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, ____, ( 03/11/01 anada461 ,
/ \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \
/ \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \
/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "Oh Well" `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by Unrelated ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
We we're drunk as fuck in her father's trailer when my girlfriend
decided to tell me she was pregnant. I don't know how. I distinctly
remember using a condom every god damned time. However, she assured me that
there were a couple of blackout instances. I was fucked, her father hated
me with a passion not to be rivaled and if he knew about the pregnancy I'd
end up in a shotgun wedding.
So I somehow convinced her to help me pack a couple of bags, steal
the car, and head for Vegas to get married. She was thinking love, kids and
family. I was thinking black-jack, whiskey, and whores.
We took off from that small Arizona town at about 10 o'clock that
night. With only a couple of bucks in my pocket and a 3/4 tank of gas I
figured we could easily gas 'n' go the rest of the way. I kept running
through shit in my head. Scenario after vision haunted scenario of her and
a backwoods baptist wedding. The whole time trying to keep a calm collected
expression on my face as I told her how much I loved her. Those love struck
eyes of hers made me sick.
Out of whiskey and almost out of gas I pulled off the desert highway
into the first gas station I could find. The place was just closing as I
walked in the door. It was small inside and had the smell of incense.
There was maybe just enough room for maybe 5 or 6 people.
Behind the counter and old indian man stood looking tired. I asked
him to set up 6 fifths of whiskey while I went out to get the money and have
my girlfriend fill up the tank. When she was done and the guy was about to
give me a price I asked him to add a carton of smokes as well. When he
turned and bent down to get it I grabbed one of the bottles and cracked him
over the top of his head. The old bastard didn't know what hit him. He
slumped down to the ground with a soft thud as blood began to trickle down
the side of his face onto the collar of his blue shirt.
I hopped the counter, took the keys from his pocket and emptied out
the register. Then I shut all the lights off, grabbed the alcohol, smokes,
and security tape, locked the doors and left. I figured it wasn't too far
to Vegas, why make it easy for them to find me right?
With enough alcohol to keep a reservation drunk for a week I
continued on our journey. The bitch kept trying to fall asleep on me. I
couldn't have that, if I was going to be awake so was she, besides, we had
whiskey to drink. I somehow managed to keep her awake and drunk for most of
the trip. The drunk part was easy, she never refused alcohol, no matter how
fucked up she was. There wasn't much conversation except for the occasional
"When we gettin' marri'd?" "Soon dear, soon," I'd reply.
That lonely hour when we pulled into the Vegas city limits she was
barely conscious. Perfect. I drove around for a while looking for a shitty
part of town to hide in. I figured it couldn't be to hard and after 15
minutes I ended up checking us into a place called "The Love Rumpus Motel."
It was a stereotypical motel room with vibrating bed, roaches and blood
stains on the walls.
I left her and went out to find a hooker. Who better to know where
to find a street doctor at this time of night I thought? After a few girls,
dollars and a blow job I found myself on the way back to the motel with a
number on a napkin. It wasn't much but it was all I had.
I got back to the motel and gave the number a call from a payphone on
the corner. It picked up on the second ring. "Brian," a relatively young
voice came out. Not quite the old haggard edge I was expecting. I gave my
story and he gave me a price. I accepted. He told me he'd be right over.
I only had to wait a few minutes before a man in a black suit
carrying a briefcase walked up to me. It was Brian. He took my money and
told me that it would be about 3 hours before the "procedure" was over. So
I decided to go gamble with my last $20.
Within the first 15 minutes I lost $15 of my $20 at the black jack
tables. So I took the last $5 over to the nickel machines. I sat there for
about 3 hours drinking comp drinks trying to put shit out of my head.
Losing my last nickel, I figured I should get back to the room to see how
things were.
I arrived to the sound of muffled screams and a couple of voices
coming from inside my room. This proceeded to worry me a bit.
Half-blitzed on comp drinks I stepped back a few feet and shouldered
the door open. Upon entering the room, two large men sandwiching my
girlfriend both quickly turned to me, each holding really big fucking guns.
The bed was soaked in blood. I froze. They both started laughing not
missing a single beat to the rhythm in which they were fucking her.
I felt my bladder release and my stomach cramp. Instinct took me. I
ran into the bathroom to vomit things I had eaten years ago. Then I blacked
out.
I awoke to the most horrible screaming I think I've ever heard.
There I was lying on the bathroom floor in a puddle of piss and vomit with
an envelope in my hand. I got up, put the envelope in my coat pocket, and
went to see if there was anything I could do. Shit was bad, really bad.
Those eyes that once loved looked like they now meant to kill. I
guess being raped by to large men after having an involuntary abortion in a
shitty fuck shack in Vegas does strange things to a girl.
I was right. She took a flying lunge at me. I stepped to the side
and kind of pushed her, all the while trying to calm her down. It didn't
work. She came at me again, this time I balled up my right hand and caught
her left eye as hard as I could. She fell back unconscious.
[*****]
I guess I felt kind of bad when I realized she was all alone in that
hell-hole of a town with no money, no friends, and no car.
The envelope held a couple of grand and the California state line was
only a few miles ahead.
Maybe I should have went back to her. I guess she shouldn't have
gotten knocked up in the first place.
Oh well... accidents happen.
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`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by Unrelated `-.^.-'
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