Page 64 of My Grumpy Alpha

“No you listen, I’m with you on the full moons and yes only yours then, but eventually I’ll need someone to spend my life with so until then, sure I won’t sleep around, but I will date and I will make friends since you’ve made it abundantly clear, we’re nothing.”

She jerks the papers from my hands, turns and walks away, and I swear it takes every ounce of strength within me not to throw my fucking desk through the window.

Again.

I'm still pissed when I arrive at my therapist’s office, I don’t even sit. No, I pace, back and forth, back and forth, I think I’m making her nervous because I saw her swallow a pill then say, “Do go on…”

Oh, I’ll fucking go on, for days I’ll go on.

Just like me and Ava, it was on and on and on and do NOT get a boner in front of your therapist. She’ll get the wrong idea!

"I will go on, thank you! Some respect.” I toss my jacket and put my hands on my hips.

“I just don’t understand, I mean, I’m technically doing her a bigger favor, I can handle the pain. I have handled…” I point at my therapist.

“…this for years, centuries! I can handle a few days a month, thank you very much!”

My therapist searches for her water and digs into her desk for another pill.

“So, when did you start having these hallucinations, do you think maybe this can be from the fact that this was your first time having sex and it maybe fell flat for her? Maybe even for you?”

“I WAS!” I scream, and then take a deep breath and pinch my nose.

“Amazing. Like a crescendo from Mozart.”

My therapist actually coughs into her hand, but I know she’s mocking me. Where’s a desk to throw? Maybe just throw her? Humans do just tend to sink once in the air.

I smile at the idea.

Nothing about my situation is normal, and now she’s on a date, a date with the guy I hate the most.

“And why do you hate him?” she asks.

Did I say that out loud?

I stop pacing.

“Xavier is a self-righteous prick who thinks he can beat me and wants everything I have, so it’s my job to hate him for existing. Everything I do he copies.”

“Maybe he admires you?”

“Maybe he just wants to take what I have because he thinks he can.”

She sighs and checks her watch.

“Well, our time is nearing its end, did you want to repeat the phrase for me?”

I loathe her.

I shake my head.

She stands and smooths out her gross brown skirt and adjusts her low white tailored shirt that’s tucked in to said skirt, she approaches. Is she wearing nylons? I mean nothing wrong with nylons, but it’s distracting because they blend into the skirt and what the hell is happening?

She reaches for my hands, then just grips them.

“We can say it together.”

I would literally, literally, rather choke on a Tic Tac and go out that way, a Dorito, maybe even a piece of gum, than recite this.