The First Three Rules Read Online Free PDF Page B

haven’t you called like you said you would?”
    “Because every time I do, you try to psychoanalyze me. I’m fucked. I know I’m fucked. I don’t need you to remind me on a daily basis.”
    “I’m your friend, remember?”
    “You’re the department shrink.”
    “I’m still your friend.”
    Ever since the warehouse, being friends with anyone was nothing but a farce. None of the people Jon had worked with looked at him like one of their own anymore.
    “Are you still there?”
    Jon’s right knee didn’t want to bend. “Yeah.” He limped into the kitchen.
    “You never did answer me. Are you okay?”
    “Dandy.”
    “You sound like you’ve been drinking.”
    “I haven’t been drinking.” Glass shards, food on the walls, food on the floor. It was going to take hours to clean up the mess. “Not that there weren’t times I didn’t want to.” Like now. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping good.”
    “It’s common for sleep aids to lose effectiveness. A dose increase should fix that.”
    Jon picked his way through the broken dishes to the coffee maker. A splinter of porcelain stuck him in the toe.
    He bit back a curse. “The pills don’t work because I’m not taking them.”
    “Why not?”
    “I thought this was my friend Mike calling, not Dr. Talbert.” Jon searched the cabinet for the coffee filters. He found the box. It was empty.
    “Friends worry about each other too.”
    “Yeah well, I’m fine.”
    “Tell me why you’re not taking the sleeping pills?”
    Jon leaned against the counter. “They make me feel like shit.”
    “It can’t be half as bad as not sleeping.”
    “It is. Trust me.” Jon resumed looking in the cabinets. Maybe he had some instant coffee.
    “Have you talked to Dr. Kale about giving you something else?”
    “No.”
    “And I suppose you have a good reason for that too?”
    Jon slammed the cabinet door shut. “I’m not seeing the doctor either.”
    “Jesus, Jon. How the hell are you going to get your scripts refilled?”
    “I quit the medications.”
    Mike’s breathing was the only sound.
    Jon gave up on the coffee and limped back to the living room. “Look, I know you’re just trying to help.” He sat on the recliner. “I don’t need any help. I’m fine. I’m dealing.”
    “People don’t just deal with PTSD.”
    He looked at the small table by the door. “I’m well aware of that.”
    “Then you should be well aware of how important it is for you to take your meds and make the sessions. I want you to set up a another appointment with Dr. Kale. And I want you to take the meds.”
    “You’re not my keeper.”
    “You obviously need one.”
    “Fuck you.” Jon hung up. The silence was cut short by ringing. It went on for a while, stopped, then started again. He picked up the receiver. “Mike, I’m done talking to you. I’m not going to the shrink. I’m not taking the pills. They don’t work. Do you understand? Nothing will change the fact that two detectives and my partner, not to mention the dozens of girls, died. Little girls, Mike. That son-of-a-bitch Beck used them as human shields then mowed them down when they panicked.
    “That’s not something therapy takes care of and there is no goddamned pill in the world that will block it out.” Jon pressed his palm against his left eye in an attempt to hold back the pain. He inhaled the scent of gun powder. Was it from handling the .38 or was his mind playing tricks on him?
    “Jon?”
    “I’m here.”
    “You couldn’t have known the trauma of finding your brother would manifest this late in your life. The mind is a funny thing. It’s a tragedy that it happened in the warehouse, but it’s not your fault. You’ve got to let it go.” .
    That could only happen if Jon wasn’t here to think about it. Anger squeezed his throat, but he was able to keep it out of his voice. “I know. I’m trying.”
    “Have you talked to Terry lately?”
    What would he say? Sorry that I got Alex