Playboy
Mansion, Bunnies included.” His voice dropped and he spoke in a rough growl. “And
as for your ‘work’ you’re nowhere near done and your deadline is right around
the corner. That’s not writer’s block, that’s complete creative constipation.
You are fucked on so many levels. And instead of doing something about it,
you’re drinking like it’s Mardi Gras every night and throwing yourself at women
who’d rather sew their lady parts closed than have anything to do with you.
What is your damage exactly? I`ve never seen you like this before. Should I be
calling your mom? Staging an intervention? Arranging an exorcism? What? Tell me
what I should do? Cause I’m telling you. You are scaring the crap out of me with
this self-destructive bullshit.”
Kevin
ran his hands through his hair and turned towards the busy street. Duncan had
never talked to him like this before. They were guys. They didn’t discuss the
state of their mental health. They didn’t have to. They’d known each other
forever. Being reproached like this seemed a weird sort of betrayal. Was his
friend really worried or was his wife just rubbing off on him with all that
‘communication’ horse shit? Duncan should trust him enough to know that he
would pull out of this tailspin before things went too far.
Kevin
wasn’t oblivious to what he was doing. He was painfully aware that he was burying
himself in booze and women to avoid thinking or feeling anything. They were his
ticket to sweet oblivion. As long as he had a drink in his hand and a woman to
seduce, dark thoughts were banished. The moment he stopped pursuing one or both
of his primary objectives, he was overwhelmed with horrible images and a sinister
knowledge he fervently wished he’d never uncovered. He had no control over his
thoughts, so instead he took the easy route and avoided thinking entirely.
And it was totally working for him. He was drowning in pleasure and goodwill.
Not a bad way to live, really. At least most of the time. He wasn’t an angry or
morose drunk. Duncan knew that. If anything, his friend was probably envious of
all the fun he was having. After all, Duncan was a married man - trapped in
domestic servitude. And now he was going to be a father. His days of chasing
women and drinking an afternoon or a weekend or even a month away were over.
Not that Duncan had ever indulged in anything so irresponsible in his entire
uptight life. He was always the voice of reason. While Kevin had a much more
laid back attitude towards everyone’s expectations. He was the healthy one, for
fuck’s sake. Not Duncan. Where the hell did he get off?
In
the spirit of friendship, Kevin got a grip on his own temper and allowed
himself to review what had just happened: The look of mild disgust on Jamie’s
face and her dismissive attitude towards him. Then he thought about the news
he’d overheard as he’d approached their table. His best friend and his lady
were about to become parents and he hadn’t even acknowledged it. He was too
busy focusing on Jamie and the possibility of getting into her very fancy
panties to congratulate his friend. And let’s not forget about the fact that he
had willingly slept with Duncan’s maleficent ex-wife recently. Despite his
protests and denials it was obvious that none of these actions belonged to a
mentally stable individual.
Was
he out of control? How long had it been since he’d written anything exactly? It
didn’t take long to recall. The nightmare hit him like a freight train and he
found himself leaning against the side of the closest building, breathing
heavily and letting the rain wash over his heated face. Images of frightened women,
blood, pain and death overwhelmed him and he wished fervently for a drink and a
warm, friendly, female body to dull the terror and fascination that gripped him
and refused to fade.
But
he didn’t have a woman or a drink to distract himself with right now so he did
the next best thing. He turned