Bob's Will

Chapter 4

I need to switch hotels. She came back. As I check the sheets, I find pills and powder in dime bag upon dime bag. Every one of them labelled a different drug in the same handwriting from the note before.

I drop my thoughts and head into the bathroom, knowing there is nothing I can do about this abundance of drugs other than to indulge in it after a warm shower.

After my masturbatory shower, I open the bag labelled oxycodone and take two. My intention is to fly. I leave the rest of the bags exactly as they appeared on my bed and exit the room onto my next day of people watching.

I watch the next married couple walk on by. I feel my thighs begin to harden. I watch them with wide eyes underneath my shades, wondering how often he cheats on her. She has the typical pushover look to her face as though he could get caught over five times and just be forgiven. Every step she takes in her strappy wedges, I wonder how often he regrets her.

Once they're gone, I hear a couple renounce their vows. I squeeze my thighs together and roll my eyes in pure anxious disgust. Watching them through the corner of my eye, I end my m**********n. They are a Greek couple. It is time to leave my stalking for later, during dinner alone surrounded by older nympho couples.

I lay back in my lounger and tan for awhile. I wonder if the housekeeping staff found the stash on my bed. I shift my weight onto my right hip and being reading my book.

The beginning is about some Mary Sue archetype wandering through a city. Their portrayal is nothing more than lame and pathetic; she sets the mood in a rush as though a doll falling down a waterfall after being hurled over the protective rail.

I laugh. A bit too hard as I wonder who on earth could have possibly written and published this trash.

I am so high on oxycodone I have nearly forgotten about Bob until he enters my mind. I laugh even harder. Bald ol' Bob, in his square-framed glasses behind his desk working hard only to have to lick Danielle's nasty p***y for a promotion at the end of the day. Did he enjoy her?

Fat. Chance.

I am now a wreck having lost the battle between my mind wanting to let go and my internal invalidation still harbouring deep emotion. f**k Bob. f**k his mother f**k Danielle. f**k Danielle's hideous cat photographs christening her f****d up house. You know what? f**k her house too. Yeah.

The bags on my bed are untouched by whoever entered the room last. I take the first one I see and undo the zipper seal as carefully as I can. Taking the cutting board from the kitchen, I cut up a couple lines of coke using the same kitchen blade I had slit my wrist with.

I snort it shamelessly.

This line makes me feel so much like I've touched God. My mind, free of–

Bob.

He's so–

Gone from my thoughts.

I am invincible to my emotional pain. Around me, the environment feels fuzzy. My hearing distorts – a signature symptom of all pure coke highs. I feel like I'm nineteen again, free as a bird, free of crazy disputes in love.