British Guys Aren't Cute

British Guys Aren't Cute - Chapter Thirty-Two

‘The British nation is unique in this respect: they are the only people who like to be told how bad things are, who like to be told the worst,’

Winston Churchill

 Chapter thirty-two

“Who wants to go first?” the therapist questioned, looking around the circle of people. A silence fell over the group as they looked at the therapist, each not wanting to say a word. They looked around at each other, trying to elect somebody to go first. The therapist was about to pick somebody when he was interrupted by shouting.

“LET ME GO YOU BITCH!” a voice screamed, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group. The doors to the hall slammed open as two people fell into the room, one dragging the other by their clothes, barely managing to drag the person into the room.

“She will go first!” Nora shouted, dragging her mother into the room some more, her mother kicking and screaming as she did. The therapist practically jumped out of his chair, watching the scene in front of him.

“Em.. usually we help people who are a little more willing...” he explained, watching her mother as she tried to escape Nora’s grasp.

“I don’t give to shits about who you usually help. My mother is an alcoholic - this is alcoholic anonymous, help her,” Nora ordered, anger running through her veins.

“I’M NOT AN ALCOHOLIC! I ONLY DRINK AT THE WEEKENDS!” Her mother screamed. 

“Em... okay, would you like to take a seat...” the therapist replied, ignoring Nora’s screaming mother. Nora smiled before dragging her mother over to an empty seat. Her mother kicking and screaming as she did. After five minutes of trying to get her mother to stop trying to escape, Nora finally managed to get her to stay, telling her that if she could prove that she wasn’t an alcoholic, Nora would buy her twelve bottles of vodka. 

The therapist looked around the group, every set of eyes now staring at Nora’s mother as she sat slumped in her seat, waiting for her to talk.

“I’m not an alcoholic,” her mother stated, her face wiped of all emotion. Nora let out a laugh, not believing that her mother was still in denial about her condition. 

“Of course you are! You just drink - your addicted! Your are a alcoholic!” Nora interrupted. The therapist looked at her, raising an eyebrow at her outburst as if to tell her to be quiet. Nora slumped down in her hair, before mining zipping her mouth shut. 

“How often do you have a drink?” the therapist questioned, turning to her mother.. The therapist would of turned anyone who had been dragged in to their session because they weren’t ready to accept that they had an addiction, but he knew that if he crossed Nora, he would end up with his head on a stick. 

“Every so often - everybody likes to have a drink, everyone has a drink every so often!” She replied, her eyes narrowing at the therapist. Her heart pounded in her chest. She did not like this. She was always sure that Nora was the smartest out of all her daughters, she had been so proud of her. The rest of her daughters all ended up knocked up by the age of 21, except Nora. She went to university and left Ireland for London, bagging a prince as she did. She was so proud of Nora, but why had she dragged her here? She didn’t have a problem; she could stop whenever she wanted. 

“Is every so often every day?” he questioned, Nora’s mother shot a look of hatred over to the therapist before nodding slowly in reply, words choking up her throat“Do you find that you can’t function without drink? That you need it more than you need your lovely daughter?” he questioned. Her mother didn’t reply, she just looked at the therapist refusing to answer. “Just some things to think about,” he said before looking around the group, for somebody else to pick on.