I resented the power my parents had over me. They had the house, the money, and the reputation. I was destined to be a disappointment. I decided long ago I would never see them again and spare us both the awkwardness.
This was the thought going through my head as I lay back in my bed, masturbating for the third time that morning. Even in my fantasies I was pathetic and disgusting. It was a mystery even to myself why I haven't blown the barrel of the revolver in my end table yet. Probably because in the list of my many negative qualities is total cowardice. I came, wiped my belly off, then got out of bed. A good start to any day.
I brushed my teeth but didn't take a shower, then got dressed. Not that I had anywhere to go. The television was showing nothing but sit-coms, which was making me feel sick. I hate comedies because enjoying them means pretending to be happy, which I hadn't been for some time now. It made me uncomfortable to buy liquor before noon, but fuck it. The booze store clerk knew what I was anyway. There was no hiding my addiction anymore. My nose was swollen and red, my breath was sweet with last night's drunkenness, and I was sickly pale. There were probably dozens of other men like me that rang the bell attached to his doorway.
"Jameson please", I said. Funny how you feel the need to be polite to the man selling you death in a bottle. It was like tipping your hangman, not that I wasn't grateful.
Once I had downed half of the bottle I had the nerve to face the world. I climbed into my car and turned on the radio to the nearest politically divisive channel I could find. They always told the truth I wanted to hear, that the world was bad enough to justify my constant attempts to avoid it. Compared to the sound of their angry rants my vomiting was poetry. I wiped my lips, spat twice, then drove through the city fast enough to deserve the attention of the cops and the disdain of the other drivers. When they pulled up next to me at the lights I stared back. They always looked away when they saw the dead eyes I had for them.
When I got to the park I sat alone on a bench and read some Chinaski. It was the only thing that kept me awake, kept me walking through the desert. I looked up only to evaluate the bodies of the passing women, deciding whether I would fuck them. But who was I kidding? I would fuck them all if they would let me, or if it was up to me alone. "Fucking pig!" the fat lady with the baby carriage said under her breath, noticing my gaze. I just looked back at her. I couldn't disagree. Better yet, her comments made me desire her more. I thought about fucking her in the bushes that lined the bike path while she screamed. It made me smile for the first time today. I walked back to my car, hungry for the rest of my bottle.
While leaving the parking lot I drove up and over the curb and cut off the guy merging with traffic from across the street. He honked but I honked longer. I turned the radio up. The drunker I got the louder it needed to be to get through. I shamelessly mouthed the bottle as I drove, unconcerned with the odds of collision or capture.
Seemingly in the next moment I became aware that I was again alone in my room. All around me was the evidence of a sloppily devoured fast food meal and an emptied bottle, telling the tale of the three or so hours I spent blacked-out before taking an involuntary nap. I checked my cell to make sure I hadn't made any embarrassing calls or texts while I was down, and satisfied, I changed out of my piss-soaked pants and went back to sleep. It was 4pm.