Hello, my name is EvelioandZgroup. As you may infer, it's been almost a year for this story to be updated. Well, I am updating it with a remake of it instead because I felt I want to improve it because this story is a favorite of mine. Plus, one of my favorites writer that inspired me to write in the first place, YprocKcid, favorite this story. So, I decided I should show him how much I can handle a story with his OC and make this the story I have always wanted to write with its perks. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy this remake of the first chapter. Review, please if you have something to say.

Hate-Abuse-Recovery

By

EvelioandZgroup

Based of the novella of the same name.

Disclaimers: I do not own the characters involved in this story. They were chosen for their roles due to close resemblance to the characters itself in the source material. Stephen is an OC from YprocKcid. I don't have permission to use him, but I have no way to contact him to explain my proposal to use the OC.

Chapter 1

"Hello," the caller said, awaiting for an answer.

"Hello," Gumball replied, a bit of a nervous tone in his voice.

"Yes, how may I help you, sir?"

"Uh," he began, pulling out the newspaper ad from the desk, "I'm—uh, to discuss the ad about a free tryout for an anger management coach." He paused, waiting for a response. "Is it still available?"

"Oh, yes, very much available. I can place you in with one of our coaches to test out your trial."

"Yes," Gumball said, looking back at the ad in his left hand, while the phone at his right. "I also notice that it's $19.50 a month." Again—he paused. "Is that true?"

"Yes, it is, sir. Although, I must inform you that we will not charge you for this phone call, and neither will the time you will spend with our employee."

Gumball paused, confused a bit. "You mean your coaches?"

"Yes, sir," he said, managing to keep from saying No shit, wise-crack.

"If I may," he said, "the price seems a bit too good to be true."

"We try to make it affordable for everybody."

"That's not what I had in mind. I see it as a bit of a bad thing, you know. It seems like you would probably pick someone off the street and pose them as one of your so-called employees, or coaches."

There was a moment of silence in the conversation.

"If you believed it to be true, why call to try this out?"

"I-I didn't," he said. "You assumed, and I didn't want to bother you when you discussing these matters."

"Well," he said, changing a bit of his tone to frustration, "I don't think you could have bothered me with that."

"Well, if the tryout is free, I guess I can test it out."

"Great, now this call won't be a complete waste of my fucking time."

The call was put to a halt. Gumball waited, but not impatiently. He sat there, with the phone in his right hand, and the ad in the newspaper in his left.

He looked at his office—a small room, really. It had a door with a mirror on the bottom. It was a bit of a malfunction with designing the building. Mostly the building was made to be a meat factory. Frankly, they went wrong...a lot. The room didn't produce much cool temperature to store meat, and couldn't give in heat as well. It wouldn't work well either due to the fact that building was mislead when they thought they owned the entire building. They didn't. It was divided into five stores across. There's—start at the beginning of the alley—the bakery, the convenience store, the repair shop, the meat factory (till it was postponed, then abandoned due to the misconception), and the antique store.

Gumball bought the area for a cheap price of five grand. It wasn't much, but he managed a business there—he helped manufactured cheap knock-off toys they usually sell at those dollar stores.

The line picked up. "Hello?" The man's voice was deeper, yet felt unsettling when his tone appeared to be grouchy and untamed. Gumball thought he just might be over thinking it.

"Yes, uh, here for the try—w-well not here, physically, just calling from this place over to your place and...I'm probably losing focus, am I?"

There was another pause at the conversation.

"It's your time—waste it how ever you want it."

"Uh, okay. What am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're the anger management coach, and I think you have to teach me to protect me from my outbursts." Gumball began laughing a bit, almost uncomfortable. He was trying to make this work a bit. He knew he had a bit of a temper, and he only saw the ad to just check up on it to see if it was a joke; this was getting a bit uncomfortable for him. He wanted to take the advantage and see if this could try to help him.

"Technically I can't, Mr..."

"Watterson," Gumball said. "And what do you mean you can't?"

"I can't just teach you, usually this comes from repression and can't be summed up in these few seconds. To really crack into your submission—anger problems—is to find the source and where it's leading to."

"Well, can it be summed up in the time I have right now?"

"No," he said.

Gumball gripped the phone closer and squeezed tighter on the phone. "Then why am I calling you?"

"Because you want help and are sampling our help. So do you want our help or not?"

Gumball stared outside his window, breathing heavily. His heart started to pump through his chest harder. He doesn't know why. His breathing got to his supposed anger management coach.

"Is everything all right?" he said, concerned a bit.

Gumball felt his throat go dry, but didn't want him to know. He didn't care if he didn't know the guy personally. It was the very fact that it could leak out to someone.

"I have headaches," Gumball said, "strong headaches."

"Well—"

Gumball's phone rang again. Someone else is on the line.

"Will you excuse me for a moment," he said. "I have to take this."

"All right, but it ends our session," he said. Gumball got mad and whispered "Shit!" but he couldn't hear it since he covered the phone.

"Could you wait for a minute, while I put you on hold?"

"I can't do that," he said.

The phone rang again.

"All right then," Gumball said, hanging up, but with much more unnecessary force. He then answered the phone on the wall, like from his house. His old house from Elmore.

He answered the call from wherever it was reaching to. "Hello, this is Mr. Watterson."

"Are you serious?" the voice said. "Mr. Watterson? That's what you're going with?"

He recognized immediately who that voice was. "What do you want, Anais?"

"That's your reaction?" she said. "You disappear all these years and that's what you say?"

"Anais, tell me what you want, right now. This isn't a good time."

"Well, I just wanted to invite you to—really? You don't care about the very fact that you left us and abandon everything you had."

Gumball stood silent. He wanted to seem calmer than previous arguments in the past. "We all have decisions to make, Anais. I chose mine. You should respect that."

"Fuck that. You need to realize what we did to try to find you. Do you have any idea how long it took me to find you? The internet doesn't help if you're not online—"

"What do you want, Anais. I'll hang up if you keep rambling on about this."

She paused for a moment. "Fine, Gumball. I wanted to talk to you about me hosting a baby shower. It's crucial this time because I need you to be there. You are family, whether I want to believe it or not."

Gumball was already reaching bit of his own breaking point.

"Okay then," he said. "Who's the baby shower for?"

"It's for me!" she said with pride.

At that point Gumball didn't even care. He was stressing from this, and it all lead up to this. He felt that it was pretty worthless.

"Is that it?" he asked.

She paused again. "Is that it? Is that it? That's response—Is that it? I'm your baby sister and that's all you can say?"

"It's better than saying I got a bitch who's giving birth who happens to be a mistake nobody wanted," Gumball said. He got out of his chair and went on the desk, sitting as if it were a comfy chair.

"What the fuck! You're an asshole, you know? I didn't have to call you. What would mom say?"

"Fuck Nicole," he said, in a calm tone, which made him chuckle a bit.

"Don't talk about mom like that!" she screamed.

"She's not much of a mom if she didn't really do anything to stop her 15-year-old from walking away from his so-called family; then, out of nowhere, in 12 years, her daughter, who looks nothing like her, starts calling like a know-it-all bitch, and still has the audacity to proclaim any sensitivity and expect me to comply and let you fuck me. You want to fuck me? My ass ain't bending for you, bitch. So you will not fuck me, so cut the shit. Fuck you, have a nice day if your direction is blinded by a demon to drive you back to hell, you Einstein-whore!"

Gumball wanted to hang up that moment, but he started to hear her cry. Right thee, he felt like screaming "Shut your fucking mouth, bitch! You have no idea how much work I had to do to get where I am today! It's not much, but I had to do this all by myself, you fucking bitch!"

"Gumball," she started. He hanged up the phone by slamming it back. It didn't break, but he did himself.

He grabbed his nearby coffee mug and threw it to his office's window.

He screamed, "Fuck! God, motherfucking damn it!"

He kicked a nearby chair and sat on the floor. He closed his eyes, along cupping them with his hands. He was afraid of what would happen when he opened his eyes. He didn't want his life to be this way.

Gumball opened the door of his office and left.