As promised, here is my second of the two short stories I recently submitted to a contest that (sadly) did not become a finalist. However, I am very proud of this work and hope you enjoy what I was trying to accomplish. It’s a about a teenage girl struggling with monthly transformations who visits a family therapist with his own unique qualities. In case you missed the first story, you can click HERE to read it. Thank you once again for all the support and if you have any feedback, comments, or suggestions, please reply in the space provided below the article. You can also contact me via my twitter accounts (@bamfingbob for general nerdy stuff, @andereggwrites for all things bookish/writing). BAMF!
There y’are, lass,” says Dr. Flannigan, opening the door. “Startin’ t’ wonder if ye’d fersaken tha old man.”
“No, no, sorry,” I say, entering his office and shrugging my purse onto the floor. “I had detention. Dad got here as fast as he could.” I settle into an oversized lounge chair.
Dr. Flannigan shuts the door and takes a seat across from me. “Well, tha’s no good, is it? Care ta talk about it?”
As he crosses one leg over his knee, the fluorescent light glints off of his polished leather shoe. The therapist takes great pride in his appearance, from his sculpted auburn beard to the crease of his pantleg. He wears more jewelry than most men; never the cheap stuff either. A diamond stud in one ear, golden rings on both hands, and a shamrock tie pin made of emerald. I feel poor, but Dr. Flannigan is hard-wired to be flashy so I don’t take it personally.
I tell him, “I threw a book at my teacher yesterday,” and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know that I got a whole week of detention or that the reason I chucked it was because she was spewing lies about genetics. How the strong survive. Bullshit.
“Jamika, ye know ye oughtn’t let yer temper get the best o’ ye. Did ye remember ta do yer breathin’ exercises?”
“Those don’t help,” I say. The truth was that, when my animal instinct takes control, there’s no time to think ‘Now, breathe in through your nose… hold it… and exhale.’ All I can think about is that ignorant woman and my adrenaline starts pumping. I do the exact opposite of the exercises, panting heavily until my blood boils and the beast inside me is unleashed. Bitch is lucky she got a textbook instead of a trip to the ER.
He taps the gold trimmed pen on his notepad. “Ye know, it’s almost that time o’ tha month, an’ I’m certain yer on tenterhooks. Ye have ta be ‘specially careful till it wanes again.”
The approaching cycle makes me itchy. I compulsively scratch the back of my head in quick, short strokes.
I was born cursed. Every month, I don’t know what to expect. Sometimes, the changes are mild and nothing really happens, aside from needing to shave my legs twice as often and eat my steak rare. Then, there are the months that I become a true monster. Horny as hell one minute, tearing everyone’s head off the next. Blackout every night. Blood, every morning. Painful. Embarrassing. Dangerous. A living nightmare.
This feels like one of those months. And I’m terrified of who I might hurt next.
“Penny fer yer thoughts?”, he asks, pulling a coin from thin air.
“It’s just,” I begin, but reconsider. I don’t want to talk about it again. “I don’t know. It’s just not fair, I guess.”
“Aye… sound words. We all have crosses t’ bear, but yers…” Dr. Flannigan rolls the coin over the back of his knuckles, pausing for dramatic effect. “Yers is heavy as they come.”
“Will it ever get lighter?” I ask, watching him maneuver the silver in perfect rhythm around his fingers.
“As sure as tha sun rises, youngwan. I’ve been helpin’ yer kin fer generations- yer mom, an’ her ma, an’ hers ‘fore that.” The mention of Mom sends a lump into my throat. “I’ve a fair grasp on how yer condition works,” Dr. Flannigan continues, “an’ these next few seasons’ll be the worst of it. Blossomin’ inta maturity takes its toll, but each moon’ll take less out o’ ye than the last an’ you’ll be flyin’ it in no time.”
I hear the words he says, but the heat rising in my face keeps them from clicking into place. All I can think of are the tears welling up under my eyelids and how I need to force them back down like I’ve had to so often before.
“Wha’s the matter, darlin’?”
“I… I wish she were here…” Pushing the voice out of my constricted throat makes the tears spill down my face. If ever there was a safe place to cry, this is it, but I still feel ashamed.
“I know,” he says, nodding solemnly, “As do I.”
“I feel so alone, you know? Dad helps some, but it’s not the same. Maybe, if I was never born, she’d… she’d still be…” I can’t finish it. The pain of losing someone I never got to meet cripples me.
Dr. Flannigan leans forward and grabs my hand, careful to avoid my sharp fingernails. “Come here to me, ” he says. When I don’t, he pushes my chin up with his other hand. “Look me in th’ eye. Yer ma, God bless ‘er soul, would not want ye to be wishin’ yer life away t’ spare hers. It’s a cruel trade, to lose tha mother an’ gain a babe, but it’s tha only way fer yer kind. She loved ye fierce an’ knew tha price goin’ in. Ye are what ye are, an’ there’s no shame in tha way ye’re born. And, someday, ye might make tha same sacrifice fer a pup o’ yer own.” He releases my chin and strokes my hair, reminding me of the itch. “Till then, make tha most o’ things. Do right by yer teacher, tell yer Da ye love ‘im, and just take it a day at a time. Come ‘ere, sweetheart.”
Dr. Flannigan pulls me into a hug, leaning me forward from the recesses of my chair and holding me in a tight grip. “We’ve all got ta stick t’gether.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably chase squirrels all the day long.” He chuckles.
I bark out a laugh and release him. “You’re probably right. You always know what to say, Dr. Flannigan.”
“I’m just lucky, I s’ppose” he says with a twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin.
Author Profile
- Robert joined Comic Crusaders in 2016 as contributor, but has been an active online voice through social media for almost ten years. His hobbies include reading and collecting comics, attending theme parks, making music, and driving his wife insane. Deadpool and Nightcrawler are his two favorite superheroes, and while his preference is Marvel, he dabbles in every major and indie label in the comics community. He graduated from UTPB in 2013 with a BS in Mechanical Engineering and is currently seeking employment in that field. A southern boy at heart, he currently resides in the Midwest.
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