That's Life for You

Chapter 3

I rummage around in the medicine cabinet, searching for the aspirin. Coming up empty handed, I drop to my knees and look under the sink, desperate for the pain reliever.

My side was killing me, and I could feel a headache starting to set in. "Where the fuck are you?" I mutter, my hand reaching around inside the cabinet.

"Curly, what the hell are you doing in there?" Angela yells, pounding on the door. "I swear to God you're worse than a girl!"

I ignore her and continue my search. My fingers wrap around something round and oval. I pull the pill bottle out and read the label.

Lorraine Shepard.

Valium 5 mg.

"Nice hiding spot, Ma," I say under my breath.

I shake the bottle and hear a few pills rattle around inside. Popping the top, I shake two into my hand. Not the pain reliever I was looking for but might be good for something

I pause. Did I really wanna be zonked out during the visit with the doctor? Did I really wanna hear the old lady scream about someone swiping her pills?

With a sigh, I dump the pills back in and put the bottle where I found it.

Bang. Bang. Bang. "What are you doing, jacking off? Get out!"

"For fucks sake, Angela," I grumble, rising to my feet. I yank open the door, and I'm met with a pair of blue eyes glaring up at me.

"Finally," she huffs.

"I was barely in there fifteen minutes," I say, returning her glare. "And you shouldn't be talking like that."

"Talking like what?" She challenges, and I narrow my eyes at her.

"You know what."

"What? Jacking off?"

"Yes that," I reply, inwardly cringing.

"You were the one doing it."

"No, I wasn't. Not that it's any of your business"

"Sure," Angela says pushing past me into the bathroom. "Whatever you say Curly." She slams the door before I can respond.

I lean against the wall really wishing I took those damn pills when I had the chance.

XxxXxxxxxX

"Hello Charles. I'm Dr. Peterson"

"Curly," I automatically correct. Nobody calls me Charles, not even my own mother.

"Okay Curly it is," he replies easily, sitting in the chair across from me.

I pull at a loose thread in the cushion.

"Why are you here, Curly?"

I don't bother looking up and continue to play with the thread. "Judge said I had to."

"Why do you think that is?"

Because he's a spiteful prick that hates me is what I wanna say, but instead I just shrug. "I dunno. You'd have to ask him that."

Truth be told, I didn't know what I was doing here. I wasn't crazy. I was a lot of things, but crazy sure as hell wasn't one of them.

"Curly, it's not a big deal," my social worker had told me. "In most cases it's procedure."

But I didn't believe her. Not for a minute. They didn't send you to head doctors unless they think you're crazy. I knew that much.

God. If Tim ever found out I was here, I'd never live it down. I could already hear the funny farm jokes.