Part II - Rock Bottom Redemption
"Excuse me."
I awoke to the sound of birds chirping and a concerned old lady staring intently at me slouched over against the wall aching on the cold steel stairs.
"Are you ok? Which unit are you in?"
"What? Oh. Fuck. I'm waiting... I'm waiting for a... my ride."
She attempted to continue quizzing me, but I just limped down the sidewalk toward the street, pulling up the maps on my phone.
22 text messages and 16 missed calls. "Fuck her," I mumbled to myself.
I used Maps to make my way back to the club, seeing our car alone in the empty lot. I was relieved. I feared they'd just wait for me and I'd be forced to confront the situation.
Maps said 2 hours and 16 minutes, but I made it home in just under an hour and a half. Again, I was relieved that the apartment was empty as I pushed in the door. Of course, I had the keys so I guess it wouldn't have made sense for them to be there anyway. Either way, it was a relief.
When I got out of the shower my phone was again buzzing. I quickly threw some essentials in a bag, dropped my house and mail keys on the table, not even bothering to shut the door behind me. I jumped back into the car and headed toward the coast. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was going away. Somewhere that nobody could find me.
Racing down the highway I was still numb trying to process everything. I wanted to die. I planned my suicide. I'll get a motel room, drink until I had enough courage to take the Glock I had stashed under the seat and paint the ceiling with my misery.
As I got off the highway my phone had stopped buzzing. It was dead. I pulled into a seedy looking motel and got a room. The room was dingy and smelled of smoke; I could hear a couple in the next room over screaming at the top of their lungs. Exhausted, I laid down on the bed, imagining my demise.
I woke to the sound of silence. Beautiful silence. The dust in the air danced across the single beam of sunlight that cut through the room, across my feet on the bed.
For a moment I felt a little peace, but only for a moment.
I couldn't help but think of the sights and sounds. I've never seen a pussy gush and cream like that, even in porn. His dick absolutely crushed her pussy like nothing I've ever seen. No dildo or vibrator has ever been able to make her cum like that. It was like a can of Reddi-wip exploded inside of her. That enormous belligerent dick.
I could feel my cock deceiving me as it started to fill.
"GOD DAMNIT!"
The bright afternoon sun brutalized my eyes as I burst out the door and across the parking lot to the car. I just wanted to drown myself in alcohol. I wanted to forget everything. I wanted to end it all. Get beer. Drink beer. Bang! It's over.
At the gas station I grabbed the first case of beer I could reach. Busch Light. Gross, who cares, it's the means to my end. I pay, rush back to the room, pounding two beers on the way. I crack the third as I throw it in park. I didn't even pull the keys from the ignition, I just got out and swiped my card in the door stepping into the motel room.
"Fucking idiot, you forgot the gun."
I polish it off, crack another and walk about outside to my car. I pull the handle.
"Excuse me sir, my car ran out of gas and I was hoping you could spare some change."
I turned to see a girl who was obviously in a sad state of affairs. She haggard looking. Her oversized clothes were disheveled, dirty, and her dyed red hair was grown out and frizzy, barely held together in a sloppy bun. She looked like an addict who was once a pretty girl.
"I don't have any change, sorry."
Opening the door and sitting down, she stepped forward as I reached under the seat.
"Do you have any money at all? We can go somewhere private if I could just get a few dollars."
It was gross. I was gross. My entire life was gross. I hated myself and everything. A weekend getaway I'd been looking forward to for a month turned into this. Fuck caring about anything. My fingers grazed the butt of my gun, but I stopped. Fuck it. Fuck everything.
"Let's just go to my room right here."
Amber was talking a mile a minute before I even opened the door. She continued talking as I sat in the chair next to the bed and she took her place on the bed across from me.
The story she told me was tough. Mother died when she was young, she escaped from her abusive father at 16, already addicted to drugs. She lived on the streets for two years before being turned out by a brutal pimp just a few months prior. She talked about sleeping under bushes next to the railroad tracks, getting beat up by homeless men, fending off a rapist, and having to sell herself to support her habits.
I finished another beer, flicking the tab on the next one, still trying to bury my own feelings inside. I wanted to fee something else. Anything. 'What the fuck was I doing?'
I was fading in and out, trying not to listen, but her story was compelling.
After a little more than two years on the streets, she'd finally hit rock bottom and decided to fix her life up. The last few months with the pimp was her breaking point. She was 'mostly clean' and struggling to pull herself together. She had just gotten in touch with her aunt from out of state, the only family that was willing to help. She just needed money to get there.
"What in the fuck am I doing?," I mumbled to myself.
I felt the alcohol easing my tension and I began questioning myself. Suddenly, I felt a bit of clarity.
'Here I am about to fuck some whore and kill myself. Why? Because my wife pushed things too far? Is my life really that bad? Is there really no hope? I'm sitting here in front of a girl that might be half of my age and is a total fucking wreck.'
