KAISER

After a long conversation with my dad yesterday, I practically had to kick him out along with his guards, just to prevent any chance of him meeting Daisy. Time is almost against us.

He's worried about the family's reputation and insists I start hanging out with him for the sake of my future. It doesn't even make sense knowing I want to be nothing like him. He complains about my bruised face and promises to find whoever did this to me.

I would laugh if I wasn't so angry.

He should've seen Caden's face. I'm sure he'd drop his determination. But anyway, I will also make sure he never finds Caden. It's always fun and games until grown people get involved. Knowing my parents, they would stop at nothing to protect me, a convincing way to tell themselves they care for me. However this is my fight, no one is getting involved.

When I slam the table and dare him to take back his commanding words, there's nothing those suited men can do to intervene in a father-and-son conversation. The asshole pleads instead, asking for some time with me.

It's pathetic how he and his wife try. Sometimes, I even suggest they have another child so they can forget about me, but of course, my parents aren't the kind who can start over again. Their career is a good example of that. They can't start with a little child once more. I'm the only choice they have. So, I feel cursed.

But my parents problem isn't enough—Riley had to go and dump more trouble on me this morning.

I can't believe she pushed me for a conversation I didn't want to have. I had to escape the house in yesterday's outfit, no shower, no coffee. Nothing, like a man with no home.

I don't know what she wants from me—I'm trying.

Do you have any idea how much it fucking sucks to have sex with someone when you don't feel any pleasure? Last night, I couldn't feel anything. I had to jerk off in the shower, imagining the girl sleeping on the upper floor.

I wish I knew what happened to those days when Riley and I would fuck all day long because it cleared my head.

I used to like it. Why can't I now?

Instead of leaving me to my confusion, she had to go and pour salt on the wound this morning by bringing up a conversation I didn't want to have. And if that wasn't enough, she even accepted an invitation to spend Christmas with my parents.

Since when does Riley have the right to overstep like that?

And she has the guts to accuse me of changing. To call me words I am not, claiming I'm being selfish.

Hell yes, I'm changing. If I understood how and why, it'd be a lot easier. But I'm being tortured every day. It's worse than before.

So, leaving the house with a bottle of Ricard is the best thing I can come up with after smashing several pieces of furniture in a fit of rage.

I make my way to the only person who would listen.

Reagan.

It might be too early on a Saturday morning, but I'm not one to follow the rules.

I keep knocking on the shitty door until she opens, appearing in a nightwear robe with messy bed hair.

"Kaiser?" She calls, surprised by my visit.

Yes, I know I told her I quit her bullshit, but here I am, at her home, which shouldn't be appropriate. Then again, I've lost the meaning of the word.

"I need to talk to you." I swallow the bile in my throat and set my pride aside.

I'm going crazy. I need her.

I have to smother the rage rising in me. I want to punch someone so badly my knuckles are already stinging.

"You do realize it's the weekend?" She says, scanning the bottle in my hand. "You look like a mess."

"Will you fucking invite me in, or are you leaving me on your porch?" I practically bark.

"Honey, who's there?" someone calls from inside the house.

Reagan shifts uncomfortably and flashes me a smile before shouting a reply.

"It's a patient."

"A patient? You think I'm a patient? That's what I am to you? A mentally disorganized person, isn't it?" I spit.

"No, it's just a way of saying a customer, or whatever it is in my profession."

"Oh, bloody oath." I scoff and start pacing back and forth on the porch.

"Calm down, Kaiser."

"You don't tell me to fucking calm down." I throw the half-filled bottle against the wooden wall until it shatters into tiny pieces.

"KC?" She must be frightened.

"What's happening over here?" A man appears behind her.

"He's having a rough day," she murmurs to the man, who's probably her boyfriend.

It's clear, even by the way he looks at her and the way she talks to him. They're deluding themselves into thinking they're happy. It's just a matter of time until they realize it's just a word people never bring to life.

"Oh look, there was a therapist who had a dog, Rambo is his name-o, clap C-U-N-T, clap C-U-N-T, clap C-U-N-T, and Rambo was his name-o." I snicker at the man bitch frowning at me with a flushed face.

"I'm gonna throw him out," he tells his princess, acting all heroic.

"He's Kaiser Chandler, Mrs. Chandler's son," she whispers, but not quietly enough because I hear it.

The man doesn't look satisfied, but it's obvious there's nothing he can do anymore.

"He's a mess. He needs water," he says to her, then turns into the house, adding, "And his mother."

"Piss off. Don't you goose need a woman to feel a little like a man?" I fire at him.

"Come in," Reagan swings the door open for me. "And be on your best behavior, or I'll have to call Mrs. Chandler."

She knows I don't want my mom to see how torn I am. She hit the spot. That's very low of her.

"I feel blackmailed. You're supposed to be my therapist, not my parents' sidekick."

"I'm not on your parents' side. They're worried about their son, Kaiser."

"Whatever," I mutter, slumping onto a couch, pathetically hugging a throw pillow to my chest as the jerkass Rambo returns with a cup of water and some pill-like candies Reagan gives me on days I can't control my anxiety.

"What is it?" Reagan seats herself opposite me in an armchair, crossing her legs.

"I need to sleep," I mumble, ignoring her.

And yes, that's exactly what I do after taking those pills.

When I wake up, I spend the afternoon narrating my past days up until this morning. Reagan listens most of the time and follows with words she believes would help.

James, surprisingly Reagan's fiancé, makes lunch and tolerates my presence, even with me naming him Rambo as he had behaved earlier. He just seemed too eager for my unconsenting session to end.

But it doesn't until the evening, ruining whatever plans they had for the weekend.

And then again, I have nowhere to go back to but Center Yorker. Where the girl I can't get enough of is trying to avoid me by all means.