Name: Wulf Lovelace
Youtube: @DATSHQ
Tiktok: @LovelaceAuthor
[Character Study Prompt]

Title: Dissociate, Scroll, and Dissect

Content Warning: Drug Use, Implications of Suicidal Ideation, Depictions of Mental Wellness Struggles, and Discussions of Relationship Struggles
----
Just another one of those days. Dissociating. Scrolling. Attempting to bury away any feeling that comes to the surface. Like, a hostage in a basement banging at the floorboards. If I pretend I don’t hear the knocking, then I can pretend that I don’t feel. Flipping through Pendulum;

“Hi guys,”

Flip.

[Millennial Pause]

Flip.

“YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE,” shaky camera.

Flip.

LIVEShowcase.

[A camera displays a room, only lit up by rope lights on the wall, making the room dark purple, with the curtains drawn over the windows]

Looking out to my windows, it’s evening. So, why are your curtains drawn and why is your chair empty? How many viewers do you have?

None.

Me.

[Quweerious Joins the Showcase]

[Staring at an empty chair. While, a game on the bottom screen remains idle. Despite the dimness of the room, a keyboard lights up rainbow colors. A cubby bookshelf with figurines on it, various video game characters. All of them being of Nikoleta of the Princess Designer Saga. A door opens, bathing the room in a bright, orange light. Exposing a mannequin bust in the room's corner, with the makings of a piece in the works, with bits of fabric pinned to it. A sewing machine on a small table tucked and barely in view.

Outside of the room, loud techno blares drowning out the ambient cozy fantasy soundtrack being played in the room.

“Please keep it down I am streaming,”

“YOU DON’T EVEN HAve AN AUDIENC-

-the rest of the words are drowned out as they close the door. Someone is carrying a plate over to the computer.

“Sorry, sorry, I am back,” replies an individual, illuminated by the blue light of their monitor, and glasses that reflect the light of their camera. There is a sigh of disappointment.]

Are you lonely too?

I type a comment;

Quweerious: Hi. I’m here

[“Oh hi! Quweerious. That’s a cute username! I’m Kleio. You know, duh. It’s my name Sprite_K,” they laugh.]

Quweerious: What are we playing?

[“Omgawd! So. Are you familiar with the Princess Designer Saga! It is some of the best fantasy to exist in the gaming industry. And everyone just thinks it’s a silly game where you collect articles of clothing. Which, yes, that’s true. But! But! But! It has a storyline geared toward adult woman, mainly. But but Nikoleta is the cutest,”]

Quweerious: The series has always been known for its in depth politics

[“So you have heard of the series. It’s what inspired me to be a designer. Are you going to any cons or have you any interest in cons? Sorry you probably want me to shut up and just play the game,”]

Quweerious: We can also just talk

[“Oh. Sure, what are you doing?”

They finally begin adjusting their plate, lifting up bunny shaped crackers to the camera, “I got a snack.” they reach for some wipes, “I’ll wipe my hands off before touching my keyboard. Promise.”]

Quweerious: I mean. Nothing much. Besides talking with you and watching you

Taking a moment to pause, putting my phone down briefly. To reach over to the side of my nightstand, to pour myself another glass. Kleio, huh. You’re kind of the most interesting person I have come across. The house is quiet, there is no one here besides me and my demons of guilt. I hear them scratching at the door. Staring at the red wallpaper briefly, almost having to acknowledge that I am alive and that I exist.

[“Mm. Well, thank you, I don’t get many viewers,”]

Picking up my phone with my right hand.

Quweerious: Well. Do you have a streaming schedule?

[“I do,”]

[Quweerious has followed Sprite_K]

Quweerious: Than I look forward to them

[“Thank you. You didn’t have to,” their voice goes quiet, “One moment.”

The camera goes dark. The Live Showcase has been paused.]

Putting down my phone again. I don’t have much of a purpose any more, the little things I have done to motivate myself don’t seem to work anymore. My engagement is falling apart, I know it. I can feel it. Loving her is like loving bathing in acid, we don’t make each other healthy and I pushed Charlie away. Now, what am I doing? In my infinite loop of loneliness, I am just using another person to chase away my permanent state of dejection.

[“Okay back,” they sniff, “Thank you. Do you like games?”

They grab a cracker, but only play with it between their fingers. Their nails are done, it’s hard to tell what color they have been painted, but there is a design on them made of fake jewels.]

Quweerious: Mostly Detective Puzzle Games

[“Do you play Cold Case?!”]

Don’t get too excited. You just disappoint people. Remain at a distance, don’t put too much investment into what is going to be another parasocial relationship.

Quweerious: Yes

[“Are you excited for the new expansion?”

They seemingly forgotten they are playing a game. Instead they are lining up their bunny crackers in various vignettes. Before having them hop off. Sometimes in their mouth. Or back on the plate.]

Quweerious: Guess ;)

[“I think you are,” they declare with certainty.]

Quweerious: What makes you think that?

[“Because you brought it up,” they laugh, “How old are you?”]

Quweerious: 34 - You? Pronouns?

[“She, Her. Yours? 31,”]

Quweerious: He, Him, They, Them

[She has a bunny cross the camera hopping in front of the lens.

“What do you do for work? You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to,”]

Quweerious: I’m a Private Investigator. By a technicality

But that doesn’t really mean much does it?

[“By a technicality? What- That’s so cool!”

She is practically standing out of her chair, “You’re the coolest person who has entered my stream,”]

Am I really? I wonder if she’d think that if she knew how many people my inability to help them has gotten them killed. I am really not the coolest. I put down my phone to grab my neglected glass. I wish I was drinking anti freeze honestly. What am I living or who am I living for? I don’t know any more what my purpose is. Some people saw value in my life and I have provided no value. Putting down my glass on the nightstand. Picking up my phone, once again.

Quweerious: I am - shit at it

[“What makes you say that?”]

I leave the live. Leaving her hanging. She shouldn’t have high expectations for me like that. She shouldn’t have any expectations of me, really. It was foolish to have done that. To have talked to her. In the end of the day, I couldn’t be what she needs or wants as a friend. I have that case in August, that’s the only thing keeping me going. That’s in two months. Staring at the phone. She had no one watching her stream. She was passionate too. When they don’t know me, they seem to view me in higher regards than what I am worth.

*****

The sensation of laying in hot, sticky, thick, warm to the touch, goo. Slurping sucking sounds whenever there was movement; and the smell of blood turned sickly sweet, like hot red shiny slick candy, the taste of hot cherry pie, Sickeningly sweet in the nostrils, making the stomach lurch and churn, wanting to vomit out your fears and insecurities of this life. Maddie woke up with a start, her heart beating noisily in her chest and head. She sat up and opened her eyes to the newly decorated college dorm room she would be living in for the next few months. She was relieved it was a single, as she couldn’t imagine explaining to a roommate her nightly rendezvous with the sinister and strange dreams she had been having.

She slipped on her robe and quickly crossed the hall to the bathroom. She splashed cool water on her face from the faucet and looked at herself in the mirror.

“Get it together Maddie.. No time for the insane.” She looked at the clean sink, thinking she would see some of the sticky candy like blood on her hands or on the sink, but it was just porcelain shining back at her.

Her revelry was broken by three girls entering the bathroom, giggling and making small talk. She smiled at them and was busy getting ready for the day when one of them skipped over to the sink to pucker her mouth so she could apply her gloss. She was looking at her lips and then looked over at Maddie and smiled, brown eyes dancing at her.

“Aren’t you excited!? Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Cara. Welcome to Grammercy College!” she said with a cheerleader enthusiasm. “Maddie stammered,”Oh, thank you. Yes it is exciting.” she replied.

Cara started talking about all the classes she wanted to take and what she had heard about the professors. Occasionally the other girls would chime in with a word or two, but Maddie could barely register what was actually being said, or.., what was meaningful. She kept seeing the blood, the sticky candy substance that she swore she could still feel on her side where she had been laying.

She cut off Cara mid sentence. “Well, thankyou, nice meeting all of you.. See you in class.” and slipped out of the bathroom.

Once back in her room she locked the door behind her for the moment and breathed in deeply. Why were her hands trembling now, and why was any of this happening. Did it have to do with last night, she wondered, sitting back on the bed to put her shoes on.

What had happened last night? She closed her eyes and the room started to spin. She didn’t have time for this.. She had new classes to get to, and an orientation that she had been dreading for some reason, since she read about it on the school's website.

What had happened last night? She closed her eyes and the room started to spin. She didn’t have time for this.. She had new classes to get to, and an orientation that she had been dreading for some reason, since she read about it on the school's website.

As the room spun faster and faster her head hit the pillow and she was back in that place, honing in on her memory of only a few hours before.

The bar on the corner of Guadalupe and Eighth streets had promised a night of fun with a new group of friends, or at least Maddie had hoped. But after drinking a beer, and listening to the local band play, Maddie had found herself drawn to a stairwell on the side of the stage. She had passed the old bar sign on the way in and now, with the beer loosening up her form she decided to see what was down there.

The group barely noticed that she had left and Maddie could hear them laugh a bit too loudly at times, as she descended the dark stairs. The boards creaked and shifted under her footsteps and she was almost completely enveloped in darkness, when she made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Golden light cascaded out from a beautiful red cherry bar. The bartender looked up at her arrival and wiped the bar down, and put out a napkin, beckoning her to sit.

Maddie walked to the bar and slipped onto the barstool. “This is a gem.” she exclaimed to him.

“That it is.. Names Mike.” he replied as he offered her his hand.

She shook his hand and looked him over. He was nice enough to look at, and maybe a little older than her. “Madeline..” she said.

“Let me guess.. You do not have your own signature drink, the one that you always order?”

She shook her head, her long brunette locks bouncing around her face. “No, I do not have my signature drink, as of yet.” “Well maybe I can help with that.” Mike said as he looked her over, his eyes pausing at her blouse and a smirk on his face. Then he started making a drink for her.

“You look like the type that would like a little sugar in your drink… he started to say..

Meanwhile Maddie started looking around the bar. There was a theme of the old west, with old photographs from hundreds of years ago all along the walls, including some reward posters. At the very end of what had been turned into a pool hall, was a series of odd iron bar cells, coming out of the walls from exposed brick. It was cool down here, not because of an air conditioner, but because they were underground.

Maddie had been looking at the photos and the odd iron in the corner when he placed a pink drink on the napkin, complete with a skewered cherry.

“Oh thank you…” she said and took a sip. It was nice and she drank more of it.. Then stopped when she noticed she was being watched.

“Hmmm it really is good,” she started to say and he shook his head.

“Forgive me.. I hadn’t recognized you at first.” he said, taking the drink away.

“Excuse me?” Maddie asked him, watching him take the drink away.

“I wasn’t really expecting you, you know.. Considering the time.” he said then noticed she had been staring at the cell.

“This used to be the old town jail. Many outlaws spent their time down here, either rotting away, or waiting for the noose.”

“Oh…” Maddie replied, suddenly remembering all dreams she had been having, especially lately.

“Here, try this.” Mike said, sliding a shot of something amber to her.

“So this is your trick? Guessing who likes what to drink?” she asked.

He nodded. “Something like that.” he stated, wiping the bar with a sweep. “Go on..”

Maddie took the shot to her mouth and smelled the whiskey, which stirred something within her. She downed the shot in one gulp, completely, then winced, but not as badly as she was expecting it to be.

Mike just nodded. “New it! Simple drink for a complicated girl.”

This made Maddie blush, or was it the sudden shock of alcohol hitting her cheeks. Mike was cute, not that she had any real experience with men. She slid out of the barstool and started to walk over to the iron cells.

“Did you keep this for nostalgia?” she asked him, sliding her hands along the thick cold iron.

“Yeah, conversation piece, and it is a part of this town's history. As you are, you know.”

She was caught off guard by that remark and was about to ask him, when he brushed her bareback under her blouse and she got an immediate shiver down her spine.

He was touching her and she wanted it, just as much as she feared it. His hand, warm to the touch, was on the small of her back and she turned into his embrace. They looked into each other's eyes and he leaned down to kiss her. But as she gripped the iron bar of the cell the whole room spun and she fell into his arms.

Mike steadied her and helped her sit down. But she was floating into another time, hearing horses and wagons wheel go by on the street above them. She could smell the dust of the ages and heard hard men laughing; a gun cocked, and shell casing falling on the floor.

Mike steadied her and helped her sit down. But she was floating into another time, hearing horses and wagons wheel go by on the street above them. She could smell the dust of the ages and heard hard men laughing; a gun cocked, and shell casing falling on the floor.

She woke up moments later to her friends she had left upstairs finding her in some random guys arms. Fluttering open her eyes she wondered what they thought of all this. “There you are Maddie.. We were looking all over for you..” one of them said, then turned to Mike, judging him up and down. “I was… here.” Maddie managed to say, but couldn’t get out much more when her friend swooped in and helped her to stand up, despite Mike’s proximity.

“Yes you were, and now we're going home, okay?” she asked, not bothering with the fact her friend was staring at some old iron cells in the corner.

As they pulled Maddie up and to the stairs she turned to Mike, confused.

“Come back when you're ready. I will be expecting you.” he assured her, going back to the bar and wiping down the bar again with a flourish.

*****

Scott Roche

The Visitation

Father Ian McOwan had grown to dislike his own reflection. Ever since the incident with the evil spirit or demon or whatever it was, he was equal parts repulsed and frightened by not only what he would see there, but what he might. The new strands of silver hair served as one reminder. The possibility of his bright blue irises turning black was the other. So, as he went about his morning ablutions, he did so with mirrors covered, almost as if he were in mourning.

Once he was in his daily wear of pressed black Levi’s, a black long-sleeved shirt, dog collar, and a pair of sturdy brogans he felt more himself. He took his kit containing the things he’d need on some of the visitations; his stole, the eucharist, some wine, anointing oil, holy water, his rosary with the St. Michael’s medal, and a small English/Gaeilge Bible He felt like the vet in All Creatures Great and Small or some country doctor. Much like those people, the tools he carried were vital. More so than even he used to think.

His first stop was at Mrs. O’Niall’s place. It was close to the parish house and she only wanted some time to chat over tea and take the sacrament. Her health was poor and she wasn’t always able to make it to Mass.

Her little cottage was plain enough on the outside, save for the window boxes filled with little flowers. Everything was clean from the front walk to the rooftop. She wasn't able to do it all anymore, but she had a bit of money tucked away as she often said, and paid for the workers who could. In reality, she was one of the wealthiest single women in town and was generous to a fault.

He knocked on the door, a big smile on his face. He loved visiting the older woman. It was always a bright spot in his week. The door opened and when it wasn’t her but a black woman whose name was Terry, who acted as a nurse to many of the elders in town, he was surprised. “Is Mrs. ONiall alright?”

“I’m sorry to say she’s taken ill,” Terry replied in her northern England accent. “I was going to ring you this afternoon to let you know.” She gestured for him to come in. “I’ll fix you some tea while you go see her. She’s awake and in her bed.”

Father Ian nodded and made his way to the little room where she and her husband had lain for sixty years before he passed. He could smell the usual odors of illness; rubbing alcohol, linament, and that particular scent that some older people took on when they really weren’t well. She looked so small in that four-poster bed.

“Hello, my dear.” He said quietly, in case she had fallen asleep.

Her eyes bright in spite of, or perhaps because of, her sickness she nodded. “Hello, Father.” She pointed to the rocking chair that had to be twice as old as she was but well-made. “Do sit.” She coughed weakly into her hand.

He did as she told him, but only after pulling the chair closer. He set his bag by his feet and opened it so everything was accessible. “Now, you’ve been a bit naughty, haven’t you?” He asked.

“How so, Father?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I told you to stay healthy now, didn’t I? And here you are in your sick bed.” He winked at her.

She laughed and it turned into a cough that hurt his soul. “Oh, I needed a laugh. Don’t feel bad.”

He always wore his emotions on his sleeve. Concern knitted his brow in spite of his light-hearted tone. “Alright, but only because you say so.” He brought out his stole, kissed it, and put it around his neck after a brief prayer. “Do you feel like you can take Communion?”

“I’m sick lad, I’m not dead.” She tried to sit up a little and he helped her.

He blessed a wafer and a small silver cup into which he’d poured some wine. Then he gave her each of the elements, blessing her and asking God for health and strength for her.

She had dribbled a bit of the wine on her cheek and he dabbed at it with some tissue from the nearby table. “Thank you, Father. It was so good of you to come.”

“I’m not leaving just yet. So long as you aren’t trying to get rid of me.” He put away the elements and took out his Bible.

Terry came into the room with a steaming cup. “Tea with two lumps as I recall.” Shje handed it to Ian.

“Right as always.” He smiled, leaving the Bible in his lap and taking the China cup from her. The dark liquid was good and strong with a hint of sweetness.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some cleaning yet to do.” She nodded at her employer and Ian.

“She’s such a good ‘un.” Mrs. O’Niall nodded weekly in Terry’s direction. “Don’t know what I would have done without her.”

“The Lord has been gracious to you.” He thought about how disconnected he felt from God lately. The young mother who died from cancer and the troubles that his teacher friend Jared had been having at school contributed to that. The American was an atheist and sharp as a tack. They’d had many great talks over the last two years. And he’d helped Ian battle the evil spirit. Of course, now Jared has found ways to cope with that experience that weren’t entirely healthy. Not that Ian was a man who could judge anyone for unhealthy coping mechanisms.

“And don’t forget, young man, he’s been gracious to you too.” The old woman retorted. “I know your life must be filled with difficulties. I don’t know if I’ve told you, but my brother was a Chaplin in the Army during the Second Great War.”

She had, in fact, and many times. “I think you may have mentioned that.”

She snapped her fingers. “Now, don’t try to pretend I haven’t. My memory’s not what it once was. What I mean to say is, we couldn’t have been closer, he and I, and in his letters, he said a good many things I think you might find comfort in. I want you to have them."

“I… I couldn’t possibly.” She hadn’t made this offer before. “That’s too generous.”

“Nonsense. I’ve practically read them to dust. I want you to find a way to preserve them, perhaps put them in a book if you think they’d help anyone else.” There was that cough again. She took a drink of water with Ian’s help. “But mainly they’re for you. He was young when he died from a disease he got from missionary work in Africa. Not as young as you but not as old as me. There are letters from that time, too.”

“I’ll treasure them and share them however I can.” He could get Jared’s help in figuring out how to do that. There must be a way to scan them in and turn them into an ebook or something. “Thank you, so much.”

“Now, read to me from the Book for a few minutes, and then I will take my rest. You have others to visit today.”

Jared opened his Bible and read to her in Irish Gaelic from Psalm 46. By the time he had gotten to “Be still, and know that I am God”, she had fallen into an easy sleep. He carefully anointed her head with oil, prayed for her healing and peace, and carried his things - along with his teacup - out into the kitchen.

Terry stood there, dabbing at her eyes. “You’re such a lovely man.” She hugged him, nearly causing him to lose the cup. Then she let him go and took the fragile piece of China from him.

He resisted telling her that he was ‘just doing his job’ which was true as far as it went but also unhelpful. “Call me if her health changes in either direction. You have my cell number?” When she nodded, he smiled. They sat and prayed for a few minutes, and then he left to go to his next visitation.

*****

Hands covered in sack cloth curled around thick metal bars. “Hello,” the man called out. I am aware you hear me, Madam of the Regale. Tell me, dear mystery, why am I here?”

The tap of heeled shoes echoed against grey stone floor until, the slid and crunch of grass became apparent. She traveled away from faint grey chipped marble columns to a circular opened air venue with a stage.

The woman covered in darkness walked toward a cage on a stage. A square entrapment sat upon a chipped red painted wooden stage. Behind the cage is an ever-shifting backdrop of different skies. Two thick rows of chairs, split down the middle, stood before the stage.

“You know why you are here,” Madam Regale spoke. “I have absolutely no idea. For I am a good man who did good deeds. Why merely listen to my voice? Does it not enchant you?” The voice a pretend soft melody that rose into different furious pitches. He cleared his throat as he pressed his sack body against the silver metal bars. “Did I not fascinate you with everything I stood for? Did you not place your hope for a lingering moment upon me,” said the caged man.

“Hope what a foul misrepresentation.” Madam Regale walked up to the cage. Her hands slid around two bars. She squeezed them, creating imprints of her hands in the metal.

“Your deeds cannot be forgiven.” “I am being misrepresented,” the man cried, spewing out sand. You viewed my statement. You are acquainted with me. I would never.”

I am unfamiliar with you! The dreams and the illusions are all I comprehend! A hope no longer there. A person to no longer be admired. But admiring those in power was always a dangerous thing; that was a lesson I should’ve grasped.” She released the bars.

“You cannot keep me here in a cage for public viewing. I have done nothing but been a generous soul,” the man of rough cloth pleaded.

“Look around you. Who is here to meet with you?” Madam Regale spread her arms out unbelievably wide.

The sack man glanced around at the sparse open space. “Why are you doing this? What is your benefit? Do you believe this makes you a saint? This makes you like me,”He snarled.

“No one will come to visit you. You possess no freedom anymore. Your voice and lines can taint no one here. You cannot spread your falsehoods and foulness here,” said Madam Regale.

“Ah, you misunderstand, that is where you are mistaken.” The man sighed, “You do not even bloody know me. Only the image I project. The illusion I adorned. “Need I remind you, it was you who so desperately wanted it to be real. How you loved me for a year and a half, even creating a fiction about me trying to ascertain my attention. And what a fool that girl was, having faith in a stranger she yearned to understand. Admiring someone for the things they stood for, only to end up in shambles.”

“All you had to do was be a decent person,” Madam Regale spoke. “All you had to do was be faithful to your ideals! Not a hidden monstrosity!” She stomped her foot.

“You never even read my work, but watched a show and took a class you never finished because you found my voice a catalyst into your mind.” He slowly untied thin twin at the ends of his fingers. He held his hands down allowing the grains to fall to the bottom of the cage.

“Hush!” Madam Regale demanded. “You do not get to shush me.”The grains stained the shiny grey metal bottom, smearing fine dust like coal. “You are smarter than that. Disregard all the rumors. I am a person who is safe. They are all aiming to ruin me. No need to be such a pessimist.”

“What did you do?” Madam Regale cried. “Look at your cage, the place you belong. It is all dirty.” “Dirty, like your once upon admiration of me. Dirty like the filthy deeds I did. Are you jealous an ugly bird like you would never get my attention?” The charming voice echoed in madam Regale’s ear. “Jealous of what temptation I brought your mind?”

Madam Regale spun around and slammed her fist in to the sack man’s flat body. The tan woven cloth that held two beady eyes and a mouth spat dark particles. “When did you slip away?” she raged. “Those poor people.” The madam wailed.

“You have not even met them. Stop pretending you care. You are just as greedy as the rest jumping on the hype train,” said the sack man through gritted rough lips. “You see, you believe you stand for things. Believe you are a voice for others. But I am aware of the truth. I’m a figment, a dream you created for this detestable little scenario to prove you are better than me. When in fact you are not. Just an insignificant little bug who represents nothing, but trying to ride a wave.”

Madam Regale fell to her knees. “No, this is about me not wanting a dream, who is a nightmare to have any influence. This is about my heart being shattered after finally thinking there was someone I can idolize. I wanted to idolize you, after just discovering you. I wanted to brag and talk to others about this person who has such a charming voice, who is creative, who is safe, and has imagination. I wanted to be like you providing safe spaces in my work. I have no idea if I can accomplish that.” “How pathetic,” The sack man fades completely away. Madam regale sat down. Her arms slinked around her knees. “You are wrong I am better.”

*****

Neil Christiansen
Mme. Viral Youngblood Esq.

Kelsie stared at me, disapprovingly, as I snorted the line of crushed up Adderall off my desk.

"What?" I said, more defensively than I meant to. "It's not like I paid for it."

She wagged her tail, stood up and walked up to the front of the office to sit in the sun. I noted her derision and brushed it off. She'd feel differently tonight when she wanted to be fed. Besides, who was she to judge? She had it easy. Her food was provided for her, twice a day. And not just a can of slop dumped in a dirty dish a la the opening scene of Back To The Future. No, I mixed her dry kibble with an organic powdered mixture of chicken broth, oats, and plant protein and fiber. Then I stirred in either fresh rotisserie chicken or shredded cheese. Blended that with warm filtered water and voiala, Michelin Star dog food delivered morning and night for her to slop up between naps.

I, on the other hand, worked two jobs trying to keep myself in a tax bracket one peg above my looser fast food employee clients. They were pathetic, and mostly couldn't pay, even my discounted rates.

They were always trying to negotiate alternative forms of payment. The men, such as they were, boys really with sad attempts at facial hair, all wanted to sleep with me. They seemed to think that their cocks were as good as gold, and couldn't understand why I wouldn't want them to deposit their cum instead of their cash. The women just cried me a sob story and leaned on the sisterhood to convince me that I owed them my services. All of them thought that paying actual money for my time in and out of the courtroom was an absurd notion, so I frequently got whatever chemical substance they had buried in the bottom of their second hand, pleather, forever 21 handbags.

Was there an irony in them paying their lawyer in drugs to get them off of their possession charges. Maybe, but not one that Alanis Morissette would put in a song. It was more like the universe mirroring itself in a shallowly romantic way. Ultimately the shit they gave me was the fuel I needed to get through the job that actually paid the rent on the strip mall storefront where I hung my shingle.

Being a lawyer isn't as glamorous as people think it is. Too many episodes of Suits giving folks the idea that it's all Manhattan sky rises and tickets to the Met. The truth of the matter is it's more like Better Call Saul. Most lawyers don't work in high power, luxury firms. Most of us are grinding it out, case by case in dingy offices you probably don't even notice as you drive by them.

It's a joke that skeazy lawyers advertise on bus stop benches, but in reality, most of us wish we could afford an ad on a bench. My business comes from word of mouth, which means, not only do I have to accept Xanax and expired birth control as payment, but I have to do a fucking good job for those clients. There's a reason I've never been able to quit my night job.

Kelsie stood up and pointed her nose through the window at the parking lot and stifled a bark. She wasn't much of a guard dog. Not in any protective way, but she was a good warning signal. She was good at letting me know when something wasn't quite right.

"What is it girl?" I asked, standing up from behind my desk and wiping what was left of the powder onto the carpet for the cleaning lady to vacuum up later.

She panted and paced back and forth a few times before coming to stand, nervously, behind me. I bent at the knees and scratched her behind her ears, watching as a man pushed through the yellowing glass and jingled the bell above my door.

The sight made my stomach drop. This man should not be here. This man could not be here. This man walking in meant my whole world was about to collapse.