Blue Dream Read Free Page B

for a second I tug tighter on my hair determined to rip the anxiety of admission of guilt out of me. To tug away the pain from the constant 'what if' hell I live in. That I've created. To tug away the terror that comes from living here in this desolate dungeon of my mind where all other thoughts outside of the well woven 'what ifs' have deserted me. “Because for just a brief moment in time, I wanted to feel like he gave a fuck about me....”
     
    Doc stays silent. The surprise lifts my head. He's staring down at me with his coal eyes, not judging, but almost understanding. I guess we all have daddy issues. “It is a father's responsibility to guide his son towards greatness.”
     
    “Mine didn't.”
     
    “You blame him.”
     
    Yanking the cigarette off my lips, I snap, “Of course I fucking blame him.” A small jeer comes out of me. “Had he not sold me the bull-”
     
    “No.” Doc interrupts. “ You bought into it. You made that choice. Start taking responsibilities for the actions you've committed. Both good and bad. Life isn't about what happens to us, Ryder. It's about the actions we take and decisions we make. What we choose each step of the way.”
     
    His hippie mumbo jumbo shoves the cigarette back in my mouth and releases my hand from my sore skull. Whatever. I don't need this bullshit. I should've known better than to talk to him. What the fuck does he know about choices? Of course he would judge me. I'll add that to the list of things I hate.
     
    “He has his own burdens that will haunt him,” Doc's perspective should move my eyes back to his, but they don't. As far as I'm concerned this conversation is over. “You made the choice because you wanted a father. You wanted to finally be more than he ever thought you could. To connect with him. You wanted what every wayward child ever has. To feel loved. To feel wanted.”
     
    My head falls forward. The candy stick trembles on my bottom lip.
     
    “However, like many things in the world, we believe in order to have something we truly want, we must sacrifice something else. For you. It was Presley.”
     
    Hearing her name crushes my voice box at the same time it forces my mind to expel the words, “She was my life.” The declaration that I wish could stop there helplessly continues, “She was the only person who really fucking mattered. She held me when they wouldn’t. She helped build me up when they tore me down. When my own blood blamed me she exonerated me. Every time. Black sheep to them, shining star to her. She treasured me and I…” I shake my head, the racing of my heart so loud, I begin to rock in hopes of soothing the insatiable sorrow. “I broke her.” A choked sob comes out. “I fucking broke her....”
     
    Doc doesn't comment. Doesn't add text book lines. For some reason his silence makes it worse. Tears begin to gather at the corners of my eyes, gluing them shut. For years I've buried the facts about what happened. The things I should've never did or said. The missed kisses and touches. The shameful secrets, that when I play back the endless list of 'what ifs' my mind skips over, because I don't ever want to admit the apprehension that comes from truth. The fact that the monster I was then, I still am now, just in older skin.
     
    Presley wasn't super model gorgeous. She wasn't even girl next door cute. She was this odd combination that didn't make any sense, but screamed astounding. She was short but curvy. Her legs were long and her torso was tiny. Top heavy with just enough ass for my hands to palm. Soft brown skin, glowing chestnut eyes that even the coldest of hearts were mesmerized by. Glasses because she was blind as a bat, but had the hearing of an owl. She was a strangely pasted perfection.
     
    “It was like I was a homeless man thrown out of the shelter, wandering around the streets for days, moments away from his last breath, dying for a meal, hot or cold, it didn't matter. I just needed something to fill my