Diary Of A Degenerate 25

Vanessa was stronger than me. Her mood was perpetually filled with childish glee, she had bleached her hair (which was ridiculous because she still had jet black eyebrows), and she was even learning how to drive my car so we could keep on the move when I was blind drunk. Which I was frequently now, up to two liters per day. It had been a week since I shot her dad and we were pretending it didn't happen, living out the lives of traveling gypsies until we could figure out what to do.

We thought about mexico, but neither of us spoke any spanish. She wanted to move to the south, but I fucking hate the humid weather. So we drifted from town to town, staying only a few nights at each stop until we either got bored or outstayed our welcome. I was feeling trapped with her again and it reminded me why I was so happy to be rid of her the first time. It was like I took in a stray dog and was stuck with it now, too guilty to put it back where I found it. Besides, it wasn't her fault. I guess I just can't be happy unless I'm miserable.

Shit. She was taking a shower, which means she is planning on dragging me into public tonight. We were staying in a $200 a night hotel now, complete with air conditioning and room service. They would bring us chilled bottles of wine with a simple ring of the telephone so I was lit up at all times and pretty content to stay in, but I was didn't argue with her anymore. Instead of stealing her music from her like before, or pursuing other women to make her angry, I just degraded her in bed. When she wanted to be on top, I would force her face in the pillows. If she started to enjoy it I would fuck her in the ass. And if she started to play along with that I just gave up altogether. And even after all that she would still wrap her skinny arms around me and bury her head in my chest until she was fast asleep. It was only then that I would take her hands and hold them close under the covers. She was always so fucking cold but my blood ran hot enough for both of us, and I would smell her hair and catch myself almost falling in love with her. And then in the morning I would treat her like a stranger again. Sometimes I wondered if she was ever just pretending to sleep, so starved for affection that she would feign unconsciousness just to trick me into being nice to her for a few precious minutes. She had better not be. Because I would never forgive her for it.


All this mess was going though my head as I walked into the bathroom, undressed, and stepped into the shower with her. She looked over her shoulder at me with a smile on her face and I grabbed a hold of her from behind and just let the hot water wash over us in silence. I guess I owed her that much.


 

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