Stumbling over the Edge

The next week I felt numb. My father came on visiting day, but I didn’t really hear what he had to say.

Lover nurse brought me more pudding, and we messed around a few times during his breaks.

But mostly, I smoked. The more numb I became during therapy sessions, the more drugs they gave me. I think that’s what I wanted all along.

It was not until that next Thursday, after visiting day, that he appeared again.

I sat on the rooftop, spending my time making smoke figures when I felt a tingling on the back of my neck.

I glanced over near the door, where he was. “Thought you’d had enough.”

“… Nah, crazy girl…” his voice sounded broken.

“Then, what do you want?” I should have been nice. I should have crushed my blunt then and there, and said to hell with the drug, and turned and apologized.

I faced forward again and started making green smoke rings.

“I’m going to show you what I can do.”

He didn’t move, he teleported, pulled the weed from my lips and crushed it under his polished boot.

Reggie had dressed up.

In my stoned state, I reacted slowly, not able to stop him as he pulled my hand toward the ledge of the three story building, then jumped, taking me with him.

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