Day 24—Blank Slate

He tried to clear his mind from the debacle of the past few years. Debts, half-realized relationships, frightening bomb blasts to his routine again and again. He thought that his time in the Marines would have been the worst time, the most traumatic time. There were still nights that he couldn’t remember…and some that he couldn’t forget. Buried deep in there somewhere were acts that he was not proud of. Hookers, accusations, drinking blackouts, drunk dials home to an even more drunk mother whose eye sockets were probably black and blue and which he always tried not to picture. He knew that his sister was tweaking again and his baby sister was off running with a boyfriend who beat her, too.

His heart flew through the darkness, demanding answer, demanding confirmation. Another night they were all alive, but barely. He hated “strong” women. Only those who were broken and who hobbled to him, arms outstretched, made him desirous. The stripper with the drug-dealing bro boyfriend. The pixie punker being fed heroin. All quests in his mind. For some horses to ride on, he would think. For a Marilyn Monroe blonde. Staggering, drunk, pilled-out. That was, after all, what he deserved, too.

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