Entry 9

Dear Future Me

That therapist fucking says this is working.  It’s working?  Is it now????  He also wants me to not make things up.  Like hell I am!!!  How does he know what does and doesn’t happen in my life?  This is why I hate most everyone, they always assume that I’m telling a lie in one capacity or another.
Everyone except for Julie.
I got to admit, as much as that bitch gets on my nerves, and as much as the two of us fought constantly up until like, well, I left, I still miss her like no tomorrow.  Okay, maybe I miss my lil Sebastian more than her.  And my bed.  And my a/c.  And my television.  And my wifi.  But I still miss her more than I’d like to admit.
I texted her again today.  It’s the third one now since I’ve been here.  I’m not desperate, I swear future me.  But still I got radio silence from her.  I know that she comes from like, the opposite background of me.  You know, parents who like her and understand her and are willing to listen to her.  Unlike mine who tries to cram aloe and avocado down my throat in the middle of the night.
Stupid ass home remedies.

So, the old fart agreed to what I had suggested last night over that tv dinner that he always makes for himself.  And that is eggplant parm with bowtie pasts of all things.  He left the kitchen to go to his room.  When he came back he smelled heavily of smoke, but he also brought the money.  I had like, three hundred dollars to use.  Kaching!!!!  Only issue is that he gave them to me in crisp, brand new, one hundred dollar bills.
What the hell?  Was my great great great great great great grand uncle some sort of money laundering criminal?  Honestly I wouldn’t even be surprised.  I mean, I would be surprised, but it’s just that this place and he are so freaky and weird that I’m down to believe anything he would say to me.
So I had left and made the too goddamn long trek to the bus stop.  The therapist met me again on it, the fucker.  We went to the same old restaurant where he told me that I could order what I wanted.  And what I wanted was something thicc.  You know the feeling when you need something meaty and greasy and despite knowing you’ll hate yourself in the morning you get it anyways cause it’s so damn good?  Yeah, I had that feeling.
So, three double cheeseburgers and half a shake later I’m working on fry mountain in front me.  And that’s when he starts talking.  He had been drinking coffee this whole time, and reading what I had written between the last time we met and today.  And he read the whole damn thing!  Like, he read the stuff before hand too.
Is his memory that bad?  Or am I just that forgetful to him?  Some therapist.
He says that it’s working.  I eat more fries.  He doesn’t want me to make things up.  I drink my milkshake (It’s chocolate raspberry and OMG is it good).  He says that I’m harboring hate and anger or some shit.  I loose it and shout at him.  If he had my mother and my problems wouldn’t be fucking angry too?  But nooooo.  He only knows what my bitch of a mother says and what I tell him in these stupid entries, future me.  He probably grew up with some sort of gold plated spoon in his mouth or some shit like that.
Once I’m done yelling at him, and back to munching on my fries, he FUCKING TAKES A FRY.  He tells me not to be so salty and then he eats it.  AND THERE’S A GRIN ON HIS FACE!!!
How can I trust a man who steals fries?  Hell, how can I trust this guy anyways?  I mean, he’s taking a high schooler out for food.  Multiple times.  And this therapist, while not old looking, is certainly old.  I mean, he’s at least 35, right?  Or older.  But the man looks like he’s only in his early twenties.
Fucking golden spoon and the looks to match, the fucker.
As soon as I could leave, I did.  I crammed the fries in my mouth and ran out, leaving him with the bill.  I mean, he was going to pay anyways, but its the principal of the matter.  Gotta make him know that I’m the one in charge here, not him.
Well, there is a supermarket just down the road.  I saw it from the bus on the way there.  I stop in.  To be honest it’s more mom and pop than Walmart.  But, It’s got food to buy, and it didn’t look too bad when I checked it.  I spent like, all the money.  One of them was to get a little wagon attachment for a bike for me to pull.  Cause you damn well know that we wouldn’t be able to carry all this shit up that road.

So I feel a little bad, but I think I have it made.
After spending all that money, I was able to steal a bike.  Yes, I know that’s bad.  But, listen first, future me.  You would have done the same thing.  There was this rusted looking bike in the dumpster outside the supermarket.  I was rearranging the little wagon so all the big, heavy cans would be on the bottom and not crush my frozen garlic bread when I spotted it.  I hauled it out of the dumpster.  It’s like an old mountain bike.  It was a brownish red, which isn’t my favorite color but I’m down for it.  There was this apartment complex on top of the supermarket, see?  Or some sort of building with a lot of a/c units in each single window.
My guess is that someone threw it out cause they were moving.  So technically, it wasn’t stealing.  I was salvaging the poor bike from being destroyed.  So I hooked up the wagon to the bike.  It was a little too high for me to sit down and pedal.  But let’s be honest, future me, we biked around at home all the time.  I mean, don’t have my license yet but I’m only sixteen so dad is all against me taking the test until I’m seventeen next august.  So biking back to the old fart’s house would be a piece of cake.  Granted, I haven’t used a bike in like, three weeks, but it’ll be fine.  It’s not like I lost my legs and got new ones and had to learn to walk all over again.
It’ll be like riding a bike.
Haha, I made a funny.  Laugh with me, future me.
And yes, I did think to leave and bike away.  But first off, I had all this food with no way to keep the frozen or perishable stuff cold.  And secondly, I had a creeping suspicion that the old fart would just show up and stop me with his freakish old man strength.  I mean, seriously, how the hell did he drag me two plus miles?
I would rather not be dragged on top of concrete for a long time.
So, I biked to the house.  Now, I made it not because of the bike.  But because I found a pack of smokes on the ground literally around the corner of that long ass road.  I stopped immediately to look into it.  It was missing, like, two cigarettes inside.  And it was Camel, which I don’t like but hell, I’ll take whatever I can.
I stuck it inside my bra under my shirt so that the old fart, even if he did see it, wouldn’t do shit to get it.  I mean, I did that stunt all the time in high school to hide my phone and my smokes.  The teachers gave me that stupid little “you a bad girl” stare, but not much else.  I should be fine even from the old fart who bodily drags underage girls down the street for miles.
…
That sounds a hell a lot more pervy and disgusting if you put it that way.
Ew.
When I got back it was timeish for food.  I made pasta, cause this girl needed more carbs, and meatballs to eat.  The old fart ate too.  It had to be the best goddamn meal he has had in a long ass time.  He didn’t say thank you or even do the dishes.  He left them for me.
That pissed me off.  But let’s be honest, future me, I’m still going to end up cooking for more than myself when I do cook in the future.  I mean, it’s easier to make food for two than for one.  It just means that I can’t have leftovers for myself.  The jerk, eating my food.
And now it’s late at night and I get to smoke.  I plowed through the first cigarette, laying on my bed in the dying heat of the day.  I had stripped once more, cause there ain’t no a/c up here and it was a bazillion degrees.  So I smoked and lay on my bed and stared at the smoke that trailed up to the ceiling with my homie, Charlotte.
And now I’m writing this stupid thing.  Future me, do things get better in the future for me?  I’m slightly concerned that I have to go back to that bitch at the end of the summer, and that it won’t be pretty.  Does it turn out alright?  But, with the smokes and the bike hidden in the backyard, I think I might be able to pass the days better than before.  I might bike out and explore the town.  Now, if it wasn’t so hot.  I had practically died of dehydration when I biked here from the market.  Granted, I had like a hundred pounds of food with me, but that’s besides the point.  It’s gotta cool off first before I explore anything under the sun with that hot ass asphalt below me.

Robin