Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Diary Of A Degenerate 18

It was roughly 7 am when I realized my "fully furnished" room came without curtains or blinds, and I staggered still drunk to the toilet and emptied myself, the fresh wound in my bicep burning like the knife was still there. I love waking up in an unfamiliar place. It gives me brief optimism that maybe I got laid last night and was in some anonymous woman's apartment. But no such luck. As I walked into the bedroom I focused my attention on Vanessa's purse, curious about what else was in there other than the money I already plundered. I dumped the whole bag of shit on the bed and wondered at the piles of candies, breath mints, tubes of lipstick, scraps of paper, and assorted jewelry that I didn't remember ever seeing her wear. She even had a pair of panties in there, I shit you not.

But after separating the jewelry from the garbage I noticed a thick envelope that had fallen to the ground, and recognized it as the letter that she had to sign for the other night. Normally I would never violate a person's privacy by opening their mail, but fuck it. The bitch stabbed me. So I tore it open. My eyes lit up when I saw the stack of 100 dollar bills tucked inside a one page letter. This must be it, the source of Vanessa's never-ending wads of cash!

My dearest Vanessa,
I suppose you will be wondering why I am including only two thousand in this month's letter. The short answer is that I don't trust that you went through with it this time. I sent Bartley over to your home and discovered that you no longer lived there, and it took some time and effort to find you in this new apartment. I give you more than enough money to afford a place in a much nicer neighborhood, so I can only assume you are "shacked up" with another hopeless vagrant.
I have no intention of rubbing salt in a sensitive wound, but must I remind you of our arrangement? You are living well on no small amount of my money, and I ask only for your discretion in return. I understand the physical and emotional toll that you are subjected to whenever you visit Dr. Paige, but that is why I have been sending an extra thousand for the last two months despite not hearing a word from you. And God help us both if you didn't go through with it this time.
Please drop by Bartley's offices to clear this matter up, and I assure you I will pay the extra thousand once he assures me you have been keeping up your end of the bargain.
P.S. I know you don't want to hear this, but I still love you.


"Jesus fucking Christ" I whispered as I read the last line. I may be an uneducated and drunken degenerate, but I could read between these lines. Vanessa wasn't a mother. She wasn't a formerly successful business woman. She wasn't even a fallen socialite widow. She was a three-time abortion patient with an incestuous past. Well, I guess this explained why she never showed me pictures of her kids...


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