Come to Me Quietly

So I’d done my best at blocking her out. The days had blurred and bled, slowed and sped in an unending spiral of city lights and drugs and alcohol. I’d filled my body with just about anything I could find, searching for something to take away the ache she had left behind. But there was no high that could reach the bottom of this low. Nothing came close to touching it. Nothing dimmed or dulled it. Nothing could erase it. It was like this cancer that ate and fed, rotted and decayed.

Memories of her had only intensified the void that her touch had somehow managed to fill. Even if it were only for a time, she had, and maybe that’s what stung the most. I’d been foolish enough to think I’d treasure those memories, as if I’d find some sort of comfort in them once I was gone. Now I’d give anything to take them away. Because I couldn’t fucking stand knowing she might be hurting like me.

There wasn’t a second that went by that I didn’t think of her, that I didn’t regret the fact that I had skimmed and touched and taken, not a second that passed that I wasn’t wishing that I could take a little bit more.

Yeah, I was one sadistic masochist.

“This looks really cool. Wasn’t sure this was going to blend in with that other tat, but it came out good.”

I said nothing, just tensed and ground my teeth while he seared her to me.

When the guy finished, he cleaned and covered it. “You’re all set. Take that off and wash it in a couple of hours.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

I paid him, left a hefty tip because I figured he deserved one after having to deal with my squirming ass the entire time I’d sat in his chair.

A chime jingled overhead as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Night lay low against the backdrop of the lurid street.

Vegas, baby.

Dark laughter rumbled deep in my throat as I shoved my fists in the pockets of my jeans. People flocked here to seek its pleasures, to indulge and gratify. But this… this was what they didn’t want to see, what they didn’t want to acknowledge, the seedy and the slum, the addiction and poverty that abounded on the outer streets, tucked just out of sight.

Why the fuck I’d come here, I didn’t know. I’d intended to return to Jersey, but I ended up in the shittiest motel on Fremont Street. It was like I couldn’t physically force myself to go that far, couldn’t stand the thought of placing so much distance between us that it would seem as if our worlds didn’t even meet.

I scoffed.

They never had.

All of it had been the fantasy. All of it the girl. As if I could have ever been enough. As if I could ever stay.

The only reality that remained was the spoils of what I’d taken.

I strode down the sidewalk, ducking my head between my hunched shoulders, doing my best to avoid all the stares, the taunts, and the pleas. It was impossible. Voices swarmed, filled my ears, fueling this foreboding that fried every last one of my nerves. I was on the fucking edge. I knew it.

If there was any way to end it, I would. But fate was never my friend. No doubt, it’d intervene and once again condemn me to live out this life.

I just didn’t know how to endure as I paid out this debt.

I headed down the wrong street I’d been down every night. When I got here, it’d taken me about an hour to figure this shit out. All I’d had to do was look for the right dead end.

Tonight, Keith was exactly where I knew I would find him.

I bought a bag, balled the poison up in my fist, and crammed it back down deep in my pocket, fucking hating myself more than I ever had.

The easy way out.

I knew I didn’t get the easy way out. I’d accepted that the day they sent me away. There was no escape from this truth. Even if I touched on oblivion, reality always came back. Still I tried. I fucking tried because I couldn’t do anything but run from the pictures of Aly’s face that constantly assaulted my mind. The sick part was how badly I wanted to hang on to them, too, the way she’d made me actually feel, as if I were almost alive.

I jogged across the street toward the dump that I called home. The red VACANCY sign flashed near the front of the destitute lot, like this eternal beacon for the damned, because I couldn’t imagine a soul saved in this infernal place.

Hell.

No question, that’s where I’d found myself.

I let myself into the isolation of the motel room. I flipped the light switch. A dull bulb blinked to life in the corner of the room, illuminating the hollow space.

Never before had I felt so alone.

Wandering in, I let the door latch shut behind me, rubbing a hand down my face and over my jaw.

I looked around.

God, I missed her more than I had any right to.

Slowly, I crossed the room. Springs squeaked as I sat down on the edge of the worn-out bed. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack from the floor by the neck, I unscrewed the cap and lifted it to my lips. Welcomed the burn. Wanted it. I lifted it again and again, swallowing down the fuel that fed the fire that continuously raged.