The music thrums into his skull almost like a beating heart, a jackhammer, the pulse of distant thunder. He can feel it in his skin, in his bones. The lights are too bright, the perfume too strong, the women too leggy and the booze too expensive. He doesn't care. It makes him feel a little more alive, a little less wounded. She smells like cigarettes and cheap wine coolers. She says her name is Bella - you know, like the chick from Twilight - and all he can think about is how bad he ******** everything up. He doubts her name is really Bella. She looks like she's had a few kids, and her tits aren't as perky as they used to be but she's a working single mom and has to do what needs to be done to feed her kids.
She works the pole like she was made for it, and she probably was. He's drunk enough that she's attractive, probably more attractive than she actually is. She's blonde and blue-eyed (they aren't green but it's close enough), glitter and tassels and too much make-up, but he can pretend.
Come to my place, soldier, she whispers, and her voice is rough and her hands are on him, and even this is more than he ******** deserves and he knows it.
He wakes up the next morning to the sound of cartoons blaring. A wide-eyed little girl is watching him sleep. Her shirt is dirty and she's got a popsicle in one hand - the breakfast of champions.
He leaves without a word. His mouth tastes like ash and booze and loathing.
-----
Day Two
He wishes he was dead.
He doesn't deserve a second chance. Guilt chokes him, suffocates him, and he knows he's ******** up. He knows there's no fixing this. His life has been a constant string of bad choices with little pieces of fluff between. He thinks about Stormy, and how he let her down. He's done a bad job of being around for her, and he knows it. He thinks about Evan, and what a shitty friend he's been. He thinks about Nevada and he feels such a deep pang of regret it's almost as though it's tearing him in half. He thinks about Heidi, and he can't sleep. He thinks about Heidi, and he fights tears.
He wishes he was dead.
It's a funny thing, the human brain.
It's a funny thing, and it's his own worst enemy.
-----
Day Three
He thinks about never going back. He thinks about never going back, but he knows they'd find him and they'd drag him back like a dog.
Maybe then they'd put him down.
Even that would be better than he deserves.
-----
Day Four - One Day Past Authorized Leave
He knows he shouldn't go, but he does anyway. He knows he shouldn't go, but maybe if he apologizes, he can forgive himself, just a little.
He rents a car. As he's driving down the freeway, he realizes he has no idea where any of them are buried. He laughs, and it's broken and ugly so he drives too fast and it's tempting to just drive until the road ends and keep on driving until he reaches oblivion.
The road ends. He finds himself in some shithole little town on the east coast. He sits on the beach until the sun rises.
He hates himself even more.
-----
Day Five - Two Days Past Authorized Leave
He hasn't slept in two days. Or is it three? His phone is dead, has been for a day now. He doesn't care. He should have gone to Spain. Being there was the last time he can remember being really happy. He should have gone to Spain, and he should have eaten paella. Or maybe he should have visited that little mountain lake, just to get his head straight.
But he doesn't. He sits on that beach in the middle of nowhere with a bottle of vodka and a bottle of whiskey, and he drinks until it doesn't hurt quite as much.
-----
Day Six - Three Days Past Authorized Leave
The temptation to stay gone is almost too much.
You're late, the tech grunts as he steps up to the portal.
I know, he replies, sounding defeated and exhausted.
They're going to be waiting on the other side, the tech reminds him unnecessarily.
I know, he whispers, because he just wants to sleep. He just wants to sleep, even if it is as a means of punishment. He just wants to sleep, and he wants to forget. Just for a little while.
He hopes a week is long enough.
