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So muchlove…
Are they really saved from future pain? Is anyone ever really saved from futurepain?
So Olivia is now with her mother, but is she spared frompain?
We all live with pain, some more than others. If you’re going to have pain, isn’t it better to have it while being with someone you love? Someone who can make you smile most of the time, someone who doesn’t take that pain and exponentially multiplyit?
I slam my ass into the leather chair, drink in hand. I hate myself right now. I hate life, and I hate this situation, but I asked for it. I miss Bailey more than ever. I wish she would materialize in the darkness of this living room like a ghost from the night we made love right in this chair, and the thought turns me hard immediately. See? No problems there.
It’s who’s turning me on that’s the problem.
Because she’s no longer here. I ruined any chances I ever had with her, and I did it on purpose. But am I really saving anyone from hurt or am I only choosing not to love? Right now, the only thing I’m doing is reminding myself of my father who’d I’d sometimes find asleep in his leather chair in the morning, his hand down his pants, snores emitting from his nostrils.
After my mother couldn’t take the pain and left my father, my dad tried to cope the best he could. He seemed so pathetic to me, that he couldn’t brush her aside and go make a life for himself post-Mom, but who can come back from losing your own child and losing your wife all in the same year? There’s only one difference between my dad and me right now, and that’s that he didn’t have a choice in the matter. My dad was a victim of death and abandonment.
Whereas I made this choice myself.
I may have been a victim once, as a kid, of losing my little brother and then everyone else I dependedon.
But I’m no victim now. I did this. I chose this life of sitting around like a sad sack of shit, drunk and conjuring up skeletons from my closet to see me through. Bailey comes to me as a vision in T-shirt and panties, her nipples hardened and her pink lips full. The wet heat between her thighs envelops me and soon she’s riding me slowly, deliciously, using my chest to hold herself up. Her hair falls in rivulets, creating blinders that curtain off the rest of the world.
Inside our bubble, it’s just me and her and sweet surrender, and it doesn’t take long for me to explode, for me to call out her name, for me to give the ghost one last kiss as the vision dissipates, leaving me alone again. A billionaire loser in my fancy house. What good is this fucking life if I have no one to share itwith?
Sad sack of shit indeed.
And now I know why I can’t go back to being myself again.
Because the man I’m trying to get back to doesn’t exist anymore.