Tiptoeing between and stepping over unconscious people like a minefield of bad decisions, I’m moving on instinct in search of water, Tylenol, and a bathroom so I can question my life choices in private.
The more I come to, the more I vaguely recognize where I am as Dunk’s apartment.Dunkis this kidDuncan,who lives by Washington Square Park. He dropped out of NYU years ago but still parties with his former classmates, and lets people crash at his place since it’s close to campus.
Obviously I don’t go to NYU, but I’ve been hanging out with this kid Will who does, and he introduced me to some of his friends.
Okay,introducedis a stretch. We black out together.
That’s the extent of most of my friendships. Relationships are no better… It’s basically more of the same, only with the addition of sex. Rough, dirty, usually anonymous, but most importantly, casual.
Meaningless. It’s all… hollow.
I’ve been spiraling for a while now…Yearsat this point. Just waiting for it all to catch up with me. But it never does.
My life is an endless abyss of drugs, and sex, and hopping from place to place. Never settling, never slowing, I’mdesperatefor it to come crashing down on me.
To end this charade once and for all, and free me from the purgatory that is my vacant,worthlessexistence.
After the night at Club Edge three years ago, after I finally got my chance to exact my revenge, but instead, wound up succumbing to the temptation of evil like the epic failure I am, I considered slinking back to Colombia with my tail between my legs. I’m sure that’s what he expected me to do, which is the only reason I refused to do it.
As strange as it sounds, it’s easier for him to find me there than it is right here, in the same damn city.
Still, dodging him wasn’t my only dilemma. I had no one and nothing here. No job, no place to stay, no family, no friends… Except Leah, but getting close to her was too risky. I needed to stay hidden. I knew he’d be looking for me after that slutty, humiliating night, and I had less than no desire to see him again.
The jig was up. I tried, and I fucking failed.Miserably.
Shortly after it happened, I got a job as a server at a restaurant in Brooklyn because I desperately needed money coming in, as well as something to occupy my time and my mind. But I ended up quitting after only a week when this sketchy guy started coming around, watching me. I was positive he was eyes for The Ivory.
After that, I left New York for a bit. Tried out Jersey, then Philly. I’d figured it was best to move around, but the couch and menial job surfing got so old it was on its deathbed. Eventually, when I’d burned through enough aliases and burned enough bridges that had no more options left, I decided it was time to come back.
The city wasn’t the problem. If anything, it’s been the only thing that’s given me any purpose since I abandoned my life’s mission. New York became my only cohort; my sidekick.
My partner in crime, and ultimately, my enabler.
My bad influence.
There was nothing left to do after my defeat but to move on. Unfortunately, I had absolutely no idea how to do that.Revengewas my entire life. I don’t know how to do anything else.
That is, until I discovered humanity’s favorite remedy for boredom, grief and misery…Getting fucked up.
I began passing the time with lots of drinking and drugs and sex with strangers. Sleeping with random guys for more drugs or a place to crash, blacking out as often as possible to keep the memories away. Doing whatever I can to hide from the harsh truth…
My existence is a tragedy, and I have absolutely nothing to live for.
I’ve been back in New York City for about a year now, and things are growing progressively worse. But I just don’t know what else to do with myself…
Faded and frayed, I’m not sure how much more of this endless cycle I can take.
In Dunk’s kitchen, I empty stale beer from a Solo cup and fill it with tap water, drinking until my mouth is no longer a desert. Then I go to the bathroom in search of something to ease the throbbing inside my skull, and maybe a toothbrush I can use to get rid of the disgusting taste of cigarettes and booze.
The moment I step inside, I catch sight of myself in the mirror and balk.Jesus Christ…
Not only do I look strung the fuck out, but I hadn’t even noticed what I was wearing…a Catholic schoolgirl skirt and knee-high stockings.
Cringing, I press my thighs together and bend over the sink to wash the smeared lipstick and smudged eyeliner off of my face.
Right… It’s all coming back to me.
This frat guy and his friend came to party with us—their names would be irrelevant even if I could remember them, which I can’t. I’d seen them out a few times. They always brought good shit, so naturally I migrated their way when I saw them last night. We were getting fucked up, and I vaguely remember one of them mentioning how last time they partied with us, Will and I did molly and put on his friends’ lingerie.
