“Psst… hey… hey! She’s writing again, look man, she’s finally writing again!”
“What? This is a good thing, man, a good thing!”
*He literally has $ for eyeballs*
“What the… are you crying?”
*If this fucker opens his mouth one more time… Closes eyes. Takes deep breath. Tries to forget the last time she started writing. How her eyes changed and how nothing I said could make her better. I try to forget nights spent holding her shaking hands. And I try to forget the night when those hands stopped shaking and I thought they were dead. And how all the pills in the cabinet were gone.*
“This book will be a bestseller just like the last, I’m sure of it, yes sir I am!”
*Don’t respond to this dick-wad.*
“You know what that means,” he winks.
*Oh, I know what it means. It means that with each word she writes, the more fucked up she realizes life is. And so she’ll take more pills or maybe this time slit her wrists because once one knows too much about life, they are simply unable to live in such darkness.*
“Muchos dineros, my friend, muchos dineros!” he chuckles.
*I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more.*