Another night of sweet surrender to the oblivion of pleasure.
Another night of sweet mellow music transpiring trough the motel walls.
Another night in which I try to forget the hell of my past life and fail.
Lying naked below the dried sweat, sex smell, the accumulated hangover and dehidratation of several bodies, left over from a drunk orgy.
I remember how I got here, and that is the problem.
That is what I was trying to forget.
And yet, all the alcoholic satisfaction I got was but an ephemeral dream.
The girls I hooked up with, come the morning will vanish, maybe gossiping last night, maybe hiding their faces in shame; but they will forget it eventually. I wont.
I wont forget the moments of joy brought by the two beautiful girls I found in a bar, singing just the right song along the jukebox.
Dead ringer For Love, not my favorite meatloaf, but still those pretty lips singing, answering as if they were a pair of strangers hooking up in a bar.
I had to step in.
You got the kind of lips that do more than drink.
You got the kind of mind that does less than think.
But since Im feeling kinda lonely, my defenses are low.
Why don’t you give it a shot and get it ready to go.
Now that I had had my anonymous and fleeting satisfaction. I was missing my love lost in action.
I wont forget her face; the last face that I loved. The last time I would ever see her. A window being closed upon her sleeping eyes. At least that is what I thought of her as they took her away forever from me and gave me only a little box and told me it was her.
I won’t forget his face. As I pumped my fist against his face with the same furious and mindless strength as I did just a while ago with my pelvis to a pair of girls I had never known, their hair in my hands as my passion took control of me. In both cases. His blood dripping from his head, slippery. The hair of the girls smooth as silk. His voice crying, begging me to stop the pain. The girls screaming in pleasure begging me not to stop.
The heat of our bodies enough to keep us warm until morning, the bed sheet liying scattered on the floor along the mess we made of the room. Broken lamps, knocked over chairs, fallen furniture everywhere. The whole room reeking of sex.
The bodies of his friends still warm as the cold of death crept over them, lying all across the room, some had to be shot twice, some left to die bleeding to death, their broken bodies unable to even speak, they had fallen before they even realized what was happed. The whole room reeking of fesces and death.
In the end we fell unconscious out of exhaustion, pleasure and too much alcohol.
I wanted him awake for the whole time. I may had been exhausted, but I wanted to enjoy every minute of it. I wanted to make him suffer and would not let him pass out because of pain, bringing him back; until the damage was too much and he was gone. Unrecognizable. His dead eyes shining, like those of my girl when I found her.
I wanted to forget that.
I wanted to forget that he had the same eyes my daughter had when I found her. In the end, despite everything, despite everything he had done to her. Despite everything I had done for her, to him, for myself, because of him, to him. They both had the same eyes.
I walked aimlessly, found this door out of nowhere. A neon sign like a lighthouse in the storm, in the middle of the night. I walked in, going up the dark stairs, I followed the music. The band was retreating; the absence of light allowed me to go to the bathroom unnoticed, I still had blood on me.
When I got out, mostly clean, I looked like a blue collar worker drunk after work. Half truth.
The jukebox played another song.
Two girls began to sing.
I got drunk again, another kind of drunk.
But not enough to forget.
I won’t forget the day my daughter was buried, the day I had sex with two strange girls about her age, the day I killed a man and his friends in revenge. And the uncertainty of another day.