Into the black

He watched as she bent invitingly over the bar in an obvious attempt to attract the attention of the overworked bartender. The hatred he sought—over her youth, sexual prowess and ever increasing control over him—could not be summoned. He was instead gripped by the fact that she was everything he ever longed for, but nothing he needed. As the justifications ran internally wild, he could not escape the reality that, at twenty years his junior, she may have been old enough to touch, but was altogether too young to be decent for a man of his age…profession…and marital status. For a blinking moment, he knew what he had to do; but before his conscious could catch hold—as it always threatened in moments of solitude—she was back, eagerly displaying the drink he didn’t want, but desperately needed. With out it, there would be no her. Without her, there would be no purpose.

“Bottoms up,” he whispered, as he knocked back any chance he had to escape the destruction of his future.