Fucking Amanda. I’m blaming her for this. My head is throbbing and I don’t want to move. My phone beeps and I check the time. I have to get up. I don’t want to…but I have to. It beeps again and I check Amanda’s messages. It’s a picture of me getting a lap dance from some chick at the strip club last night with a Thanks for last night text.
I can’t believe I let her talk me into drinking so much, although we did have a blast. It got me out of my own damn head and it took her mind off of Savannah too, which is all I wanted. Yeah, I feel shitty today, but oh well. It was worth it. Plus there’s nothing I can do about it now.
The shower calls me to wash away the scent of cheap perfume and alcohol. A combination that neither my therapist Roger nor Elania would appreciate. I’m not really feeling like talking to Roger today, but if I cancel, he’ll call, and I’d rather just get it over with now. Before I get in the shower, I check my email, wondering if Elania sent any new listings.
Sure enough, there are two.
To: Nate Wilcox
From: Elania Harmon
May 14, 2015 5:53am
Hey Nate,
I’ve scheduled the two listings we missed yesterday for today. Also, here are a few more new ones that I thought you might be interested in. Let me know if any of these look good and I’ll add them to today. Should we grab lunch afterwards this time, so we make all of our showings? :) Elania
Before looking at the attachments, I go right into her next email.
To: Nate Wilcox
From: Elania Harmon
May 14, 2015 6:37am
Here are a few more. :)
I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t want to sound like I am completely desperate for her. I decide to call her office, this way I can hear her voice. And I’ll get a feel for the day.
“May I speak to Elania Harmon, please? It’s Nate Wilcox.” I ask the receptionist.
“Please hold,” she says.
Glancing at the clock, I’m cutting my time short, but this is worth it. While I’m on hold, I put my prosthetic on and then head into the kitchen to grab a power bar and a glass of OJ.
“Hey, Nate,” she answers in her usual chipper tone.
“Good morning, I hope you don’t mind me calling.”
She laughs a little, “Not at all.”
“What’s so funny?” I question her, wondering what I said that made her laugh.
“It’s far from morning, Nate, that’s all.”
“Maybe for you, getting up at five a.m. and shit. I had a late night.”
“Well, we all don’t work at a gym. I’ve got to get up early to get my run in.”
I love that she takes care of herself. It’s so sexy.
“Then I’ll let it slide.”
“Thanks, did you have a chance to look at my emails?”
“Absolutely,” I lie to her. I never opened the attachments. “That’s why I’m calling, I…I loved them all, but I’m not sure if we’ll have time today to see every one of them.”
“That’s great. I’ll schedule what I can for us today, then we can go again tomorrow, if you want?”
I agree, knowing it’s going to be tough to make a decision on buying a place, for the simple fact that all of this will end. I hear her receptionist in the background, “Elania, I’ve got Rachel on line three.”
“I gotta run, Nate, but I’ll see you here in a few hours.” We hang up and I head into the bathroom. Fuck, I don’t want to shower, I’m so sluggish. I turn the shower on and wait while the water heats up, almost falling asleep it takes so long.
After I am cleaned and dressed, I take a few Tylenol and Ibuprofen. I’m tempted to take a shot as well, but Roger will sniff it right out of me. On the drive, I call my mom to check in with her. Everything seems to be going well. I told her I’d stop by tonight and I could tell it made her day.
Now sitting in the waiting room of Roger’s office, I look at all of the books that line the walls, and wonder why all of these are out here in reception. Then again, what’s it matter to me? Tilting my head back, I close my eyes, exhaling deeply. I wonder what he’ll ask me today, or what he’ll want to talk about. I guess I should bring up what happened with my mom. He needs to know and can help me deal with all the shit that’s come flooding back to me.
I’ve tried to take this seriously, but things have become so mundane that when he asks me the same questions repeatedly, I lie. I’d stop if I could, but the military still has a hold on me, at least for a little while longer. The clock on the wall ticks, second by second, so slowly, and I know as soon as it strikes noon, he’ll open the door. I wonder what he’d do if I went in there early? I wonder how he lives his life so OCD and controlling that the clock directs him the way that it does.
“Nathaniel,” he welcomes me in right on time and I just smirk at him, shaking his hand as I enter. “How are you?” he asks me.