Bab 349: Chapter 349
Erik walked out of the psychiatric office and sighed. He hated it. All of it. But it was necessary. His solicitor had requested a later date for the appeal, time for him to have a full psychological evaluation. And so far, he was finding out that he had some serious issues. Issues he didn't even realize were there, inside of him. About Edward, about his real father. Robbie. Even Pearl. He wasn't wired like a normal person and he had never wanted to dig deeper within himself until he had to. "PTSD, Acute Stress Disorder, Reactive Attachment Disorder, Disinhibited Social Engagement Disorder..." the terms the psychologist had attributed to him. He took a deep breath and lit the cigarette he had been holding. "Ready to go?" His friend Micah asked.
"Yeah. Sorry. Just a tough session." Erik said, getting in the car. They drove to their flat in Camden.
"I have to finish this painting by tomorrow for the gallery. It's a commissioned piece. But when I'm done, I'm taking you out for a drink."
Micah said.
"You should stick to writing." Erik said, pouring a glass of wine.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. But poets only make money after they're dead. Hotels and restaurants will pay for my art now." Micah said.
Erik nodded. The money he had made from selling what was left of his personal belongings was enough for him to live off of for awhile. All of his other assets were seized, the houses, the cars, the jewelry. Artwork. He had his clothes and money he had stashed away in cash, when he first fought with his father. It all was a little over half a million dollars and all non-traceable. He lived meagerly for now, his solicitor was working pro-bono and his rent was paid by Micah on paper with him giving him cash under the table.
"I'm going to journal for a bit, anyway. My head doctor says I need to start doing that." Erik said.
Micah nodded and left for his studio downstairs.
Erik sat on the couch and looked out the window at the street. It was an eclectic neighborhood. Musicians, painters, writers and artists of all kinds lived there and the sidewalk below was filled with different types of younger and hip people like that. He liked it very much. He had started taking pictures again and had several that he thought were decent. Micah had talked about trying to get him into the local gallery that he worked with.
He looked down at his notebook and wrote down the words, "I must get better. I must get better to keep my freedom. I must get better so that I can talk to her and make her see how much I still love her."
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Pearl walked into the bedroom of the suite in DC. Their visit to the White House had been a success, with some ideas thrown around about a similar government and constitution for the British people. The president was very happy to offer his help if that was the route they wanted to pursue. She had changed and taken a bath, and it seemed the visit had knocked her wonderful husband out for the night as she watched him sleeping soundly in bed.
She leaned over and covered him with the throw from the foot of the bed and walked to the living room area. She picked up a book and began to read, feeling more awake than she should at the late hour. Her thoughts began to drift and she found herself missing her music and the band. Missing her small little apartment. She loved her life, she loved her children and Sebastian, but something inside of her longed for the woman she had grown to love when she only had herself to rely on. She missed that simple life. She picked up her book again and was able to focus on it this time.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone