Simp

Chapter 09: Hate Me

Josh phoned Monica outside the Nordstrom in The Grove shopping mall sporting a brand new pair of Louboutins. He apologized for not letting her know when he arrived. She didn't seem to mind, though, and reiterated that she wanted him to focus on getting well. He couldn't agree more and promised to keep her updated throughout the day.

As he zoomed out of the parking garage, it felt like nothing could stand in his way. He believed he was so in control that he imagined himself firing the revolver into the air as he drove with the top down to the office of Dr. Charles Guthrie, Ph.D, in Beverly Hills.

Dr. Guthrie was the charlatan recommended to Josh after the SXSW incident. His office reflected his personality: a modern derivative of Sigmund Freud, whose marble bust was displayed in the waiting room.

Guthrie sported a smart brown cotton suit, bore a crop-topped haircut with a fuzzy beard, and wore lime-green circular glasses that never left his face, even when he slept. Little accents of neatly tucked away Bohemian articles in his cozy office suggested he was at least partly working with bats in the attic. This didn't matter to Josh. Though Guthrie was a known sycophant, he somehow made him feel better after each visit. He was ready to seek forgiveness.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Josh began.

"Are you still having intense intrusive thoughts?" Guthrie asked, opening his notepad.

Josh huffed on cue. "It's been ten years since my last confession."

Guthrie forcibly chuckled. "OK... Let's try moving on to the next question. Why do you think you had your most recent breakdown?"

"Why does anyone have them?" Josh scowled.

"There are lots of reasons why," Guthrie shrugged. He wasn't budging.

"Sometimes I feel like the fallen god," Josh folded with a curl of his lip. "Not because I lost CEO. Before that. Like I forgot some simple truth getting caught up in all the bullshit."

"Feel free to elaborate..." Guthrie continued.

Josh sighed with confidence, "I think this is hell, this life. If I'm being honest, I couldn't think of a more perfect explanation."

"How does that make you feel?" asked Guthrie.

A spark of recognition gleamed in Josh's eye. "Like I was typecast in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Doomed from the start."

"Why do you think that?" Guthrie asked.

Josh stared at Guthrie as though he were an idiot. "Why do you think?"

"I'm asking you," Guthrie shrugged, holding his ground.

Josh groaned. "Greed is motivated by love. It's what separates fact from fiction. It's what makes us people as common as animals."

"But you don't fall into that category?" Guthrie asked.

"Well, I'm not 'most people,'" Josh smirked. "I'm certainly not an animal."

"Why do you say that?" Guthrie observed.

"I think I might've enjoyed being an animal," he boldly riffed.

"As opposed to living with your shortcomings?" Guthrie asked.

Josh sucked his teeth. "As opposed to being aware of an indifferent world, controlled by one-track minds addicted to consuming any bullshit they're told to buy."

He shrugged. "It's what they all want at the end of the day. A ticket to the horror show. Feel the cheap thrill so we can go home and fuck, then tell our friends about it at our meaningless jobs on Monday. Have kids and teach 'em to do the same uninspired bullshit."