Day 25-- Blank Slate 2

The scar on his leg was not a picture he was proud of either. To be fair, not much of him was. Having a bar brawl on one of the drunken blackout nights was not the way to go when he could have had the wounded warrior option. Many of his scars were from his family. He looked back on how unable he had been to keep a lover and where all the fights had left him. It was not a place of pride. It was usually a place of longing.

He sat on the front porch visualizing the last one. A redhead. Always ready to do whatever he wished. Usually feeble in her own desires, or unsure. It was fine. He was happy around women with less conviction or who were in the mental trap. He guessed that it hadn’t occurred to him until today. For years, all he wanted was to make sure he could secure a good fuck. Then he’d started to think about wanting a home of his own, maybe a family of his own. Many of his military friends had had them when he first joined up…and most of them hadn’t cared when leave came. “I’ll just take the wheel, like I always do. That’s what they seem to want anyway. I’m not a nice guy. Women love assholes.”

Charles thought about her and her hair, and the fact that life had left her so much drama after a while. Some subject or other always seemed to leave her crying. She always wanted his help getting it under control. The spank bank memories were great, but when he got to thinking about her again he couldn’t help but feel bad. So much lack of faith. And never fall in love with them if they don’t have a good relationship with their family. That’s really important.

He wanted a family and babies, but he couldn’t seem to keep his nice guy act up long enough. Sometimes, even mired in their own crap, they would complain about his outbursts of anger. His inability to “just let it go.” One time he nearly got into a fight with the redhead’s mother but had to restrain himself because he didn’t want to become just another one of her boyfriends that the family hated. He’d known that he was already on the rocks. His need to crusade was built-in. Charles wasn’t sure whether that was a product of his time in the Marines or the reason he joined! At any rate, he’d survived until now. “That’s all that matters, right?” He’d repeat phrases to himself over and over sometimes.

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