Colton: An Intersex Short Storry

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Daisy POV

I stepped into the dimly lit room from the television. As usual, Colts was on the sofa. It was time again. I removed my coat and walked straight into her embrace.

"You seem stressed."

"I don't want to talk about it." I whispered. A long interval separates us, and I clench my teeth. "I really want to talk about it," I groaned.

"Then talk. I am all ears."

"And you will not be bored or criticize me."

"Nope."

I suppose I can give the fictitious persona a shot. She wasn't real, therefore she was flawless. I should take advantage of her more.

"I'm certain you heard me go off about Bethany. The town's gold goose. That has been filling everyone's pockets with money."

"You've been ranting about her a lot."

"I do?"

"I'm not judging. I know she's causing you problems. Like a little mosquito."

"You describe it quite well." I whispered as I patted her arm that was around my waist. I find it strange that she smelled like book pages instead of the muscluine perfume I gave her in the book.

"She is killing me. She has two, no five, extremely massive hands around my throat, suffocating me and literally killing me."

"What does Bethany do?"

"She is a successful writer. She makes millions, but I just make hundreds. What kind of satire could this be?"

"Is she your competition in writing?"

"Definitely. She's only been a member of the book club for less than 6 months, and already many publishing firms have drafted her. While I am here, like a puppy chewing toy, stuff is in a corner accumulating dust."

"You are an excellent writer."

"Lies. Everybody is lying to me!"

"It's ok. Nobody is lying to you." She stroked my arm to calm me down. "You simply need to think that you are a brilliant writer."

"I am not."

"YOU ARE. You are writing." She said. "I see you writing. And the book you're now working on is outstanding."

That's effective, even though she could be saying it to cheer me up.

I snuggled back into her arms, staring at the television. "Last night, I handed her a sample of my novel. I know it is over for me. I know she's going to meet up with a few of her little cronies and chastise the fuck out of them."

"You shouldn't care."

"I shouldn't?"

"We all have a story book in us, and once it's released, we all know someone who can relate to it."

"I suppose you are right." There were a few individuals that left favorable comments and gave stars to my book, and perhaps I should stop concentrating on the one star and instead focus on the positive and what was wonderful about it all. Just write. Don't think. Just write.

It'll come through one day.

Now!

I simply have to accept the bullshit I just uttered at this point. I was always convincing myself of something else.