01 – Same Ol’ Donnie
So I wake up on my balcony early as all hell and the sun is beating down furiously – doing my hangover no good at all – and aside from noting I’m covered head-to-toe in my own vomit and clearly able to discern large amounts of drinking were done last night – just how in the name of fuck I ended up on the balcony, I’ll never know. At least for now.
Apart from a cunt of a hangover jack-hammering away at my brain, my mind is like a TV on snow – suggesting to me large amounts of Xanax were ingested along with the booze – and although I’m sure the memories will come pouring back soon after an Adderall or a beer or both – I’m not all that sure I want to know what it was that got me into this fuzzy situation.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a morning like this, I reflect as I struggle to my feet, and although this sort of thing has only happened a scattered few times in my past, whatever I found waiting for me the following mornings were enough to inspire a reprieve.
As much as I hate to do it, I make way for the sliding glass doors leading into my apartment shuddering at what I’m likely to find. Hopefully I didn’t trash the place. I’ve got a lot of shit to do today.
Once at the sliding-doors I can’t believe my fucking eyes. Sasha! Are you kidding me? There’s no excuse on earth, heaven, purgatory, whatever – there’s simply no way I actually invited this succubus into my home. She must have snuck in.
God I hate fucking Xanax and what it can do to the memory. It’s like I’ve woken up in some narcotic themed episode of The Twilight Zone and a fear strikes me suggesting that whatever is happening now is only the beginning to something more serious.
Fuck what am I in for?
I Slide the doors open and walk inside the apartment. I can’t say exactly what it is – maybe the way the carpet feels under my feet, or maybe the music still playing on my computer, or maybe the pathetic way Sasha’s drooling on my fucking couch with a – get this – needle still in her arm – but somehow a wave of emotions, realizations, and memories come flooding in. Specifics at the time are still hazy – which I still blame on the Xanax – but one certainty presents itself and instantly brings my tattered body to a state of Zen…
Whatever may have occurred last night, whatever I may have felt, whatever I may have endured was last night. Today is today. And today, despite the mess sprawled out on my couch, is not my fucking problem.
As much as I don’t want to I opt to give Sasha a few more minutes to rest before I kick her the fuck out – not so much for her sake – but rather to get myself put back together before waking the beast in Sasha. If anything I don’t want to be covered in vomit kicking her out. She’s the pathetic one after all. Not me.
I head to the kitchen and find a Stella in the fridge, careful to make as much noise as humanly possible while performing this simple task hoping that perhaps if Sasha is somehow awake right now and faking to be asleep, she’ll note just how little I care about her.
My body shaking from DT’s and stomach queasy from a China-sized hangover; the initial gulps of the Stella go down hard… but ease my hangover nonetheless.
Armed with my Stella and a mission in mind I pass through the living room and head to my bathroom. I peep myself in the mirror and am nothing short of disgusted by my appearance. How it is I manage to let myself get this way at times I’ll never know. But one thing’s for certain, sooner or later all this shit has to come to an end. How? I haven’t the slightest.
I open the med-cab and pop two 20mg Adderall time-release capsules and eat two 10mg Norco for my headache. I then remove my clothes and put them in a trash bag that I’ll either toss down the garbage chute on my way out or save to leave at some chicks door down the hall who I fucked two months ago and always purposely avoid because I know she didn’t want a second fuck but I still want to maintain the belief that I’m in control.
I rev-up the shower and cool off for a beat. I’m tempted to jerk-off for no particular reason but am hardly in the mood. Outside of knowing Sasha’s passed-out mere feet away, sex is the last thing on my mind. And the last thing I want to do is force a hard-on, knowing full well the whole deal will last maybe a minute and the orgasm will be weaker than they serve at Echo.
As I wash my hair I piece together fragments of last night as they slowly fade back. I remember feeling all that pity and guilt and remorse and all the rest of that pussy-type shit and almost want to throw up on general principle. In the future, I reflect to myself, I need to make it priority to keep these moments of despair and self-loathing at bay. Because as evident by my current condition and my unwanted house-guest, I’m simply losing control.
And I’m not the type to lose control.
Maybe when it’s all over with, I think to myself, maybe when I’m done ripping Cal and I at long last kiss this part of myself goodbye, maybe then all this self-loathing will be okay – with the hope being I’ll actually be a writer by then – but even that said, I’ve got to be able to keep a grip on the way I react to all of this shit. Otherwise I’ll end up like Sasha outside.
I kill the shower and make way to my room. I dress. Not too concerned how I look, I grab whatever’s not too dirty from a heap in my closet. Jeans, tee shirt, pin-striped navy-blue Jacket I stole from Mel’s closet six months ago – the usual look. Back in the bathroom I slick my hair back and pocket a few pills to get me through the day.
With the med-cab swung back shut and the Adderall and Stella already at work in my stomach, I can finally stand what I see in the mirror once again…
The wreck I saw not too long ago before cleaning up, a distant memory.
Back in the living room Sasha hasn’t moved a fucking muscle. It’s obvious to me now she wasn’t faking. In fact, for a brief moment I wonder if she may actually be dead… why with the needle in her arm and all. But much to my disappointment she lets out a little sigh shortly after I start wondering how I’d explain her dead body to the authorities.
The music on my computer is still playing. I must have had some party mix going on repeat before ending up on the balcony. Frou Frou’s Must Be Dreaming fills the room and although some would consider it fag for me to dig it, I allow the uplifting sounds assure me today will be a good day.
I find my phone on the coffee table and see a text message waiting. As expected my first re-route for Cal has arrived and it’s time to go to work.
Before waking Sasha I notice a large amount of whatever she carries around in her purse scattered about the living room. Fully aware she’ll take her time gathering her belongings once I kick her out, I take the liberty to put everything back in her purse to avoid any unnecessary lagging. All the while taking a few things here and there I doubt she’ll notice missing like a single 80mg Oxycontin separate from her half-full bottle and a couple twenties from her wallet.
Once the purse is back in order I scan the apartment for anything breakable. Find nothing. Good.
I scan my mind for anything else I may need in apartment in the event I actually have to drag the cunt out by her hair and come up empty.
All systems go.
Hardly the type to consider a gentle wakeup for this she-beast disguised as a knock-out blonde – I kick the armrest she’s using as a pillow so hard I’m certain once will be enough. And sure enough it is.
Sasha stirs pathetically from what I guess can be called sleep and slowly registers her surroundings. She looks up at me, seeing I’m fully dressed and in no mood for bullshit, and obviously takes a beat to scan her torn-to-fuck mind for something to say.
At long last she manages, “What time is it?”
“I can give you one guess” I say in a no-bullshit kind of way, “To just flat-out say time to go would be a little lame for me, but I guess I’ve already said it so you know… get the fuck out.”
She doesn’t budge – which I actually don’t think she can – and looks at my eyes rather pathetically to say, “Are you kidding me?”
“Since when have you known me to be the joking type?” I say. To this she still refuses to budge. I point to her arm and smile, “You do realize you have a needle lodged in your arm. It’s been there all fucking night. You can die that way you know?”
“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” She says as she brings herself up to a seating position (if you can really call it that) and addresses the syringe in her arm.
“I have to be honest; I really wouldn’t dig the idea of you going cold at my place. Too much hassle. Anywhere else, be my guest.” I say.
She takes a minute to shake herself somewhat back to reality. No doubt she’s still stoned, she doesn’t say or do much. Just moans here and there. I speculate she’s thinking of what to say next.
I don’t doubt this whole scene between the two of us is uncomfortable. And hard as it is to admit, I too have trouble thinking of what to do or say next. I just know I want her out. And judging by the way she’s moping around, now is the best time to take advantage of her physical circumstance – being as no matter how badly she may want to put up a fight, her body simply won’t allow it.
So not interested in having this go any further, I hand over her purse and say as cold as I can manage, “I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t care. I just want you out. I have shit to do.”
“You can’t give me a little time?” She asks, still dazed on the smack.
“What like breakfast or something?” I ask truly appalled, “You think I’m going to run you a shower? I’ve got shit to do and you’ve got to bounce. I don’t want any shit. Believe me I know you’re capable of it”, changing the tone of my voice as if I were speaking to a child I go on, “I shouldn’t really have to explain myself to you. I’m sure even you can understand my position. You really have no business being here, and although again I shouldn’t have to be telling you this, our situation is different. I’m not your mother and certainly not the other morons you fuck. Whatever fuss you may want to put up is fine with me, but the fact remains, you’re leaving.”
For the first time I think maybe in her life Sasha is being told no and realizes that it means no. I can see it in her eyes. Maybe it was my speech. Maybe it’s a look in my own eyes. Or maybe she’s just too tired to try her usual shit – whatever the case may be – I can clearly see she’s changed. She’s defeated. Something’s occurred in the past months that has left her nothing more than the pathetic sad little girl that hasn’t grown up since fifteen and frankly I can give a shit. For this cunt, I offer no pity.
After a very somber beat she sadly asks, “Can I at least get off real fast?”
“So you can get on the nod and pass out on my couch again? Spare me.”
Where in the past Sasha normally would have tackled me for such a response, today she looks at me in what can only be shock and pathetically yelps, “Since when did you become such a fucking asshole? You can’t even give me two fucking minutes? I’ll leave okay? Just understand, I’ve got nowhere else to go. Can’t you understand that for just a second?”
I think it all over for all but two moments and respond coldly, “Not my problem.”
Not my problem. Save for his taste in music, that little catch-phrase of my father’s is the only thing I could ever think to thank him for.
And with that she returns that pathetic pair of eyes and gets it through her head at long last…
… not my problem.
After picking up Cal’s Macbook at my drop-off I make way to his place on Coldwater Canyon loving every minute of how little traffic there is on Santa Monica. I don’t know what day it is, that could be a factor, but there’s no traffic. No hassle. All and all a good day.
Although it took a little work getting Sasha out of the apartment, it still went off quite smoothly. Frankly I’m surprised. Rather than throwing a fit she went a route foreign to me from our past together – this time she tried pity on me.
Please, I think to myself looking back at the memories of her wet eyes in the elevator, pity is the last thing she (or anyone for that fact) should ever expect from me… at least when the day’s first beginning – once it’s reached its end, then maybe I’ll sing a different tune.
We make our beds at the beginning of the day and it isn’t until the day’s end that we have to sleep in it.
En route to Cal’s, I’m making my bed.
Despite what follows, tonight I’ll have to sleep in it.
And I sleep in my bed alone.
I pull into Cal’s driveway and take another Adderall as I don’t feel as alert as I should be. I follow this with a Lucky Strike and make my way out the car. On way to the trunk, where I have Cal’s computer, I notice a black SUV parked next to his car and have to take three violet drags off the cigarette to keep calm. This stupid fuck is going to have company when I’m popping by with a stolen computer? What a fucking asshole. Whatever, I’m over it. Stupid as the kid may be he’ll be broken soon enough and then I’m out. He wants to have a guest over so be it. Just better hope it’s no one I know.
I ring the moron’s bell half-a-dozen times with the package under my arm and am about to lose it. God I hate this fucking kid. Tempted to go around back and break in through the sliding-doors I know for fact he always keeps open I at last can make out the shadow of someone approaching the door.
The door swings.
It’s Cal and the schmuck looks like a total wreck. Apart from this, the moron looks shocked to see me, despite my telling him I’d be here today with his fucking computer.
God I can’t wait to rip this fucker.
“Donnie?” he says like the half-queer daddy’s-boy he is like I’ve woken him out of a coma.
“I’m not the fucking Fed-Ex guy if that’s what you were thinking” I say gesturing at the box, “I told you I was coming by today. For someone who tries so hard in convincing people you’re not a kid, you sure do act like one.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah” he says while poorly feigning a semblance of control while suggesting we’re buddies and I’m just giving him shit (which I’m clearly not) and says, “Just took too many Xanax last night and am just coming around. It’s like waking from a fucking coma, dude. You have no idea.”
“Actually I’m quite aware how that works” I say – if he only knew the irony.
“Well come in” he says as if I needed the invite and he leads me into his – I mean his father’s – massive living room where just a few nights ago I was nodding on Oxycontin and later fucked Sonya. Christ why cant I seem to get her out of my head? Whatever…
Once in the living room I make myself at home on his couch. There’s blow all over his coffee table and I’m tempted as all hell but don’t want to appear as I actually do shit in the morning and am not about to ask him if I can have any either. Somehow he must catch my eyes and offers, “If you want some have some. I sure am. Better than coffee.”
Call walks into the kitchen and various other nearby rooms like a chicken with his head cut off – obviously under the Xanax spell and completely unsure what happened last night.
While in one of the other rooms, I take the liberty in having two monster rails followed by lighting a loose Newport I find on his coffee table. Fucking Newports. Sonya smokes that shit.
Again with the Sonya shit, I think to myself.
“Sorry about the mess and shit” Cal’s voice trails from another room, “I hate to say it but I’m at a complete loss as to what happened…” he keeps droning on and on but I’m not listening. Wanting no more than to get my little piece of cash now and set the trap for the big rip to come.
Cal comes back to the living room with two New Castle’s and hands me one. “I know it’s early but I’m hungover so what the fuck. If you don’t want yours I’ll take it” he says with that annoying fucking wink he does.
“Trust me you’re not the only cat in town drinking themselves sober and coming off a Xanax coma. I’m drinking mine” I say as I lean back into his couch.
Cal lets out a laugh and attempts a high-five I refuse to reciprocate and finds his place back in the loveseat opposite me. Ignoring how uncomfortable he feels he attempts to recoup by saying, “Donnie fucking Ramo, a pimp amougst pimps.”
“Spare me the Ice-T bullshit. I’m hardly a pimp. Pimps are low-life’s. It’s that fucking BET shit you listen to that’s convinced over-privileged white-kids into thinking it’s a cool term. I’m not a pimp. You’re not a pimp. Act your color and your tax-bracket and let’s get on with it.”
Cal shrinks two sizes, takes a beat, then says, “Donnie fucking Ramo, always telling it how it is.”
“If you say Donnie Fucking Ramo one more time I’m leaving.” I say, meaning every word of it.
“My bad dog” he says as I wonder to myself how anyone can be this stupid.
This kid is such a fucking waste it’s not even funny. I do what I do because I have to. I don’t have a place to call home. If I grew up with this kid’s wealth, god-only-knows where I’d be…
The air is stale and Cal is rustling about his seat all uncomfortable-like, all the while eye-balling the computer on the carpet and I’m certain wanting not to say another stupid thing and at last comes up with a real gem – “So that’s the computer huh?”
I give up. Rolling my eyes I dive into another rail of his blow, clean off the nose, and say, “Yeah Cal that’s the fucking computer.”
Unable to hide his first-night-of-Hanukah-glee he dives for the box like a child, licking his lips. “Fuck I can’t believe how fast you work man.”
“Don’t get too excited. I still haven’t gotten paid yet.”
“I got you dog” he stops himself, “I mean I’ve got you man. I’m more excited for the next shipment. How many of these things can you get?”
Eating right into the palm of my hand again my dick swells, “Like I said before” I say, “However many you want.”
“Dope” he says, “Definitely dope as fuck.”
Cal drools over his new laptop and I look around his digs and peep all the luxury and clearly see a discount laptop or even ten of them is the last thing the kid needs and my curiosity sparks – along with a small amount of paranoia – “Just tell me this, what exactly do you need a shit load of computers for anyway? Usually I deal with kids with parents in the business or their own shops or aspirations to sell on craigslist. But they don’t have your digs.”
“Like everyone says” Cal starts with a smile, “It’s all my daddy’s. I just want to do something on my own. Be more like you, you know? Business. Buy for a dollar sell for two.”
Douche-bag the kid may be, at least he has aspirations. In fact, seeing as his main motivating force is to snuff his old man, I almost feel bad with how this will all end up. Almost…
“Anyway I’ve got a few things lined up and some new buyers so I may actually need more than what I told you… a lot more.” He says with a smile.
I play ball, “Well just make sure whatever you want you have the money up front and the order soon. I don’t exactly get these things from K-Mart.”
“Yeah they fall off the back of a truck, huh?” he asks with another one of those fucking winks. To which I don’t respond. Most the kids I deal with assume Mafia type shit with my deals and I let them think what they want, makes it easier to rope when the time comes… added to that, they’re less likely to go to the cops on account they’re afraid of what may happen. It’s a good con. Shame this will be the last one.
“I’ll just need a day or so to get all the ducks in a row” he says, “But don’t worry about the money. I’ve got your back.”
Just as I’m about to ask where Cal’s money is for the first laptop some brunette I think I may have met but don’t remember or care tip-toes her way down the stairs. She’s fully dressed but her hair’s all shitty – as if she fell asleep in her clothes. Figures a guy like Cal has a chick spend the night and he passes out on Xanax and she in her clothes. What a fucking loser.
Cal doesn’t notice the chick as he’s still licking lips over the computer but she notices me – and for some reason although I’m sure it’s all in my head – she blushes. I think maybe even for a moment her eyes widen and her lips form the shape of a smile. It’s all very weird, but the way she looks at me reminds me of the days back at the playground when the quiet girl has a crush…
“Good morning Cal” she says, and then really giddy-like she looks at me and says, “Hey Donnie.”
I guess I do know this girl. Whatever. I say nothing to her.
Cal on the other hand almost hits the ceiling upon first sight of this chick – almost as if he has just remembered something horrible. His equivalent to my Sasha, I think to myself, as I quietly enjoy his shock and what could be fear and misery as well.
Without a word he darts up the stairs leaving me alone with this strange chick. It’s obvious whatever memories the Xanax washed away have come back to him in tidal scope and he has a little work to do. If it weren’t for how miserable he seemed on the way up the stairs, the drama of his life would actually piss me off. But now I’m willing to wait a beat for my cash.
The chick who I don’t know but somehow knows me pays Cal zero attention and sits down beside me on the couch – still beaming like a school girl. Why, I don’t know? Probably the coke on the table rather than me… at least I hope so.
“What are you doing here?” she asks in a manner suggesting we know one another.
I don’t answer. My beer is more interesting at this point.
She’s quiet for a minute – still strangely giving off this impression that she’s crushing on me – which to me is almost too weird and uncomfortable to judge.
She cleans up her hair and if I’m not mistaken gets closer to me on the couch and says, “You don’t remember me do you?”
“Should I?” I ask.
She laughs harder than she should and finally offers, “Probably not. I’m actually a friend of a friend. We met last night at the Show at Boulevard 3.”
Vaguely recalling meeting up with Slim Charles at his fuck-buddy’s fashion show for new profiles I rack my brain and come up with nothing. Like Cal, I’m still a little fuzzy.
“Sorry I left there in a hurry” I say.
“So did we, in fact we ran into you on the way out” she says before snagging a cigarette from the coffee table. “Do you have a light?”
The whole way she’s leaning into me and smiling and dangling her cigarette before my face suggests to me she may think she’s actually seducing me or something of the like and all of this is too weird for me to handle so rather than saying no, I simply say nothing at all. Ignoring her, I decide, is the best option.
The air goes stale again and it occurs to me that she said friend of a friend and just as the urge to ask her who that friend was—
Sonya makes her way down the stairs with Cal. And although I couldn’t begin to understand why, I’m absolutely fucking infuriated. What the fuck is Sonya doing here? Furthermore, outside of some house party on a night there’s nothing better to do, what the fuck is she doing at Cal’s? With someone like Cal?
My mind is bombarded and my body quakes – I’m sure the cocaine brunch isn’t helping either (not to mention the pill smoothie I had for breakfast – disturbing combinations of images I cannot will away flood the silver-screen behind my eyes: Cal, Sonya, Weird Brunette Chick, Drugs, Sasha, Throwing up, Throwing up over a balcony, Sleeping on a balcony, having sex with a black girl, beating my father bloody with a bottle of shitty champagne, my mother crying, a car crashing, babies crying, the sun burning out… the world around me is crashing in before me and again I’m hardly capable of coping.
I want to run and hide. Fuck the computer. Fuck the deal with Cal. Fuck this city and this life of mine and all the ways I managed to fuck it up. Maybe a farm in Idaho, I think to myself. Maybe a cave in whatever fucking place they have caves. I’m sweating I’m sure of it. People may even be talking around me as I sit catatonic. Who knows, maybe even a week has passed.
I’m thinking Sonya.
I’m thinking why I hold her to such high caliber.
I’m thinking Sasha.
I’m thinking me as a boy.
What happened to that time when I knew everything because my innocence and ignorance convinced me I knew it all?
Why is it now that I that I have it all figured out, I no longer feel human?
Did Cal fuck Sonya? She, like the maybe-retarded brunette appears to have slept in her clothes.
What the fuck is going on here?
My eyes begin to focus at last and I can make out the scene somewhat. Sonya’s yelling back and forth with Cal. Crazy-god-I-hope-I-didn’t-fuck-brunette is yapping at me… is she still asking for a light?
“All I’m saying is” Cal manages to break the whirlwind in my mind and suck me back to this awful room, “I don’t know what happened last night (he’s obviously talking to Sonya) but I’ve got a lot of shit to do.”
Like a scene in movie cut with acid Sonya looks over at me in slow-motion and smiles. She grins. I can see this but I doubt the others are aware. She’s saying to me something – what it is I have no idea.
Did Sonya fuck Cal?
“You don’t actually think you’re like, I don’t know, kicking us out or anything, do you?” Sonya says with a laugh – those white teeth – I’m on fire.
“What else could you gather?” Cal asks her, fronting control.
“That’s not what I mean Cal, you moron” she says, “What I mean is we’re leaving, Rachael and I… so like, you know, we want to leave.”
Cal has no way to respond to this so he makes his way toward me and says, “Fucking Sonya”, as if this is supposed to mean something to me or like we’re friends or is reason for my not leaning over and cracking his fucking neck into six.
Before I can say, think, or do anything in response, Sonya rushes the table of blow and racks a line at the speed of thought, then says, “Yeah Cal, fucking Sonya. Keep it all simple like that so you can tell Donnie whatever the fuck you want once I’m gone” then to me she says, “He probably wants you to think we fucked. We didn’t. We did blow last night and he tried to drink champagne with us. Then he passed out. Fucking loser.”
Cal, who I’m sure wants to say something in response to Sonya but suggests to me by his eyes that he’s aware how futile it would be of him to attempt such a feat. He simply allows himself to fall to the love seat and says exactly what I should be feeling right now but strangely am not, nothing.
Sonya continues to have her way with the room and the situation unfolding before us all. I think maybe the strange brunette-chick who Sonya calls Rachael is still asking me for a light. I’m so fucking confused right now I could throw up—
“Come on Rachael, let’s get the fuck out of here” Sonya orders her weird friend who is still asking me for a light, while Sonya shamelessly gathers whatever cocaine is left on the coffee table into a cigarette-pack cellophane, “I’m sure Cal has big mover/shaker type stuff to talk to Donnie about. Donnie’s probably one of the investors for Vamp-eye-rez”.
Sonya smiles at me. Watching her move about the room and take what she wants and bark orders at her weird friend and berate Cal makes me want to say something… makes me want her more and more… makes me want to tell her how I think she may be the only thing on earth I can bring myself to love but all I can think to say (and this I genuinely am interested to know)—“What the fuck is a Vamp-eye-rez? Sounds like a… I don’t know… strippers name.”
Although I’m certain what I just said is beyond stupid, Sonya manages to laugh (to my relief) and says, “Yeah just like a stripper Donnie – a full-of-shit waste of money.”
“I thought you said you and Rachael were leaving” Cal says, steam shooting out his ears.
“I’m waiting on Rachael, asshole!” Sonya says before turning to her weird friend next to me, “Come on Rachael. Let’s get going. I’ll buy you lunch or breakfast or whatever…”
I don’t know why but Rachael looks over at Sonya like a defiant child being told it’s time to get out of the sandbox. Sonya has to repeat her request in a slightly more agitated tone and at long-last this Rachael obliges.
Within moments both girls are gone and although I should be back in business-mode with Cal I can’t for the life of me get Sonya out of my mind.
“Fucking cunt…” I think Cal says but can’t be sure as I’m not really paying attention.
“I think…” I begin to say, unsure what I plan on doing next, “I think I left something in the car. I’ll be right back.
And before Cal can say anything I’m dashing down the hall toward the front door hoping to catch Sonya before she leaves.
Outside Sonya’s already in what I now know is her SUV and is backing down the driveway. Like a madman I flay my arms in the air in attempts to get her attention – which I do – and she stops the car. Rolls her window down.
“What do you want Donnie?” She asks.
I’m at a loss for a beat. I dig deep inside for something but come up empty. I notice her friend batting lashes at me and this triggers, “Your friend needed a light I think… Did she get one?”
To this Sonya rolls her eyes and says, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Our eyes meet. I feel my heart bang harder than ever before. If I weren’t leaning against the door of her car for support, I’m sure I’d fall to the ground. It’s clear Sonya has absolutely no idea how much control she has over me – how much I’m utterly entranced by every last essence of her – not only the tangible and exterior beauty – but the idea of what she could be for me and to me and what we could be for each other as well. I look into this girls eyes and I daydream. I look into this girls soul and I see a future. And with her returning my gaze, I’m able to look into a piece of myself and albeit brief – I see a glimmer of hope. A shadow of humanity. A piece of myself once thought to be raped and lost forever in the catacombs of this city.
I want to encompass all of my desires, loves, fears, etc into one sentence. I want Sonya to know it all right here and now. I want to at last allow her to be the one into my soul.
I lick my lips, clear my throat, and finally manage to say – “Please tell me you didn’t fuck Cal. You didn’t fuck Cal did you?”
She studies me up and down for a beat and says, “Does it really matter Donnie? Honestly why do you even care?”
And with that she drives away, leaving me alone to wonder…
Why do I care?
