*Slow updates*
After agreeing to be the focus of a college article,
senior Charlie Murtaugh gets more than he bargains for when he's assigned a clueless sophomore who knows nothing about the sport.
...
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"Charlie, I understand your keenness," I'm shifting in my seat with impatience. All I want right now is for him to sign this piece of shit document so I can get the hell out of here. My shrink for the past year watches me worriedly "I honestly do not think that you're ready to get back on the court just yet."
"Well, my doctors think about the opposite. And it's their opinion I give a f***k about, so."
Ok, I give a f***k what Schumacher thinks, but he doesn't have to know that right now.
Dr Schumacher makes the same face he makes every time I swear- one that conveys the words what am I going to do with you. I ignore him and push the paper towards him "you said you'd let me go as soon as my doctors clear me. Here, I've been cleared. Let me go."
Schumacher doesn't move an inch towards the white paper sitting on the coffee table but only stares at me in a way that makes me want to hit something. But I don't because that's not me anymore. One thing Schumacher might have managed to help me with the past year is learning how to control the anger inside me. At least, towards him. "Come on Charlie, tell me how you feel about being back on the team, officially."
"This is not a session, Doc."
"I know." Folding his hands, he leans back into his beige sofa "but if I'm going to sign that thing, we are going to have to do this."
I stare at him, slight anxiousness building up in my chest. I clear my throat and push it down, way down where it should be. I let a little smile play on my lips "I feel fucking great, Doc. You've helped me get through all of my issues. I am ready to get back out there."
Schumacher has a weird habit of running his hands over his bald head when stressed and fiddling with his glasses when worried but today, he's doing both at the same time. "How's your sleeping pattern," he adds, grabbing his notebook and pen from the little coffee table separating the both of us "Have you been sleeping?"
"Like a baby." I lie. I can't f***king sleep-at least not naturally. The pills he gave me will knock the life out of anything.
"You still use the pills?"
"Not anymore."
Schumacher watches me intently like he can tell that I'm feeding him some bullshit, but he doesn't call me out. Well, his profession wouldn't allow him to. I know the real Schumacher would be willing to rain some German curses on me right about now as I haven't been the best patient. He might have helped me get through some dark days but my head is pretty fucked up. There's a reason why they're called demons, you can't fight them off. No matter how you try, even if you've got the best shrink in the goddamn city.
"You do know that as soon as I sign these papers, I'm legally not allowed to prescribe those drugs to you anymore."
