Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
It takes longer than I care to admit to regain my composure and direct my stare to where my best friend is patiently waiting for my attention. “How did that feel?” She folds her fingers together in a very clinical fashion. “To…express what the fuck is eating at you on the inside rather than letting yourself eat it on the outside.”
There’s no hesitation to answer. “Different.”
“Better?”
Guilt causes my stomach to gurgle and voice to shake. “A little.”
“Darling, it’s absolutely acceptable to verbally unleash your emotions. You, over time, it seems, developed a system where you bottle everything up rather than directly dealing with confrontation or unbecoming feelings and then suppress them with food. Food – in some form – for most people is comforting. And perhaps it’s bread for you because your mother and your grandmother tended to bake bread or bread products when something was wrong in your family. There’s a familiar, emotional connection already established, so you use it like a lifeline. You shove something inside your mouth until the storm passes, therefore forgoing having to express the less pleasant moments in your life because you have a much more pleasant way to deal with them. I commend you for not for Hulking out on me like that bitchy bartender Kelsie used to at the country club, but you bottling shit up and never talking or only talking when the pressure gets too much Little Teapot isn’t that much fucking better.”
“But like a little better?” I playfully ask in hopes of deescalating the situation.
“Like a binky sized little better.”
Smiling is done in tandem to sitting up.
“You are entitled to talk about whatever you want, darling. And I’m always here to listen.”
“Off the record?”
My additional teasing receives a small shrug of her boney shoulders. “When I must.”
We exchange a couple of snickers that finishes demolishing the tension I pumped into the room.
“How about we talk a little bit more about some stuff on the record?” She leans over to retrieve her phone. “These sessions seem great in helping you not only unearth some unresolved feelings all across your life but also in understanding it’s okay to express various emotions.”
I wave a hand towards her in a wordless encouragement to continue.
“You’re a morally honorable person.” The question occurs the second she hits the record button on her phone. “But you weren’t always this virtuous.”
“Again with the whole making me sound like a nun thing.”
“I’m just saying now you have heavy principles. Honesty. Respect. Kindness.”
“You don’t always care for that last one.”
“Yeah, and I just pump you full of daiquiris when I’m not in the mood to deal with it.”
This time our shared laughs feel much more natural.
Relaxed.
“Your…morals – once upon a time – weren’t so concrete.”
Humor vanishes as quickly as it arrived.
“They were…malleable.”
The craving for a cracker or a piece of toast starts its slow creep through my system.
“They were pushed.” Her eyes bore into mine at the same time she inquires, “Were they ever pushed too far? Perhaps completely broken? Secret rendezvous with Ryder aside…was there ever an incident where perhaps you behaved in such a way that you didn’t even feel like yourself?”
Slinking deeper into the couch is done on a quiet confession, “Like me and you, Carmen and I were pretty different. And we accepted our differences. We let each other play our roles in public, her the stereotypical bitch and me, little Miss Innocent, who could do no wrong, but in private had a lot more in common. We both loved Sylvia Plath. Shared a crush on Travie McCoy from Gym Class Heroes. Still knew every word to the Disney version of Hercules despite being seniors in high school. I knew who she really was as much as she knew who I really was and those two people were more similar than others knew. However, wherever the world could watch, Carmen was Carmen, and I was me…Except for one night. One night where I ditched the good girl image in front of a crowd and became the bad girl bitch they only expected from Carmen…”
--
Blaze and his pathetic excuse for friends join me just as I am getting off the phone with my mom. I told her once I knew whose house, we were crashing at for the night I’d call. Jamie’s dad ended up cancelling his retreat trip, which left her stuck pretending to be the good Pastor’s daughter she’s so not, which is fine anyway, because Carmen – who hates Jamie – wanted me to crash at her house after the party anyway. Her parents have been in Boca Raton for like nine days, and she needs a little company.
She is always boasting about how amazing it is to have the house to herself, but I know that she secretly hates it.
Misses the days Ry and I would spend the whole weekend at her place just vegging and watching a shit ton of movies.