I Never Saw It Coming...

I never saw it coming. That drunk motherfucker came out of nowhere and destroyed me. It's slowly come back over the years first in big chunks, then more and more in bits and pieces. Her little giggle in the back seat. That loving smile during that last shared glance as Hailey butchered her favorite 'knock-knock' joke. Headlights. Then the offensive fluorescents burning my eyes as I choked and gagged on the tubes running down my throat in the hospital bed.

It's been just over a decade since that evil piece of shit took everything from me. I wish I never remembered anything. I wished for a long time that he took me too. Sometimes, in my darker moments, I confess I still do. Hailey was just four years old; just starting to develop her cute little personality that matched her adorable little pigtails. Meagan was 8 months pregnant with our twin boys when we were coming home from dinner that night. My prom queen, my college coed partner in crime, my beautiful wife. She was the only woman I ever knew and despite all of the struggles, our life was coming into its own when he ripped it from our hands.

Jerry Harris.

Jerry wasn't a race car driver, but fancied himself a professional. His old, pathetic ass had driven trucks his whole life, probably drunk the entire time. Despite his multiple DUI's and spotty driving record, he was hired by a big box store to carry freight from their distribution center to various retail locations. The lawsuit uncovered a myriad of human resource incompetence that ended up with him leaving the bar, picking up a load, doubling the speed limit, blowing the light, and killing my family. Finger pointing and lawyers, depositions and hearings, smattered my long physical recovery and stretched my mental state beyond its breaking point. The eight-figure settlement did nothing, but put a price tag on all that I held priceless.

Out of the hospital and into the courtrooms, I never had time to really grieve. Unfortunately, I never had anyone to grieve with. A year prior we had moved across the country as I accepted a promising opportunity with an upstart company. I had little family I cared about, had no friends to speak of anywhere within 2,000 miles, and Meagan's family just made me feel worse -- even though they did their best to convince me it wasn't my fault. Looking back, that distance may have been a bit more blessing than curse. Everything just reminded me of my loss. The calls, the cards, the visits, the flowers. Everyone did their best to help me, but it all just served to bury me deeper in my hole.

Our little starter home was a brutal memory reel. When I first limped through the door after that month in the hospital, I tried desperately to hold it together. Poor Bob, the only coworker I'd spent more than 5 minutes talking to watched in vain as I completely fell apart at the sight of the toys, clothes, and dirty dishes littering our living room. Her little socks. That creepy talking teddy bear. The crusty plate from that morning's breakfast on the table. Meagan's half drank cup of coffee next to it. After pulling myself together enough to shove Bob out the door, I sat there running my fingers over the plush ears of that stupid fucking bear staring through the tears at the end of my life. I sat there for hours before popping too Xanex and chasing it with a few beers, passing out amidst all of the painful memories.

I woke up that next day in a haze of depression and horror. I didn't remember anything at that point, but I knew basically what had happened. In that fog of pain and tears, I knew I couldn't be there. I couldn't be there ever again. Separated by all these years I wish I wouldn't have gotten rid of everything, but the overwhelming torture of that stuff, our stuff, bled me dry. I left that day, despite doctor's orders not to drive, and signed a lease on a shitty apartment across town less than a block away from a liquor store. I ordered a mattress that afternoon and lived in my filth for weeks. No clothes, no comforts, no possessions at all. Just a brand-new mattress, cell phone full of memories to bludgeon myself with, and a car seat in the back of my Accord that was only slightly easier to ignore after I drunkenly ripped my rearview mirror off glass and threw it out the window.

My boss told me to take as much time as I needed and Bob helped me immensely. He was a really great guy. I wish I still kept in touch with him or at least wasn't such a miserable fuck, treating him so badly. He really kept me afloat. He forced me to do the things I needed to do in order to not immediately end up a statistic. He bought me clothes, he cleaned out the house. He even helped me sell it, only making me step foot in there one more time before making the final decision to sell all of our belongings and dump the house a few months later. He managed my money throughout the process and I treated him like shit. I found out years later that he had a lot of loss in his life and felt helping me through it as best he could would bring him some catharsis. I hope to this day that he understood where I was and didn't hold it against me.

The weeks slowly turned to months and the months into a year as I ignored all the phone calls, knocks at the door, and helping hands coming from every direction. I abandoned Bob the minute the house was sold. I never really talked to anyone from work ever again. When the lawsuits wrapped up, I was drowning in the bottle and blanketing myself in misery on that now musty mattress on the floor. I had nothing. I had a bank account full of more zeroes than I could count, a stomach full of booze, and a first-name relationship with the gas station attendant where I'd stop some days to get something to eat on my way to the liquor store. One night in a drunken pity party, I deleted everything off my phone. I had nothing.

I cried all day when I realized what I had done that night. How fucking stupid of me. The only thing tying me to anything I ever cared about was now gone. Gone just like them. I couldn't even bring myself to get out of bed, finishing off the last drops of my vodka from the giant plastic bottle well before noon. By midnight I was in the throes of withdrawal, soaked in sweat and unable to even get out of bed to throw up. I don't remember much of what happened after that, but apparently, I got lost on my way to the liquor store around 8am two days later and was arrested after accosting people at a traffic light. Doctors said I was hallucinating and belligerent when they brought me in and I was held for observation for another three days.

During my recovery in the hospital, I happened upon my guardian angel. Dominque was a nurse, mid-50's, who took special interest in me. Apparently one night in the midst of my delirium tremens, I talked about the accident and it broke her heart. Dom was a single mother who had struggled for years with addiction after suffering loss early in her life. She never did tell me exactly what had happened, but based on the way she cared for me, it must have been pretty bad. She caught me at rock bottom and pulled me from the brink of self-destruction. Potentially putting her career at risk, she formed a personal relationship with me. She was my first true friend in years and is now someone I consider family.

Dom was no-nonsense. She slapped the shit out of me, verbally, many times as I came out of my stupor. The first shoulder I cried on, literally, was Dom's. After convincing me that I never wanted to end up in a hospital bed again, she talked me into seeking help. Slipping her number into my phone, she demanded I start coming with her to meetings. She saved my life even when I felt there was nothing to live for anymore. The meetings were terrible. I never spoke and slogged through them only to keep Dom from blowing up my phone or pounding on my door when I tried to ignore her. She was relentless and I could never thank her enough.

She kept me on the straight and narrow for months before I relapsed. Her stern demeanor softened momentarily when she picked me up that day, quickly returning as I tried to manipulate her into feeling bad for me. I stayed sober for two years after that, slowly becoming more of a human being than just being a meat bag full of hate. During that time, she invited me into her home. She introduced me to her family. She guided me through the pain and held me responsible for myself. Regardless of the culture shock -- her, almost 30 years my senior, born in raised in the LA ghettos -- me, late-20's white suburban degenerate, we both understood each other perfectly.

As my recovery seemed rock solid and she found out my financial situation, she convinced me I needed to move on with my life. It was late in the evening the day she pushed me to make the move. We talked about me needing to get out of California. We talked about fantasy places to start over. We made the decision that the best thing for me was to retire. See, Meagan and I had a plan. We'd stay up until the wee hours in the morning discussing the distant future. When the kids were grown, off living their own lives, we would retire somewhere tropical and travel the world. She wanted Europe, I wanted Asia. We talked Egypt, Russia, Africa, and everywhere else as 'if we get to it' options. I still get emotional thinking of that night at Dom's table, talking about 'what Meagan would want.'

I was off to Europe less than a month later. It was fun, initially. Infinite options, no concerns about money, the world was literally at my fingertips. I did all the touristy shit we had talked about, but not having her by my side slowly wore on me. I didn't even realize it at the time, but looking back, I shouldn't have pushed myself that hard. I was 6 months into my European tour when I rounded that corner and ran smack dab into, Lucia. Meeting her, at that fragile time, really shook me up.

Lucia was an Italian goddess. Tall, lean, alabaster skin and curly dark brown hair that ran to the middle of her back. All I could see as I was extending my hand to pick her up off the ground were her deep brown eyes. Her eyes burned a hole right through me. I was hooked. I apologized up and down as I lifted her up, still unable to break from her gaze even with the distraction of her bright beautiful smile that could stop traffic. She blushed, obviously feeling what I was feeling in that moment, and I couldn't help myself but to ask her to dinner. We had a bit of a language barrier, but her English was good enough to keep the conversation afloat. She led me to a little café down the street and we flirted and talked for hours.

I got lost in her beauty and the romance of Portofino, taking her back to my hotel and spending the night in the throes of passion. We were all over each other before we hit the door. She tore my shirt off as we broke the threshold. I ripped the red dress from her body, exposing her luscious breasts and lacey black panties. Our mouths never separated and before I knew it, I shredded her panties yanking them off her hips, diving deep into her womanhood as she screamed encouragement in Italian while digging her fingers through my hair. She pulled me on top of her as I peeled myself out of my pants, finding her center instantly as we rolled over the luxurious bedding. She bit my lips and clawed at my ass as I gave myself to her.

We made love for what seemed like forever, her gushing through multiple orgasms and me finishing deep inside of her. I reveled in the lust as I flopped down beside her and passed out; her curled up under my arm. Waking up as the sunlight breached the shades, I found her next to me, sound asleep and looking perfect. In a flash I was overwhelmed with guilt. Lucia was the second woman I had ever been with. I was drawn back to my old life, instantly back to those memories of Meagan... Hailey... the twins. My heart raced as the tears poured from my eyes. Lucia woke up to me bawling out of control, throwing myself out of bed, and rummaging around the suite shoving my shit into the suitcase and throwing on my clothes. She was frightened and confused as I balled up her dress, throwing it in her face as I stormed out of the door.

I didn't even check out until the next week when I got the call from the hotel and I was already in Vietnam. The slow pace of the riverside villages calmed me as I hid from my regret. I spent weeks poking around the little villages before venturing on to the bigger cities. It was lonely traveling by myself, but the late nights by myself allowed me to find peace in my tryst with Lucia. It was difficult to shed the guilt, but I knew it was nothing to be ashamed of, outside of how I left Lucia that morning. As I ventured to the more populated areas, I was gifted a drink of something I couldn't pronounce -- some sort of home-made rice wine, flavored with berries. Initially I didn't realize it was alcohol, but after a few drinks I could feel it. I recognize the danger and stopped myself, but the door was now opened.

Traveling through the cities I found myself having the odd drink here and there. A glass of rice wine, a beer, nothing major and I never really got drunk. I felt I had it all in control. I left Vietnam about a month later and found myself in the rural Asian settings of Cambodia for a few weeks. I didn't drink during that time, convincing myself even further that I was never going to have a problem again. Truth be told, it probably wouldn't have been a problem if I didn't end up in Thailand. Everything you've ever heard about Thailand is true. It's beautiful. The people are great. The women are gorgeous, plentiful, the night life is never-ending... and can be incredibly seedy.

The first few weeks in Bangkok weren't a problem. I set myself up, ventured out of the city every day and by the time it got dark, I was back at the hotel, too tired to do anything more. When I ended up with a little stomach bug and was laid up for a few days in bed, I thought nothing of it that evening when I went out to check out the town. I wasn't on the street ten minutes before I was being approached by hordes of pretty women, all wanting to be with me. The lights, the signs, the women, the entire atmosphere warned me of the dangers ahead, but I ignored all of them. I found myself in a bar, sipping a beer, watching fat expats chat up scantily clad women who could probably be their granddaughters. This was not the retirement we had planned, but I was drawn in more and more as one beer turned to two and two quickly turned to five.

Leaving that bar with a little buzz on my head, I wandered past the blowjob booths, massage parlors, and go-go clubs growing hornier by the minute. This little strip oozed sex and temptation, something my waning inhibitions were guaranteed to succumb to. I popped in a go-go bar, no real intentions on doing anything more than having another beer and ended up with two girls on my lap before I took my first sip. The attention combined with my inebriation put me into a dark place full of lust and indifference. By the end of my second beer, 7^th for the night, I was rock hard and had my hand up the skirt of a barely 18-year-old go-go dancer who led me to a room in the back.

I shoved a handful of mystery money into the hands of the guy manning the hallway as the nameless girl pulled me to the tiny curtained closet with a little cot nearly filling the space. My cock dripped with excitement as I sat on the worn-out spring mattress and she began lifting her tied off shirt over her head, exposing her perky little tits and rock-hard nipples. Her lean body almost glowed in the pale light as I pulled off my shirt, standing to meet her. I licked her neck and fondled her chest as she pulled on my belt. With her hands in my pants, stroking my hardness, I stretched both hands back to pull up her skirt and squeeze on her tiny ass. My pants hit the floor and she dropped to her knees, pulling a condom out of nowhere and wrapping it down my shaft.

The little bit of latex was no match for her expert oral skills as she slurped, gaggled, and twisted over my knob and I strained to massage her perfect little bosom. I needed to fuck her, I had to have her. My desire was overflowing as I grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her from the floor. She dodged my kiss when I clamped her little body against mine. I pulled the zipper on her skirt and she wriggled out of it, dropping it to the floor. She stroked my hard cock as I bit and licked her neck, turning us around and pushing her onto the bed. She laid back on her elbows, spreading her knees wide and exposing her wispy-haired pussy, still moist from my probing fingers earlier. I pounced on her, gripping both of her little bee stings and devouring each of her nipples. She ran her fingers through my hair and as I sat up, then reached down to guide me inside of her.

I fucked her with the anger of a thousand demons. She was so young, so cute, and yet so experienced. She took everything as if it was nothing, further fueling my amorous rage. She pretended to want me. She pretended I was pleasing her. She pretended to cum. I fucked her harder and harder as her act grew more and more unbelievable. Every previous emotion I ever had was now directed into my cock as I just wanted to destroy her. The sweat poured off my body, dripping onto her little sweetness as I continued ravaging her. At the point in which I finally made eye contact I could see an almost patronizing light, just encouraging me to take it further. I raised up off of her, grabbing her wrist and violently flipping her over to her stomach. Her tiny little ass lifted to accept me, but not in the way I wanted. She was offering me her pussy and all I saw was her little brown pucker.

I cleared my throat into my mouth and forcefully spit into her ass. I gripped my steel rod and pressed it against her tiny opening. She squirmed and said something about 'baht', their currency, but I just pushed her head into the abusive mattress and shoved my cock into her. She cried out and immediately went stiff as I penetrated her tightness. I felt the condom give way as I forced myself complete in. She clawed at the bed and clenched her teeth as I began mercilessly pounding her asshole into oblivion. I slapped against her brutally for several minutes before emptying myself deep within her. I pulled my cock out and removed the tattered remnants of the thin latex from the base of my shaft, throwing it onto her back just above her gaping hole. She curled to her side, smiled sheepishly, and said something again about more money. I pulled on my pants, grabbed a wad from the pocket, and tossed it indiscriminately across the bed. She sat up, quickly snatching up each bill and began organizing it on the bed as I pulled on my shirt. I couldn't even look at her anymore. When I pulled the curtain back and stepped outside, I heard her thanking me over and over again, but I left in shame, still half angry at what the night had become.

I really wish I could say I went back to the hotel that night and woke up the next morning, fully realizing what I had done, and putting myself on a better path. I did not. I left that bar and was sucked back into another. And another. My lust and rage were insatiable. That first girl bore the brunt of it, but several more experienced my savagery that night. I remember four in total, but I know there were more. I later found that I hit the ATM three times that night and according to the front desk, stumbled in just as the sun was rising, with a street girl on my arm. They refused to allow her in and miraculously, I didn't make a scene, I just went upstairs and passed out in my room. That next morning, I woke up with a splitting headache, a sore dick, and a mountain of regret. Never again, I told myself.

The next day I nursed my hangover and convinced myself it was a one-off. I had flashes of the night and surprisingly, no deep burning guilt for my family. I regretted the drinking, my anger, and being completely out of control in general. I went to bed early that night, woke up just after dawn, and ventured out of town to see the rural sights. Upon my return the guy at the hotel desk recommended a restaurant down the road and I stepped in for a nice meal of local cuisine. Halfway through my meal a server came over and dropped a glass of rice wine at the table. I tried explaining to him that I hadn't ordered it, but the language barrier was too great. I sat there, finished up my food and stared at that glass.