I sat on the couch and stared at the bookcase. Some days were easier to talk than others, and if I measured the days on a scale of one through ten, ten being the most difficult for me to talk, this one would have come in at roughly nine and a half.

“So, do you feel like you’ve lied to her?” he asked.

I sat and stared blankly at the books. It was quite possible it was a ten. He sat silently and waited. After an extended period of silence, he cleared his throat.

“Have you read all of these?” I asked.

“We’ve discussed the books multiple times, Blake. I have read every one of them, yes. Now, back to my question, ‘do you, or did you feel that you may have lied to her? And, if so, how does that make you feel?’” he asked.

I stared at the books, and although I had counted them many times in the past, I began to count them again. After another extended period of silence, I reached a total, and counted them again to make certain.

Two hundred and seventeen. That’s not really that many.

“How long did it take you?” I asked, still focusing on the books.

He cleared his throat again. “Most were read over the course of my education. A few before and a few since. Several years.”

After a few minutes, I turned to face him, glanced at the clock, and made note of the fact that almost twenty minutes had passed.

“If your concern is time, Mr. West, I’ll assure you I have much more time today than normal. We’ll sit here until my questions are answered. Now, I’ll ask again…”

“Kind of,” I interrupted.

“Kind of what?” he asked.

“Kind of feel like that,” I responded.

“Kind of feel like what? Describe your feelings,” he said.

“Shit,” I said.

“Your feelings are shit?” he asked.

“I feel like shit. That’s what you asked. How do I feel, that’s what you asked. I feel like shit. Write that down,” I said.

“Well, to take a few steps back, I asked, more specifically, if you felt like you had lied to…” he paused and glanced down at his note pad.

“Riley,” he said.

I sat up in my seat and leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees as I glared at him.

“Take her name off your little fucking pad,” I said.

“I merely made note of…”

“Take it off,” I said flatly.

“My notes stay here. With me. There’s no harm in…”

“Take her name off your fucking pad,” I demanded.

He gazed down at the pad and began to scribble. I stood from my seat. As he noticed me stand, he placed the pad on his desk and pushed his seat away from the desk.

“Sit down, Mr. West,” he said.

“Take her name off the fucking pad. You have no right to write her name down. We were just talking. You weren’t even fucking writing when we were talking, you wrote the fucker down later. You fucking cheated,” I snapped.

“If I erase it, scratch it out, or toss the sheet in the trash, I still retain the memory of what you said. The longer you make an issue of it, and of her name, the more permanent it will be etched in my mind. Now, let’s get back to what we were speaking of. But first, sit down,” he said.

I studied him for a moment, exhaled a shallow breath, and sat down. He had a valid point. No matter what I did or said, he already knew Riley’s name. My best chance at any kind of recovery from his attack would be to change the subject.

I crossed my legs and focused on the bookcase. After a pause long enough to irritate him I shifted my eyes toward his desk. “Work’s been steadily picking up.”

He glared at me and picked up his pad. As he began to scribble, my blood pressure began to rise.

“Okay, yeah. I don’t know. I felt like maybe I should have said something, but it isn’t necessarily the type of shit you run and tell someone you’re trying to get to know. But I sure as fuck didn’t lie to her. I just didn’t tell her. And if you’re going to do any more scribbling on your little pad, you can write ‘Blake didn’t tell her yet’, not ‘Blake isn’t going to tell her’. Got it?”

“Understood. So, you do expect to see her again?” he asked.

I nodded my head.

He began to scribble.

“Hold the fuck up. You need to set that fucking pad to the side. I’m about sick and tired of you scribbling on that fucker. Can we just talk?” I asked.

“Would it be safe to say you are feeling slightly guilty for not having told Riley the truth yet? I do understand you have every intention of telling her everything, but you feel guilty about not having divulged everything yet, is that correct?” he asked.

“If you say so,” I responded.

“I want you to tell me. Tell me how it makes you feel that you’ve decided to wait to tell her everything.”

“It makes me feel like I’m a pretty smart fucker, that’s how it makes me feel,” I said as I reached for my glass of water.

“Oh, and how so?” he asked as he reached for the pad.

I shook my head at the thought of him doing any more scribbling.

“Because if I would have just blurted out my life history, she might have run away. But because I didn’t tell her, and we talked a few times without her knowing anything, I think she likes me. So, if I tell her now, she might just shrug her fucking shoulders and say so fucking what. That’s why,” I said.

He picked up his pen, tapped the end of it against lip for a moment, and then began to carefully write on the pad.

“Blake’s a smart fucker, and he’s making big time progress. That’s what you wrote, right?” I asked.

“Where’s the fucking music? There’s no music. What’s the fucking deal today? It’s like fuck with Blake day, huh? Turn the music on,” I said as I glanced around the room.

“The music is a program that is time based. It has shut down for the day,” he responded.

I glanced around the room and eventually fixed my eyes on him.

“Turn it back on,” I said flatly.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s out of my control.”

I sighed a phony sigh of irritation. As I inhaled another deep breath and intended to force another sigh, he cleared his throat. It was his way of attempting to gather my attention; he did it all the time. 

“Now, let’s discuss your meetings,” he said.

“What’d you write on your little pad?” I asked.

He cocked one eyebrow. “The meetings, Mr. West. Let’s discuss the meetings.”

“You know. Sometimes you call me Blake, and sometimes you call me Mr. West. How do you decide which one to use?” I asked.

He glared.

“Are you still wearing the cross?” he asked.

I reached toward my chest, tapped the piece of silver with the tip of my finger and shook my head.

He scribbled on his pad.

“Are you ready to discuss the meetings, Mr. West?” he asked.

I nodded my head once. “Okay by me, Patrick.”

“You’re still attending the AA meetings?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Racine, I do. Once a week, maybe twice, it depends on my moods,” I responded.

He widened his eyes slightly as he rolled the pen between his thumb and forefinger, studying me the entire time. Eventually he tilted his head to the side. “And you’re of the opinion, or at least you were, that they are helping you cope with your addictions?”

“That’s my take on it, yeah,” I said.

“Interesting. Do you still feel that way?” he asked.

“Well, Patrick, it sure seems to be the case. The meetings help me cope,” I responded.

“Do you find today’s session annoying, Blake?” he asked.

“Not anymore, Mr. Racine,” I said as I stood from my seat.

“Mr. West, sit down,” he said in a stern tone.

As I walked toward the door I reached into my pocket, pulled out the key to my Harley, and clutched it in my hand. As I pulled the door open, I paused and turned to face him.

“Next time I’m here, make sure the music’s playing. I’m not fucking around. I don’t want to talk to you if there’s no music. Listening to you in the silence is fucking irritating. Write that down, Patrick,” I said.

As he centered the pad on his desk and began to write, I grinned. I really didn’t care so much if the music was on or off, I had just become accustomed to listening to it. Having him fully understand my thought processes wasn’t ever something I was interested in doing.

Keeping him guessing was much more fun.

“Mr. West, I would appreciate it if…”

I cleared my throat and interrupted him from speaking. “That’s another thing, don’t call me that anymore.”

He fixed his eyes on mine and waited.

“I’m fucking tired of the back and forth shit. Call me Blake. Or you can call me Boss. Or Brainiac. Yeah, that works. Brainiac. I like that,” I said with a nod.

And I turned and walked out the door.