Sharon's stomach growled.

"I can't believe I left my breakfast," mumbled Sharon as she rubbed her stomach. She could run across the street to McDonald's for an egg mcmuffin. But Mr. Boyd would be there any minute.

Sharon shuddered at the name but shook it off. It was just a name. It should have no power over her. And it didn't mean anything. What's important right now was finding something to eat before her patient show up. Last thing she needed was to have her office filled with the symphony of her hunger pains.

Sharon cleared her desk and stuffed everything from her purse back in it. Hanging it on the hook behind her. Tucking her hair behind her ears, Sharon remembered that she kept a bag of pistachios in her draw.

"Yes," cheered Sharon. If she could kick herself she would. How in the hell did she forget about her little nut savior. She recalled seeing last week when she angrily shoved Casey's wedding invitation...

Right. Casey was getting married.

A hot, prickly feeling brewed and threatened to topple over behind the back of her eyes. Sharon quickly rubbed her eyes before any tear had the chance to fall. She was not going to cry again. She had her fill of crying when she found the invitation in the mailbox on her desk several days ago.

And with the subsequent bad luck following her ever since Casey's upcoming nuptials served as proof that all was not right with the world. How else to explain her tripping down the stairs at her apartment last week. The ticket for expired tags when she had them in her glove compartment. She'd just forgotten to change them.

Now she needed new brakes which will cost a fortune. If she wasn't suffering enough her eyes momentarily graced the palest, wrinkliest, saggiest torso and penis she'd ever seen.

The creamy invite with gold embossing was a curse. And it's biggest offense so far was the crater sized in her hole created after her brain realized what she held in her hands. Funny how a simple, tri fold piece of paper had become her coffin. The name written alongside his, in a lovely, looping script, were the nails.

Sharon shoved it aside and deeper into the draw. She knew doing so wouldn't change anything but her recourse right now was that keeping it out of sight, will bring a little bit of peace to her mind. Then grabbed the bag of pistachios and slammed the drawer shut.

Hungry, hurt and really want to hit something, Sharon retrieved her thermos from her bag. And one by one, let out all her frustrations.

She's probably ugly, thought Sharon, lifting the thermos over head before swinging it down on the pistachio.

As she crunched on the nut, Sharon continued with her assault.

Fat.

Bang.

Doesn't even like kids herself.

Bang.

On and on she went until a knock jarred Sharon out of her little stress relieving campaign.

"Come in."

Chrissy walked in. shut the door behind her and quickly walked to her desk. With one eyebrow arched at the mess on her desk, Chrissy placed the file before Sharon and said, "The patient is waiting outside. And here's his paperwork."

"Thank you Chrissy." Sharon brushed the shells into the garbage can underneath her desk and pulled the file forward.

She barely heard Chrissy address Mr. Boyd followed by the soft click of the door.

Across the top of the first page read Justin Boyd. Sharon's mouth fell open and refused to believe it. It couldn't be the same boy from St. Francis. Well, definitely not a boy anymore, thought Sharon, as she glanced to the copy of his photo ID. Of course Golden Boyd hadn't gone bald. Still, there's always hope his stomach rivaled the size of a pregnant belly in its final trimester.

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