Love Is Ǝvil

8 Rock City

He chewed the end of his pen again. The piece of paper on the table was crumbled, his small writing hard to read between the wrinkles and he had the urge to throw it again. Still wasn't a rhyme he was brooding over. If his daughters could tell something was wrong with him, he really, really needed to work that out. He didn't want them to worry about him, that's not what kids were supposed to do.

But where should he start? I got a suggestion: Why're you such a pussy? It wasn't like he wanted to be okay with this, because it wasn't. He just wanted it to go away.

"Sup? Already hard at work, hu." A brief touch on his shoulder, then Ryan strolled into his view. It still baffled him, how long Ryan and DeShaun had hold up their feud and he still didn't know what they had been fighting about. But he couldn't be more glad that they had squashed it before it had been too late. Especially since Marshall and Ryan vibed well with each other and in the last couple years their friendship really had gotten strong. Something his therapist was delighted by. She said, he had big trust issues and any close friend for him was a blessing. He couldn't really argue with that. Especially if that friend was Ryan.

Marshall sighed. "Not really. My therapist got me homework." It wasn't a secret among his friends that he got help for staying sober and working through his issues. Wasn't a secret that he had too many issues, either.

"Really?", he asked amused, "They can do that?"

Marshall gestured to the sorry piece of paper that made no sense to him. "Apparently. It's a bitch, though."

"Probably by design. If it was easy, you wouldn't shell out so much money for it."

True. But it was worth it, generally at least. Right now he wasn't so sure, but that was less about therapy and more about him and that he couldn't make himself engage with this whole thing. Your ass engages for you.

"And it works for you?" Ryan eyed him closely. Why did just about everyone these days stare at him like that? Had he porn showing on his face or what. You scream like one when there's a dick in your pussy. "I mean staying sober and shit, you ...", a somewhat helpless shrug. "You don't seem different, more focused, but not different."

He crumbled the piece of paper up again and stuffed it in his jeans. Whatever his thoughts about this gay disaster was, Ryan didn't need to see. Marshall was just glad, they were friends again, he didn't need to throw a wrench into that - again. "It's not about being different, just ... uhm, a better version of myself? Sounds corny, I know", he huffed before Ryan could say anything. "I can't be a dad if I'm spaced out ... or dead, that's all."

"And that's what you need therapy for? You got your dad shit down to a T, you always have."

Now he looked at Ryan curiously. "Why you asking?" Just because his friends knew, didn't mean they talked about it. They all had their sack of problems and if they had one thing in common than being stubborn sons of bitches, who didn't like sharing their feelings.

Another somewhat helpless shrug. "Just askin'." Ryan answered his stare. "Just ... Can't imagine talking about this stuff does anything. What good does it do to open old wounds? That'll just make it worse."

Marshall shook his head slightly. "Just because they're old doesn't mean they're closed. Getting high is just running away from things, that won't ever fix anything. But I need to fix this, if I don't want to screw their lives up even more, you know." Man, he actually sounded like his therapist.

"But you are sober and it doesn't seem like a lot of effort to you. You're fine, why still go to therapy?"

Fine, my ass. You're dreaming of cum dripping out of your holes and dicks flying around hard for the taking. That ain't fine, that's fucked up.Marshall grabbed his coke and took a long sip from it. His head was getting out of control. And he was right there with it, feeling heat in his stomach and seeing Nicolas's mean grin before his eyes. This was neither the time nor the place for gay sex fantasies, thank you very much. His hand held the can of coke too tight. "You got some rhymes for the beat I sent you?"

"Huh?" Ryan looked confused for a moment. "Smooth, Marsh, real smooth. You do that in therapy often?"

"Come on", he tried to sound as casual and indifferent as he could, "you don't really wanna hear me bitch about my problems. That's what I got my therapist for."

"Who either doesn't do a good job or you're more fucked up than I thought."

He felt the frown contort his whole face. "What's that supposed to mean?" His voice jumped an octave at the end. So much for casual and indifferent.

Ryan leaned on the table. "I mean, you've been in therapy for a couple years. Shouldn't you be healed by now? Everyone got problems, that's what friends are for. But therapy, that's like really fucked up shit, right, like people who wanna kill themselves or got PTSD or some heavy shit like that."

Two years wasn't that long, was it? "What do you care? You wanna be my therapist now?" He jumped out of his seat, ready to attack. The only defensive move he had. "You don't have your shit together even worse than I do! I ain't gonna take health advise from an alcoholic, best friend or no friend. You don't know shit, stop actin' so big. You wanna be my friend, great, shut up. Just because I'm sober, don't mean I got no problems no more. How you think this shit works? I don't take pills no more and suddenly my life's all rainbows and shit? Fuck off!" He wished it was that simple.

Ryan sat quiet for a second, a very long second. He was usually calmer than Marshall, his fuse not as short. "I am your friend", he replied. "That's why I don't like that you're still in therapy, that it's still this bad for you."

"Fuck off", he repeated but his tone came down to normal. Ryan's calm temper usually made him calmer, too. One of the many things he liked about his friend. Now he threw his hands in the air in frustration. "What you want from me?"

"An honest answer." Honesty again, that must be a plot or something.

Why was everyone bashing on him lately? Because you have a face that begs to be punched. You got the face of a slut - and the pussy, too. This wasn't normal. He needed a vacation from himself. He groaned. "Fine, honest answer, whatever. I'm fine. That honest enough for you? I'm fine."

Ryan stared silently at him.

He sighed. "Aight ... I'm mostly fine. It's just ... It's complicated, you know. Being sober ain't a problem, ain't been a problem since the very beginning, but ... I got other problems to fix. I mean, ain't like my life wasn't fucked up before I got into pills." He tried a weak smile, then shrugged. "It ain't bad ... just complicated." It's pretty bad, little gay looking boy. He rubbed his neck, because he didn't know what else to do with his hands.

"True that. You're pretty much a magnet for drama."

They shared a smile.

"And yeah, I wrote some lines to your beat", Ryan finally answered his change of subject.