I finally dealt with the issue I developed after that contract, that need for white powder and that paranoia about dogs. I recognize it as paranoia now. I started feeling that I had a problem with the stuff when my older brother came over to visit. I hadn't thought he would have time for that with all his hard work managing at the company and preparing to inherit it. I realized two things in that short visit. One was a deep shame, that I was acting like some druggie in the mountains while he was bustin his ass at work. Even while he was there I had an urge to reach for that tin. It made me feel like a real bastard inside, so I didn't. The second thing I noticed was that he wasn't scared of anything. He was confident. He talked about wanting to buy a dog himself. I decided if I really truly wanted to compete against him, to finally prove to my father that I was worth just as much as he was, that I would need to clean up and see a therapist. I found a psychiatrist guy, a Dr. Gordon Sterling, who was real confidential, (though that confidentiality was motivated by a heavy cash bonus), and I told him about my fear of dogs, how I viewed them as "monsters". I didn't mention werewolves specifically, because I didn't want him to think I was crazy. That also brought with it a deep sense of shame. Me, the accomplished Kyle Hughes, leaving out details because they would make me look like a loonie. Never thought I would see the day. I also told him I had started to get hooked on a drug, and I wanted to get off that hook and back into a normal routine. I didn't tell him which drug, so I think it took a bit longer for his treatments to work, but it went well in the end. Got rocky a few times though. Almost relapsed once or twice. As for the dog issue, he started convincing me that dogs weren't as bad as I thought they were, and that perhaps my fear of them was motivated by a deeper lack of confidence. Eventually we worked ourselves up to cute internet pictures of dogs, and two weeks later, I started working with his therapy dog, Lola. Lola was a golden retriever, a golden haired fluffball of joy, but at first she scared the hell outta me. Took me three days before I mustered up the confidence to reach out and pet her, and when I did I was shocked she didn't rip my arm off. I eventually, with Lola's aid, conquered my fear of dogs. After that I joined a boxing club, full of fellows workin out their confidence like me. The Red Gloves, we call ourselves. It's been pretty fun so far, but I've only been with 'em for a week now