another excerpt from Nice Guys Finish First (my novel)
When he did get some time off, Shemus found himself utterly alone. In his mind, his heart, his car, everywhere he went, he was alone. Invisible to the world. He began to wonder if the people he despised were also alone, but of course not. Why should the people who least deserve love, get the most of it? Shemus always thought that the people who fucked with him, whether they were aware of it or not, were useless in his life. He started to wonder what he had done so wrong to deserve such torment. He did, in fact, nothing wrong. To everyone else, he was an insecure, jealous, psycho and a bit of an alcoholic. To him though, Shemus was the victim. Everyone else involved in an intricate plot to destroy him, crush his dreams, break his spirit, and spit on his writhing corpse in the aftermath. After the strikingly similar ordeals involving Ruby, then June, Shemus was truly lost. Lost in a void of fear, angry, frustration caused by his futile actions towards them and himself, Shemus hid his problems from the world in such a convincing way, that everyone thought he was just fine. After a while, over working himself even became useless, as his mind soon found a way to break his oppressed memories of Ruby, June ruined everything for him. Alcohol was a great escape for him, and he found himself nearly every night at The Pitbull. Even so, that too, like so many others whom he loved, abandoned him. Shemus soon had a very different meeting with stronger poisons that would later convince him to ask the question "Do I have a problem?"
Shemus in fact, did have a problem. It never became a problem to get fucked up on drugs, until a fateful night in a bathroom that changed him. After a heated argument over the phone with Marci, his ex, over something very trivial to her, Shemus went to a shady convenient store for a small bottle of whiskey. Putting it in his pocket to avoid police suspicion, he got in his car and drove off. Making his way to The Pitbull, Shemus got the pills he had become fond of out of his glove box, and went to the bathroom. Downing a few uppers, and snorting the line of powder off the counter, Shemus took a long swig of whiskey. After the initial agony of harsh liquor hit his throat, Shemus washed his face in the sink. Rubbing his eyes, he took a very long, hard look into the half broken, filthy mirror at his reflection. His nose red, eyes redder, water dripping from his chin. Shemus then thought to himself, "This isn't me. I'm not this animal." Then as he had done on so many nights before, he went to his car, curled up in the back seat, and fell asleep. That night changed him. Shemus no longer took drugs from that point forward, but it was always a constant struggle for him. The thought always pecking at the back of his mind like a bird to a wormhole. The notion that he could slip on this tightrope at any moment back into that animal.
Shemus in fact, did have a problem. It never became a problem to get fucked up on drugs, until a fateful night in a bathroom that changed him. After a heated argument over the phone with Marci, his ex, over something very trivial to her, Shemus went to a shady convenient store for a small bottle of whiskey. Putting it in his pocket to avoid police suspicion, he got in his car and drove off. Making his way to The Pitbull, Shemus got the pills he had become fond of out of his glove box, and went to the bathroom. Downing a few uppers, and snorting the line of powder off the counter, Shemus took a long swig of whiskey. After the initial agony of harsh liquor hit his throat, Shemus washed his face in the sink. Rubbing his eyes, he took a very long, hard look into the half broken, filthy mirror at his reflection. His nose red, eyes redder, water dripping from his chin. Shemus then thought to himself, "This isn't me. I'm not this animal." Then as he had done on so many nights before, he went to his car, curled up in the back seat, and fell asleep. That night changed him. Shemus no longer took drugs from that point forward, but it was always a constant struggle for him. The thought always pecking at the back of his mind like a bird to a wormhole. The notion that he could slip on this tightrope at any moment back into that animal.