus recently of singling out people you perceive as children as though they’re beneath you, that you perceive yourself as better than them based on age and experience.”
“That’s not it at all! I just, they just,” I had nothing.
“It’s not uncommon for older generations to be resentful of up and coming ones. You perceive them as spoiled, undisciplined. You think they haven’t earned the same position that you enjoy because they haven’t sacrificed what you have. But I would say that’s unfair to them.” he steepled his fingers. “You have to remember that you too benefited from foundations laid by older generations and it’s only fair they receive that same benefit. The difference is they now have the foundations you set as well to help propel them. I would say that is the core of your issues with not only Alexa Black but Kyle Shane as well.”
“What did I say about psychoanalysis? Look, I don’t have a problem with either Black or Shane because of their relative age or experience. Christ, I think Shane is close to my age as well. My problem is that he’s right, Shane I mean. I feel like my entire identity is based in this god damn company and that’s the problem. It’s part of why I’m coming back. If I don’t fight to stay relevant, if I don’t fight for my spot, then I’m nothing. Before I decided it was in my best interest to punch Alexa Black in the face I was nothing, I’d been reduced to a meaningless figurehead with a fancy title. Christ, ninety-nine percent of what they attribute to me I had nothing to do with. “Sit pretty and smile for the camera, Brandon!” “Okay now do a serious one!” “Now let’s do a fun one!” How fucked up is it that punching a woman in the face on national television may end up being one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself?”
“I’m sure most people would agree that you were provoked into a physical response.”
“Ooooh, big tough man,” I mocked myself, “gets yelled at by a woman, responds by punching, news at eleven. Look, I realize that Alexa Black can charitably be called a woman and before you start writing that’s not transphobia, homophobia, or any kind of phobia. She’s a goddamn monster and only an idiot would go into a situation with her and consider her anything less. I guess my point is that in front of God and country I decided the best way to change my position in life was to deck someone who did nothing more than shit talk me. I’ve been shit talked by lots of people and never lashed out like that.”
More scribbling, I swear I was going to break that goddamn pen before we were done. “Why do you think that is?” he finally asked.
“I love repeating myself,” I muttered, “Because Kyle Shane is right, I’ve got nothing except bygone glory days and that’s all I’m holding on to. Better to burn out on top than fade into obscurity and fuck everyone that gets in my way I guess.”
“Well I think I’ve heard everything I need to hear.”
Brain meet wall, again, “I’m sorry, come again?”’
“I’ve heard everything I need to hear and I’ve come to my decision regarding recertifying you for active competition.”
“So wait,” I blinked in confusion, “I bare my soul to you, have a god damn breakthrough in the midst of an existential crisis, and existential breakthrough if you will, and that’s it? We’re done?”
“Precisely. As you pointed out several times, Brandon, it’s not my job to psychoanalyze you. In your own words you already pay someone else far too much money to do that. My job is to determine if you’re a risk to yourself, your potential competition, and most importantly to the company. While a layman could see that you clearly have issues that you are still working out I’m satisfied that you can safely compete for Pure Class Entertainment.”
“So that’s it? We’re done, I’m good to go?” I was flabbergasted.
“That’s it. We’re done and you’re good to go,” he confirmed.
I sagged back into my still uncomfortable chair in relief. I’d cleared all the hurdles, jumped through all the hoops, and now I was finally coming home to the place I belonged. It sounded like a fairytale-like it was too good to be true. Somebody pinch me! I pinched myself, it hurt. This was still real. The Doctor, I still didn’t catch his name, went on about submitting paperwork but I had since checked out and put my responses on autopilot. I exchanged the expected pleasantries and made my way out of the clinic. It takes over an hour to drive from Greenville to Charlotte where I’d since moved, I don’t remember any of it.
As far as self-imposed prisons go, a penthouse in Charlotte’s Second Ward wasn’t too bad. The building itself was a modern monolith of steel and glass. It gave no pretense at being warm and homey, choosing to eschew such folksy ideals for cool modernity. It might have looked like a yuppy art museum but it was home. Plus there was a Whole Foods on the bottom level, so that was nice.
I threw my keys and phone on the dresser and I went to take a well deserved and relaxing shower in the hilariously oversized bathroom. Seriously, you could fit a small car into this thing. I stripped down and stepped in, letting the hot water wash away the stress of the last several hours. Back in the bedroom, my phone started to vibrate. The vibrations caused it to motor it’s way across the wooden surface before it eventually fell to the floor and landed next to an empty bottle of pills.
I thought for a moment, what did I remember? It had certainly been long enough since I’d been dumb enough to actively compete inside one. Was it the fear, the excitement? No, it was pain, definitely pain. I remembered the pain of every punch, kick, slam, and drop. I remembered every stitch and staple from being thrown through glass panels and through tables. I remembered the sound of my collarbone snapping and the fire that spread across my chest as Grimm dumped me into an open grave. I remember Grimm smiling his Grimmiest smile as he rained cold earth upon me as I lay curled in a fetal position at the bottom of said grave.
“Brandon?”
I snapped back to my current reality, a cold, sterile exam room with a Doctor who was bordering between bored and grumpy. “Sorry, I was just trying to put my thoughts into whatever words would get you to clear me,” I joked. He wasn’t amused.
“Mr. Noble,” he began dryly, “I asked what you remember from your time in the ring?”
I sighed, “I remember feeling relevant; like I mattered. If I wasn’t wrestling then I was fading from the cultural zeitgeist and that was a fate worse than death.”
He scribbled down some notes, the scratch of his pen made my eye want to twitch. It wasn’t just the pen noises though; it was the harsh lighting, the weird antiseptic smell, and the blasé attitude of the soft little man in the room with me. Luckily I held back, no sense looking crazy in front of the person who held the future of my career in their soft little hands.
“And you felt this way even at home?” he continued.
I laughed bitterly, “What home, my only daughter died in some kind of accident related to whatever it is my wife was involved in. Then our goddamn house burnt down. Then my wife,” I trailed off, “look, the long and short of it is that there wasn’t much of a home life, hadn’t been for a long time.”
More scribbling from him, more eye twitching from me, “Tell me about Melissa Dahlgren?” the Doctor asked.
I stumbled, or at least my brain did. Melissa had been a young woman, only seventeen when I’d taken her on as my protege. She’d been bright, bubbly, full of hope, and most of all excited. She’d been my antithesis as a bitter, not that old, misanthrope. Then I failed her too. The worst part is I couldn’t even remember what I’d done. I’m sure it had been something horrible as it earned me a beating from her rage monster of a father. She had run off and they, rightly I assumed, blamed me for it. As far as I know, it had turned out alright.
Suddenly I couldn’t meet his eye, “What about her? I started training her, I disappointed her, I haven’t seen her since.”
“Not even during,”
I cut him off, “No, not even then. Look she was a teenage girl that I should have had the good sense to stay away from.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Did you two have a,” I could see him mulling over the right words, “a physical relationship?”
My brain didn’t so much stumble as it ran headfirst into a concrete wall at the insinuation of his question, “Are you asking me if I had a sexual relationship with an underage girl who was half my fucking age?”
I wanted to punch his judgemental face, “Jesus Christ, you are asking me that! No, I didn’t have sex with a teenager. What the hell is wrong with you!?”
Paper rasped against paper as he flipped to a blank page, “It’s a fair question, Mr. Noble. People in your line of work have shown to have certain proclivities. Compound that with your history of addiction and I am just trying to make sure you’re not dangerous to yourself or others.”
“You’re not here to psychoanalyze me, Freud,” I snapped, “you’re here to stamp “cleared” on that form on your little desk so I can go home and prepare to get back to my career. So let's focus more on getting me back into the ring and less on my failed interpersonal relationships. I’ve got a big match riding on your rubber stamp and I don’t need another shrink, I already overpay someone else for that.”
“Part of this process is a psychological evaluation, Brandon. Physically, you’re mostly fine to compete. At your advanced age you will of course be more prone to further injury; and while you’ve taken your fair share of rough and tumble over the years, rather miraculously you’ve remained relatively injury-free. Most of your leaves seem to have stemmed from undisclosed issues. Let’s talk about those issues?”
I shrugged again, I was doing a lot of that today, “Simple burn out, Doc. Eventually dealing with the assorted crazies looking to open new orifices and practice new ways to remove your spleen leaves you worn out. You need a break. So I took those breaks and usually came back much better.”
He looked back over his notes, “Is that what happened five years ago?”
There was more insinuation in his tone and I had a sneaking suspicion where he was heading, I didn’t like it. I unconsciously rubbed at my shoulder, “That was a little different. Have you ever had your collarbone broken? They say it’s one of the most painful breaks a person can suffer. I’ve been lucky, I haven’t broken any other bone in my thirty-nine years so I don’t really have anything to compare it to. It’s like getting shot with fire. The initial SNAP,” I emphasized the word, “feels like taking a sledgehammer to the chest. Then the real pain starts. I felt like my shoulder was on fire, like it was being eaten by acid. At the same time I was so cold I was shivering. The EMTs on site said I’d gone into shock and that’s why I felt so cold. I believe it. Having a maniac beat you half to death with a shovel and then bury you alive is certainly a shocking experience. So, fuck me, I decided to take some time. After the initial shock had worn off and I had a chance to really look at my situation I decided that was that.”
Scribble scribble scribble, “I appreciate your candor and your vivid descriptions, however, I’m very concerned with what happened after that. You were prescribed Fentanyl while in the hospital and they sent you home with a new prescription for Oxycodone and with your history of drug abuse,” he let the accusation hang heavy.
“Nothing happened. Check your records if you don’t believe me, I refused the Fentanyl. I couldn’t do anything about the Oxy because they filled it at the hospital but I never took it, I flushed it as soon as I could. I lost, I went home, I dealt with the fact that my career was over and I was no longer relevant.”
“So you’re denying that you relapsed?”
I sagged in the uncomfortable seat, “Look, I’m not denying that I’m an addict. I lost way too many years of my life to those things, I don’t even remember most of it. But I’m in recovery. I haven’t touched anything stronger than Tylenol since I got clean and even then I hesitate. Yeah they prescribed them for me after Grimm broke me, but I didn’t touch them, I didn’t fall off the sober train, I didn’t relapse.”
“I see,” I really don’t think he did, “No one would blame you of course. Addiction is a terrible disease. You’d already lost so much and then to lose your career on top of it, it’s only natural that you’d seek solace in the familiar.”
“You don’t get it,I didn’t relapse. I know I didn’t. Christ, I still have nightmares about the last time I went through withdrawal. Anyone who’s gotten clean from this shit will tell you that’s enough to keep you on the straight and narrow the rest of your life.”
You can insert your own cliche about palpable tension here, the point is it was thick and I hate awkward silences.
“Listen, I get it,” He still didn’t, “You’re doing your job and making sure I’m not going to show up to an event stoned out of my gourd and hurt, maim, kill, or otherwise damage the bottom line. I get it. But I’m good on that front. God knows I’m a mental and emotional mess on pretty much every other front, but not that one. I’m not at the same place in my life as I was then, I’ve got no reason to ever consider those pills again.”
He set down his clipboard, “Most addicts can’t admit when they have a problem or when they relapse.”
“Jesus, you’re exhausting,” I interrupted, “Look, what do you need to hear to understand that I’m not back on the pills? You want to talk to my sponsor? Cause I still have one of those, I’ll get him on the phone right now. Do you want to come to one of the meetings? Because I still go to those as well. You can join the rest of us pitiful motherfuckers sitting in a circle while we chain smoke, drink nasty coffee, and talk about how sorry we are.”
“So you’ve taken up smoking?”
“Oh yeah,” I replied sarcastically, “it goes great with the hookers and blackjack.”
“I understand your frustration, Brandon, but before I can clear you for competition I have to make sure you’re in a stable enough state of mind to deal with the unique stresses this career path brings. You have a history of drug abuse, mental instability, and injury, you may not see it as such but this screening is far more beneficial to you than anything else. What I decide here today could save your life.”
I laughed, it was a bitter, choked affair, “Doc, I’ve seen the people you’ve cleared. Maybe not you specifically but the people you work for. Cult leaders? Hobos? Stalkers? And that’s just Mentis. You want to sit here and break my balls because I have a history of addiction when you’ve cleared a goddamn psychopath like Alexa Black for active competition? That monster was taking to twitter or tik tok or whatever kids are using these days and threatening me with a metal pipe. Yeah, top-notch work on clearing that one.”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Sorry, what?”
“You referred to Alexa Black as a “kid”. She’s two years younger than you and has been competing for just nearly as long. Longer given your accumulated absences. You seem to have made a focus recently of singling out people you perceive as children as though they’re beneath you, that you perceive yourself as better than them based on age and experience.”
“That’s not it at all! I just, they just,” I had nothing.
“It’s not uncommon for older generations to be resentful of up and coming ones. You perceive them as spoiled, undisciplined. You think they haven’t earned the same position that you enjoy because they haven’t sacrificed what you have. But I would say that’s unfair to them.” he steepled his fingers. “You have to remember that you too benefited from foundations laid by older generations and it’s only fair they receive that same benefit. The difference is they now have the foundations you set as well to help propel them. I would say that is the core of your issues with not only Alexa Black but Kyle Shane as well.”
“What did I say about psychoanalysis? Look, I don’t have a problem with either Black or Shane because of their relative age or experience. Christ, I think Shane is close to my age as well. My problem is that he’s right, Shane I mean. I feel like my entire identity is based in this god damn company and that’s the problem. It’s part of why I’m coming back. If I don’t fight to stay relevant, if I don’t fight for my spot, then I’m nothing. Before I decided it was in my best interest to punch Alexa Black in the face I was nothing, I’d been reduced to a meaningless figurehead with a fancy title. Christ, ninety-nine percent of what they attribute to me I had nothing to do with. “Sit pretty and smile for the camera, Brandon!” “Okay now do a serious one!” “Now let’s do a fun one!” How fucked up is it that punching a woman in the face on national television may end up being one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself?”
“I’m sure most people would agree that you were provoked into a physical response.”
“Ooooh, big tough man,” I mocked myself, “gets yelled at by a woman, responds by punching, news at eleven. Look, I realize that Alexa Black can charitably be called a woman and before you start writing that’s not transphobia, homophobia, or any kind of phobia. She’s a goddamn monster and only an idiot would go into a situation with her and consider her anything less. I guess my point is that in front of God and country I decided the best way to change my position in life was to deck someone who did nothing more than shit talk me. I’ve been shit talked by lots of people and never lashed out like that.”
More scribbling, I swear I was going to break that goddamn pen before we were done. “Why do you think that is?” he finally asked.
“I love repeating myself,” I muttered, “Because Kyle Shane is right, I’ve got nothing except bygone glory days and that’s all I’m holding on to. Better to burn out on top than fade into obscurity and fuck everyone that gets in my way I guess.”
“Well I think I’ve heard everything I need to hear.”
Brain meet wall, again, “I’m sorry, come again?”’
“I’ve heard everything I need to hear and I’ve come to my decision regarding recertifying you for active competition.”
“So wait,” I blinked in confusion, “I bare my soul to you, have a god damn breakthrough in the midst of an existential crisis, and existential breakthrough if you will, and that’s it? We’re done?”
“Precisely. As you pointed out several times, Brandon, it’s not my job to psychoanalyze you. In your own words you already pay someone else far too much money to do that. My job is to determine if you’re a risk to yourself, your potential competition, and most importantly to the company. While a layman could see that you clearly have issues that you are still working out I’m satisfied that you can safely compete for Pure Class Entertainment.”
“So that’s it? We’re done, I’m good to go?” I was flabbergasted.
“That’s it. We’re done and you’re good to go,” he confirmed.
I sagged back into my still uncomfortable chair in relief. I’d cleared all the hurdles, jumped through all the hoops, and now I was finally coming home to the place I belonged. It sounded like a fairytale-like it was too good to be true. Somebody pinch me! I pinched myself, it hurt. This was still real. The Doctor, I still didn’t catch his name, went on about submitting paperwork but I had since checked out and put my responses on autopilot. I exchanged the expected pleasantries and made my way out of the clinic. It takes over an hour to drive from Greenville to Charlotte where I’d since moved, I don’t remember any of it.
As far as self-imposed prisons go, a penthouse in Charlotte’s Second Ward wasn’t too bad. The building itself was a modern monolith of steel and glass. It gave no pretense at being warm and homey, choosing to eschew such folksy ideals for cool modernity. It might have looked like a yuppy art museum but it was home. Plus there was a Whole Foods on the bottom level, so that was nice.
I threw my keys and phone on the dresser and I went to take a well deserved and relaxing shower in the hilariously oversized bathroom. Seriously, you could fit a small car into this thing. I stripped down and stepped in, letting the hot water wash away the stress of the last several hours. Back in the bedroom, my phone started to vibrate. The vibrations caused it to motor it’s way across the wooden surface before it eventually fell to the floor and landed next to an empty bottle of pills.
