7/12/2010 6:54:05 PM

chapter 3, from my book: 4 a.m. Friends: "Look, I really have to leave." I lay naked next to her for an hour as my sweat turned cold and listened to her midday drunken rants about how no one will ever love her and how everyone leaves. As soon as she mentioned the latter, I knew this wasn't going to be easy. We talked and I gave her advice, which I knew she would never take. She lived in a studio apartment about the size of my childhood bedroom and survived on unemployment. She gave up on life. She told me she used her last bit of money to buy vodka to mix with water. As serious as anyone has ever been, she pleaded, "Don't leave me." This would be a reasonable request minus the fact that I just answered her "casual encounters" ad on Craigslist for an "afternoon delight." She posted, I responded, she agreed and I walked in her apartment within a couple of hours. The sex was ravenous. She scratched my back with her long nails and I hate that shit so I fucked her so viciously I could see her eyes wince with every thrust. I came so hard in her mouth she gagged and coughed it back out just as fast as it shot out of my cock. I dripped sweat and observed her pasty white body. She was slightly overweight in just the right way. Thick hips, large and firm tits, yet skinny legs. She wasn't very pretty. With that constant I-just-woke-up look to her, thinning dark and frizzy hair and blood-red face, she looked at least ten years older than she really was. Alcoholism kicked her ass for some time. When she spoke, spite, loathing and bitterness resonated in every word. She was too far gone to listen to any advice and I tried. I lay there sweating, chest heaving up and down and attempted to blot the mix of spit and cum from my legs. She spoke as if no one was in the room, and I listened because I knew that was what she wanted. But she was what she was, a fuck buddy. And I was what I was, a distraction. We played our roles and used each other for fluids. I already spent an hour too long listening to the hateful words of a bitter woman who believed the world and God only kept her around to abuse. "No, please. Don't leave me." "But I made plans." I wasn't lying. "Fine. Fuck you." She turned her back to me. "Leave just like everyone else does." "Don't be mad. I mean, you can call me if–" "No! Get the fuck out!" "Whoa, slow down. You don't need to get all shitty with–" "GET THE FUCK OUT! Leave just like everyone else." I never respond well when people scream at me like I'm a child. But this time I bit my tongue because I knew she was hurting. While it didn't excuse her behavior, it did make me feel sorry that she felt she had no one. For a moment, maybe I could play the role of punching bag if it made her feel better. So I didn't strike back. I let her yell because I could take it, and I knew she needed to vent. I centered on her homicidal face and despite all of the skills I learned throughout the years, I knew there was nothing I could do to help patch up her broken head. There wasn't anything a no-named fuck buddy could do in 60 minutes to mend her years of abuse and addiction. So I clutched my jacket and slowly made my exit. She screamed and threw empty beer cans at the wall until I reached the door. I didn't turn around. I couldn't look at her face anymore. Bloodshot eyes, broken capillaries on her nose, black streaks of mascara running down her red cheeks. The white foam in the corners of her mouth. The damage in her face. You could hear the broken trust and abandonment in her screams. Screams almost daring me to stay. But I didn't have it in me. The door slammed behind me. The screaming turned into a high-pitched and shrill wail, shaking me to my core. Like a sound from small children who see their own blood for the first time. She sounded like she was being murdered. Terrified, I stood frozen with my back to her door. "WHYYYY?" she questioned repeatedly. "Why why why WHY?" I wanted to turn around, walk through the door, hold her and say, "I will fix everything." But that would be a lie. So I walked toward the elevator. I pressed the down button and was forced to wait and listen to the damage cry out through a closed apartment door. The elevator doors stayed closed so I could hear what I just did. "Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you!" she screamed. The doors opened. I stepped in and the screaming faded as I descended. Two months later, I browsed through the prostitute ads on Craigslist and saw her face. She was offering a full service for 180 roses and an uncovered blowjob for 120. I never saw her again. - available now at: deadxstop.com