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people watching. Little did she know a scout was there, doing his own share of people watching as well…
    “That bastard I was dating right when I got diagnosed saw my stock drop so he did what many men in his position would do—he bailed. I was no longer eye candy, not with my clean as a whistle head, lack of eyebrows, and hollow jaws. Not only that, I refuse to get reconstructive surgery.” She shrugged. “I’d already been through too much, and…I wrestle with this…but Frieda, I want to for just once in my life to be loved for me , you know?” Her voice trailed. “Not for my appearance alone, not for what a man thinks he can get from me. I want…” she said, her voice breaking, “I want for a man to look at me, see the scars, the emotional and physical ones, and be like, ‘so fucking what?!’” She smiled sadly. “So…I’m keeping my body just as it is…”
    The silence weighed heavily with unspoken words. Frieda’s face registered a mixture of surprise and admiration.
    “Anyway, with all of that, with me no longer looking glamorous,” she said with a roll of her eyes, “I was no longer someone to be chased and pasted on all of the gossip rags. According to the son of a bitch, I was no longer worthy of being touted around on the red carpet, showing off the piece of ass he’d snatched off a Parisian runway. You know who I’m talking about, that runt dick mothafucker! I don’t have to say his goddamn name.” The woman remained stone faced, but damn it, she recognized that Frieda knew. Everyone knew. The shit was plastered on all the gossip rags. Her life was no longer protected by any shield of secrecy; she’d become an unwilling, open book.
    “Okay. Let’s switch gears for just a quick moment, okay? I don’t want to disengage however unless you’re ready, but I want you to focus more, if you don’t mind, on what we can do at this present moment…right here, right now. Is that okay?”
    “That’s fine.” She exhaled an irritated breath and crossed her arms, still a bit ramped up.
    Let’s see.” Frieda clicked on her laptop computer. Her eyes roamed from side to side as she appeared to be reading something on the screen. “You’ve been in treatment before… but this is the longest stint. You’ve got two months and one week under your belt this time around. You have several months left, three to be exact. What would you like to accomplish in that timeframe, Taryn?”
    She swallowed and tapped her fingers against her scalp, as if patting down a non-existent wayward sprout of hair. It soothed her nerves, relaxed her.
    “I want to make it work this time.” She slumped back into the seat, her legs sprawled open in an unladylike fashion. “I don’t want to take Demerol anymore. For the first time Frieda, I honestly don’t want it.” She clicked her tongue against her inner cheek, barely believing the words herself. But, they were true…so very true. “I can’t afford to have a habit, and I don’t want to have a habit. Time is ticking by, slipping away, and what will I have to show for it? An overdose?! Is that how Taryn is going out?” She shook her head, a slight smirk on her face to cover the pain within. “No, I’m not, Frieda…” She looked down into her lap, toying with her fingernails. “I am tired of being a slave to that shit.
    “I can’t believe I’m even here again.” She rocked in her position, slightly ashamed of what had transpired. “I just couldn’t deal with it before, not sure why… It’s just a damn pain pill, ya know? One little white capsule. Doesn’t matter the size of the enemy, now does it?” She laughed mirthlessly. “In the end, the smallest become the most powerful, and the biggest and strongest become the weakest…and then they are eaten…eaten by their addictions until there is nothing left.”
    “Tell me about how you felt when you first began the pain medication, Taryn. How did it start?”
    Taryn looked up at the woman, surveyed