At work the next day a pretty younger girl showed concern when I started coughing to the point of choking. I could tell by her eyes that she was desperate for some man to come along and love her, desperate enough to reach out to an older, fatter, balding man that she barely knew. But I would only use her up. And even though I would love every minute of it I couldn't shake the image of the crucifix she wore between her perfect breasts. I just didn't have the heart to prove to her that God didn't exist. So I assured her I was fine and went about my business.
When I got home I spent two hours trying to cry. I thought of all the horrible things I've done, contorted my face and made pathetic weeping noises, but didn't manage a single tear. I suppose I just wanted to have an emotion that wasn't contempt or anger, but maybe I am too far gone for it. Instead I drank straight from the bottle in my underwear and spent the evening listening to my neighbors scream at each other until I yelled at them to shut the fuck up. When Dave screamed back I threatened to kill him in the hallway and then stood outside their door until it was clear he wasn't coming. They were actually very nice people, normally. I went back to my apartment and finished the bottle before falling asleep on the couch.
I was twenty minutes late for work the next day, and got halfway through my shift before I realized it was friday. It was the last day for one of the receptionists there, and she was going to retire after finding out she was really sick. She told me what she had once, but I don't remember what it was. The staff were all signing an oversized retirement card with the words "Miss You Already!" scrawled across the front, and it made it's way onto my desk. When I signed it I could see that everyone was planning on meeting up later that evening to say goodbye. At least they had the good sense not to invite me, and I knew what bar to avoid that night. I hate seeing people that I know.
I went to the same bar from a few nights ago, and was drinking for some time until I noticed the whore was there again. Luckily she was with some other loser this time, trying her damnedest to make me jealous. But I had already been there, and it wasn't worth visiting again. Instead I flirted with the bartender until she gave me a free drink, the equivalent of patting a dog on the head to a lonely drunk.
After paying my tab the bartender offered to call me a cab, but I explained I would be walking. "But it's raining, mister!" she said. I assured her I didn't mind, and pretended I didn't have car keys in my hand. Male bartenders didn't give a shit if you killed yourself and a family of four out on the highway, but women will call the cops. I drove home carefully.
Walking through my doorway I stepped on an envelope that had been slipped under the door. Apparently my rent was late. I thought about calling the whore back but decided she probably had a dick in her mouth by now. I spat blood into the sink and it left a heart-shaped stain on the porcelain. How romantic.