That’s me… Leaning at the bar, staring myself down, in the mirror. God, I look awful… My face. Always crumpled-up, like the artist just didn’t like it. Carelessly thrown away. Old coffe-stained drawing of me – there you go, my life in a nutshell.

On my left, a gorgeous lady, with assassins look, drinking champaign. She smells of dark chocolate, her curves carefully wrapped in satin, like a summer night, solid black, eyes like the edges of ice in my already emptied glass.

On my right, a drunk. A future me? Two years ahead, or maybe just two months, two weeks? Anyway… I imagine. Laying my hand on her tights, to get down into that black night of hers, drown in it… Those lips… “`nother!” The bartender smirks and nods.

“Sweetheart. You’re having too much,” she states. I know, but instead of an answer I nod. “Don’t you wanna have more fun, than getting hammered? Spare some energy. Do it for me, pretty please?” Her smile. I’d die for that. I’d give everything for it, if it was real. If it was not directed to my wallet. But it is. And she’s fake, fishing for clients. Getting paid hourly…

“No” Getting drunk is cheaper anyway. It is safer. For her, maybe for me too… I don’t need more blood on my hands.

“Poor baby. Having a bad day? Let me ease your pain. Oh, your shoulders, why are you so tensed up? Does it hurt? Oh, dear. You’re ravenous…”

“I need to tell you. Something.” I swallow. I really should tell her. I… “You… It’s. Simply, you’re um, ravishing.”

She laughs. A beautiful victorious giggle, narrowing her gleaming eyes. Come on, tell her. She really should leave me alone. For her own sake.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s