Lovers

Ch.42: Goner

Goner- Twentyonepilots

"I'm a goner. Somebody catch my breath."

--

"So... how is everything?" Dr. Ross asks.

We've been sitting in silence for a minute. I don't know why I'm here. I got Dawn back. There is no need for this pish-posh bullshit. But here I am, confining a facade that I want to get better. I am better as long as she's with me. I'm fully aware of how dangerous that's to say, but I don't care right now, especially since Dawn and I haven't really spoken since our harboring disagreement.

Well, technically, we did speak... through moans and growls thrown into the night, but we have been avoiding our argument. A few words here and there made to do something other than glare at each at a distance and fuck harshly. Fuck, she is infuriating. Nevertheless, she still picked me up on time to take me to this god-forsaken place. I should be saying all this allowed to Dr. Ross, but fuck him. He probably hasn't had a good lay in a decade.

I mean, he isn't all that bad. I respect him in some capacity. I simply don't care to try.

"Good," I answer in short. I should at least throw him a bone, "My girlfriend and I are back together." For now, I want to add, but I keep that to myself.

He writes something down in his notepad and clicks his pen repeatedly. "That's a good thing?"

"Of course," I sigh in annoyance. "I don't want to talk about it.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about today?"

"Nothing."

"That was a quicker response." He continues to write on his pad.

I slump my head forward. Is he really going to do this old trick?

"So we are back to square one, aren't we. You don't want to be here. Everything is meaningless, and I am a witch doctor trying to save an unsavable person."

"Pretty much. Why waste your time? Sounds like you got me all figured out, don't you?" I can't help but be brass. It's much more complicated than he thinks.

"Because I have 56 minutes left with you. Silence isn't something I'm good with, nor am I good at talking. But I'm a great listener-- adviser giver, and I'm good at cards."

"The last part I didn't need to know."

"I know, but again, any purpose for you to open your mouth is better than nothing at all."

I don't say anything after that, letting my neck ache from my slumping position.

"Are you good at playing cards?"

I shrug my shoulders. I know I shouldn't entertain him, but I'm bored. And he's right; sitting in silence is uncomfortable, primarily if it's with a stranger. Dr. Ross is practically that.

"Care to play." He pulls a deck out from his drawer like a true magician.

"No."

"Rummie, Go Fish, Speed?" he begins to list the many crude games of child's card games. He pulls out a deck of cards, taking them out of the worn box "Poker--"

"Go Fish would do," I raise my head.

He smirks as he begins to shuffle the deck, "Yes. I'm very good. I practice with nieces and nephews all the time. I don't want to beat you so easily, though."

I frown, shaking my head. I don't care for small talk. He deals my cards, and I'm left with a shit hand. Remember Dennings; this is to pass the time with this fuckwad.