Page 7 of Finding Hope

A shot of bourbon; makes me angry.

A shot of tequila; makes me forget.

A shot of vodka; gets me moving…

The bartender stops in front of me with an expectant gaze. “Scotch on ice,” I rumble. Helps me not roll into a ball and die. “And a beer.”

He nods and turns away. “Comin’ up.”

Blonde Tits, whose name I genuinely cannot remember, eagerly rubs herself along my arm and whispers secrets into my ear.

Blowjob. Let’s go home. I want some time alone with you.

I know she’s good at what she does. We’ve done it before; last week… or maybe the week before.

She sucked my dick and helped me forget for 3.2 seconds.

Unfortunately for us both, my come wasn’t even done sliding down her throat before real life came back and kicked me in the ass.

It’s getting worse, not better.

I haven’t fought in almost half a year. Hell, I haven’t trained in my family’s gym in half a year, but people still know who I am. Fuck yeah, they do. I’m Jack the fuckin’JackhammerReilly.

Women know me, and dudes want to be me. Chicks in stable, long-term relationships will fuck around on her man if I look at her right.

And I do.

The chicks with wedding rings are my favorite kind. Feeling that metal slide along my dick when she’s blowing me gives me that extra kick, that extra asshole buzz.

Being an asshole is my new favorite hobby. It helps the same way booze and girls do.

Collecting my fresh drinks without offering to buy the blonde a round – because I’m a cheapskate – I turn away to scan the dancing crowd.

I need to find someone to spend time with in the dark.

I don’t need more than an hour. Hell, I’m not insecure; I don’t need more than ten minutes. It doesn’t take long, and a warm pussyalwaysfeels better than my hand. But not even Blonde Tits is gonna do it for me tonight.

Pulling my shoulder down, she trails wet kisses along my jaw and up to my ear. Moving my hand around to her ass, I knead, and drink, and watchothergirls dance.

A group of beautiful girls – swaying, dancing, laughing – has my dick twitching. Sipping my drink, savoring the flavor, and squeezing blondie’s ass, I watch one of the four – a brunette – slide her hands along her ribs, and imagine it’smyhands onherass.

The group of girls – who alldefinitelyhave fake IDs, or at the very least, they’re fresh as fuck – dance and sway andalmosthave me smiling. Two blondes, the dark brunette, and one with curly, mousy brown hair, just like Ste–

Nope.

Squeezing my blonde’s ass again, I remind myself that I’m an asshole and that Icansurvive without my good girl. I don’t need her curly hair. I don’t need to see her beautiful eyes. I don’t miss her perfect body.

Nope.

I’ve survived this long; I can keep going.

One day at a time.

One shitty night at a time.

One lonely, excruciatingly painful breath at a time.

The world has forced me to survive without her, so now I choosehowI live it; I choose to be an asshole.

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