That night I went to a club. The girl on the stage couldn’ t have been much older than my daughters. It didn’ t matter to me. I had to meet her. Had to touch her. Had to let go of the tension that was building up in my soul. Damage myself some more. And take somebody else down with me.”
fiction
Empty Life
By Susie Finkbeiner
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That night I went to a club. The girl on the stage couldn’ t have been much older than my daughters. It didn’ t matter to me. I had to meet her. Had to touch her. Had to let go of the tension that was building up in my soul. Damage myself some more. And take somebody else down with me.”
The streets at night can be a pretty dark place. I used to drive up and down on this main strip in town, hoping to find some sweet little thing. You know, to spend a little time with. A man gets lonely every once in awhile.
I’ d find one of them walking around, peeking behind their backs, waving and smiling at me. They liked me. It was a good feeling. So, I’ d pick her up, let her in my car. We’ d pull around to someplace even darker for a fast little fling. Just some fun.
Nobody got hurt. I always had protection. Besides, we both needed that. I got a little special attention. She got some spending money. Win, win.
But every time, I’ d go home and feel a little bit emptier than I did before I picked up the girl. It was a dried up, dead feeling. And whenever I thought it was the worst it could ever be, I found a deeper place to go. I discovered something more disgusting that I could do. Something that would keep things exciting.
There was always a worse way to hurt myself. And I was really good at finding out what that felt like.
The first time was about a year ago. A bunch of my buddies and me were out drinking. We stopped to pick up this group of girls. Took them back to a payby-the-hour motel and partied. I really have no idea what happened that night. Besides. Well. That.
I do remember the guys and I pooled our money together to pay them. Then they left. We weren’ t in a good part of town. And they were young.
That was the first time I understood what it meant to hate myself. I couldn’ t stop thinking about what we did. It made me sick. But it made me want more. I swore to myself that I wouldn’ t let it happen again.
I failed. Once a week turned into every other day turned into every night. Sometimes twice a day. Covering it all up wasn’ t easy. I rotated neighborhoods so that nobody recognized me. Told my wife that I had to work late. Always found a place to wash up after.
“ You missed dinner again,” my wife said one night.
I’ d been with a girl only half an hour before just a few blocks from my front door.
“ Yeah, sorry about that,” I said.“ I had to lock up again.”
“ Whatever. You say that every night.” She walked out of the living room.“ I’ m going to bed. You can heat up something from the fridge.”
“ Hey, I’ m sorry. I already said I was sorry.”
She turned toward me.“ If you want to come to bed, you can. I miss you.”
“ I might.” I hadn’ t even been sleeping in bed with her.“ You know I have a hard time sleeping in there.”
Really, it was just that I didn’ t feel right being next to her. I couldn’ t touch her without feeling so guilty. And I didn’ t want to even think what I was doing was wrong.
“ Who are you seeing?” she asked.
I didn’ t answer her. I couldn’ t. Because I didn’ t know. There were too many. And I never asked their names.
A week later she kicked me out. Wouldn’ t even let me say“ good-bye” to the kids. My kids. Two girls.
That night I went to a club. The girl on the stage couldn’ t have been much older than my daughters. It didn’ t matter to me. I had to meet her. Had to touch her. Had to let go of the tension that was building up in my soul. Damage myself some more. And take somebody else down with me.
I drove around the slummy streets. The ones with knocked out lights and falling down houses. I had to find someone. It didn’ t really matter who. I found a girl. She got into my car. We went back to the hotel where I was living.
After I was done with her, she got herself dressed. I stayed in the bed.
“ You gonna drive me back to the track?” she asked.
“ I’ m not driving you back. You just made $ 30. Get yourself back.”“ Buses are done for the night.”“ Sounds like a problem.”“ Come on. You can’ t drive me five miles back?” I lit a cigarette.“ Nope.”“ So, you’ re gonna make me walk all that way in these heels?” She zipped up her jacket.“ Shoot, it ain’ t safe walkin’ around this time of night.”“ Why don’ t you call your pimp?”“ He ain’ t gonna come no where to get me. What the hell you thinkin’?”
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