"How many people are we going to hurt tonight, Babyface." He smiles at me. His teeth glisten. My memory of that will always remain. He had a beautiful smile.
"I don't know about that, bro. We just do our jobs, right?"
"A'course. A'course. So I'm going to say four between the two of us. And maybe two o' three more depending on how loud Val wants to get...but this is what we get paid to do, no?" He pats me on the shoulder as I shoot down another shot of vodka.
You have to find the right balance. Release the right number of inhibitions. Augment the courage levels. Kill a few of the nerve receptors that transmit pain.
"Just another night, brother..."
I was shot by that memory coming up the stairs. An event so minuscule a long time ago and a ways away. My knees are hurting. My ribs constantly ache with each casual movement, such that I've learned to just accept it as a matter of fact for the next few weeks. But every once in a while I give out. And I'm reminded of my own mortality. I'm reminded that I'm not as strong as I used to be. And there are occasionally bigger fish in these waters.
The greatest strength I've ever possessed was an uncanny ability to be underestimated by the other guy. But there no longer is anyone impressive in my life. I am the biggest fish in my pond. And it is boring.
I guess that's why what happened, happened.
There's something wrong with me where there is a need for a violent exchange to take place. A proper balance of pain being dealt and received. The masochist in me. The sadist in me. And when confronted with ignorance and bravado, I reciprocate with challenge and protest. You don't have to walk too far to find someone that would hurt you. For the fuck of it. This is the world we live in.
...
Two people in the hospital later. I look at the blood stain on my hallway wall I've yet to clean up from that night several weeks ago. I'm sitting down. Holding the ache at my side in. I feel little remorse for the three others that find themselves in direr straits than me over this "incident." But I nonetheless am continually bothered.
I feel broken inside. I feel like there's something intensely wrong with me. And that I seek forgiveness with each new face I meet and kiss and love. Like if I make this girl feel good about herself for a few hours before she leaves my bed that she'll make up for one broken bone I've inflicted upon someone who's challenged me.
There's more than one that's taken with me. I have trouble understanding it. I don't know what they might possibly see in me...or if the masks I wear fit so seamlessly that they can't see past it and be frightened by the darkness inside of me. When they get too close I tell them to run away from me. I'm damaged goods.
They tell me I make them feel safe...I make them feel warm...
This is a laughable contrast to the pain I've inflicted upon others...laughable contrast to the cold I always feel in myself..
"I don't know about that, bro. We just do our jobs, right?"
"A'course. A'course. So I'm going to say four between the two of us. And maybe two o' three more depending on how loud Val wants to get...but this is what we get paid to do, no?" He pats me on the shoulder as I shoot down another shot of vodka.
You have to find the right balance. Release the right number of inhibitions. Augment the courage levels. Kill a few of the nerve receptors that transmit pain.
"Just another night, brother..."
I was shot by that memory coming up the stairs. An event so minuscule a long time ago and a ways away. My knees are hurting. My ribs constantly ache with each casual movement, such that I've learned to just accept it as a matter of fact for the next few weeks. But every once in a while I give out. And I'm reminded of my own mortality. I'm reminded that I'm not as strong as I used to be. And there are occasionally bigger fish in these waters.
The greatest strength I've ever possessed was an uncanny ability to be underestimated by the other guy. But there no longer is anyone impressive in my life. I am the biggest fish in my pond. And it is boring.
I guess that's why what happened, happened.
There's something wrong with me where there is a need for a violent exchange to take place. A proper balance of pain being dealt and received. The masochist in me. The sadist in me. And when confronted with ignorance and bravado, I reciprocate with challenge and protest. You don't have to walk too far to find someone that would hurt you. For the fuck of it. This is the world we live in.
...
Two people in the hospital later. I look at the blood stain on my hallway wall I've yet to clean up from that night several weeks ago. I'm sitting down. Holding the ache at my side in. I feel little remorse for the three others that find themselves in direr straits than me over this "incident." But I nonetheless am continually bothered.
I feel broken inside. I feel like there's something intensely wrong with me. And that I seek forgiveness with each new face I meet and kiss and love. Like if I make this girl feel good about herself for a few hours before she leaves my bed that she'll make up for one broken bone I've inflicted upon someone who's challenged me.
There's more than one that's taken with me. I have trouble understanding it. I don't know what they might possibly see in me...or if the masks I wear fit so seamlessly that they can't see past it and be frightened by the darkness inside of me. When they get too close I tell them to run away from me. I'm damaged goods.
They tell me I make them feel safe...I make them feel warm...
This is a laughable contrast to the pain I've inflicted upon others...laughable contrast to the cold I always feel in myself..
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