Losing control.
Sheila. She’s all it took.
Okay, her and that bottle of wine she had at dinner (I stuck with my ginger ale, thank you).
Sheila, that bottle of wine, and three long years without Jimmy.
And then she kissed me in the truck and dammit, I kissed her back because I thought that would be it.
But I was wrong. Because then it was Sheila in that dress, Sheila begging me to stay. That damned bottle of whiskey and a hard-on that took over my brain and it felt so good that I didn’t give a shit what I was doing anymore even as I watched everything I’d been working towards slip away.
But then there was Jimmy in the window, watching me fuck his wife - his wife, dammit, even if he is dead - and then everything hit me. So long sobriety, so long Janet, so long making everything right again. And sweet Christ if the guys find out, they’ll kick my ass from here to next Tuesday and make me wish I’d died at Ground Zero.
Widows are off limits. I knew that, God dammit, I’ve know it since I was a shitless probie. Sisters, you can flirt all you like; hell, you can even grab a tit, just as long as you can say you were drunk when you did it. But widows? No go, under any circumstance. Especially not the widow of your goddamn cousin. Your goddamn best friend.
Sweet Christ, it was Sheila! I was best man when she married Jimmy!
But it was so good and so right at the time. We were both lonely, we both missed Jimmy, we were both trapped in the past. I dunno, maybe fucking each other’s brains out was our way of setting ourselves free. Shitload of good that did, right?
Jimmy tries to kill me (okay, okay, it was a dream, but at the time it was real as shit). Sheila gets pregnant and then has a miscarriage and doesn’t bother to tell me (and then Jimmy, that sick fuck, tells me to get her pregnant again so she can have her baby girl). The guys found out and did their duty. And Janet? Packed the kids and everything else up and left town. Not even a, “Tommy, I’m taking the kids and leaving New York. Goodbye.” Just up and left and left a bottle of vodka for me in the empty kitchen, that bitch. She was out to destroy me, swear to God. Still is. Why did I think getting back together with her was a good idea? Oh, right. The kids and those goddamn goofballs that turned me into the biggest pussy since Catwoman.
I need a drink.
No. No drinking. Because if there’s one thing worse than being sober right now, it’s getting the shit kicked out of you by your ex-priest cousin sponsor for drinking. And having this shitty year repeat itself.
There is no way I’m going through hell again.
Words: 497
Okay, her and that bottle of wine she had at dinner (I stuck with my ginger ale, thank you).
Sheila, that bottle of wine, and three long years without Jimmy.
And then she kissed me in the truck and dammit, I kissed her back because I thought that would be it.
But I was wrong. Because then it was Sheila in that dress, Sheila begging me to stay. That damned bottle of whiskey and a hard-on that took over my brain and it felt so good that I didn’t give a shit what I was doing anymore even as I watched everything I’d been working towards slip away.
But then there was Jimmy in the window, watching me fuck his wife - his wife, dammit, even if he is dead - and then everything hit me. So long sobriety, so long Janet, so long making everything right again. And sweet Christ if the guys find out, they’ll kick my ass from here to next Tuesday and make me wish I’d died at Ground Zero.
Widows are off limits. I knew that, God dammit, I’ve know it since I was a shitless probie. Sisters, you can flirt all you like; hell, you can even grab a tit, just as long as you can say you were drunk when you did it. But widows? No go, under any circumstance. Especially not the widow of your goddamn cousin. Your goddamn best friend.
Sweet Christ, it was Sheila! I was best man when she married Jimmy!
But it was so good and so right at the time. We were both lonely, we both missed Jimmy, we were both trapped in the past. I dunno, maybe fucking each other’s brains out was our way of setting ourselves free. Shitload of good that did, right?
Jimmy tries to kill me (okay, okay, it was a dream, but at the time it was real as shit). Sheila gets pregnant and then has a miscarriage and doesn’t bother to tell me (and then Jimmy, that sick fuck, tells me to get her pregnant again so she can have her baby girl). The guys found out and did their duty. And Janet? Packed the kids and everything else up and left town. Not even a, “Tommy, I’m taking the kids and leaving New York. Goodbye.” Just up and left and left a bottle of vodka for me in the empty kitchen, that bitch. She was out to destroy me, swear to God. Still is. Why did I think getting back together with her was a good idea? Oh, right. The kids and those goddamn goofballs that turned me into the biggest pussy since Catwoman.
I need a drink.
No. No drinking. Because if there’s one thing worse than being sober right now, it’s getting the shit kicked out of you by your ex-priest cousin sponsor for drinking. And having this shitty year repeat itself.
There is no way I’m going through hell again.
Words: 497