Desha's Reno of the Turks Fan Fiction

So what if I’m drunk again? It’s my life… my own sorry ass I’m dragging home through mako-lit streets at four in the morning… None of anyone’s damned business why I’m staggering down alleyways and fighting the urge to wretch, all while trying to keep my balance on ground that won’t hold still.

Yeah, I feel like shit, but ya know what? I’ll feel ten times worse come tomorrow when the hangover hits, and I’ll end up spending half the morning on my knees worshipping at the porcelain alter. So I’m gonna enjoy the feeling of being drunk outta my mind while it lasts. Makes me feel strangely lucid… Bet ya wouldn’t have guessed that if you’d seen me an hour ago…

It’s an escape, you could say, and fuck knows I need it sometimes… ‘kay, maybe more than sometimes, but that’s my shit and I’ll thank you to stay out of it. You think it’s easy doing what I do? Yeah, well… you go drop half a fucking city on a few thousand slum scum and see how you feel then…

Hell, I probably knew some of ’em… Didn’t always live up on top. So if you don’t mind, I’m just gonna drag my skinny ass off to bed and let the alcohol do it’s thing. Probably won’t remember a damn thing in the morning. Nothin’ new about that.

Really wanna know why I put myself through this? Why I do this to myself when I know it’s just a matter of time before I gotta face the god-damned world again with a splitting headache and the gnawing feeling in my gut that comes from spending a couple hours bringing up every scrap of undigested food from the day before?

It’s a small price to pay, that’s why. For the fee of one truly miserable morning, I can spend the night totally detached. I don’t have to be me for those few hours when I’m so fucking drunk I couldn’t tell you my name if you asked me. Just let my body do whatever the hell it wants with whoever the hell it wants, while I sit back and watch. Fuck if I care… Like I said, I won’t remember any of it in the morning.

Won’t even remember how good it feels to be like this… but I always come back for more, cuz I know there’s something waiting for me at the bottom of the bottle, and I know I’ll like it when I find it.

I’ve been told I act like I’m outta my mind when I’ve had more than a few too many… I think it’s the other way around though. My mind’s outta me. Shit, I don’t even know if that makes sense. Let me say it like this. It’s like I leave and my body’s on autopilot, and I can just watch and feel free. No worries, no guilt, no nothin’… All of it’s gone. Of course, it all comes crashing back right about now… right about the time I’m heading home, feeling only half in control of my movements and holdin’ onto buildings to stay on my feet.

This is the point when I start to feel more or less like Hell warmed over, and I know the only thing I have to look forward to is an up close and personal relationship with the toilet in about two hours. But I still say it’s worth it.

Good thing my apartment’s not too far away… Shit, these stairs get harder to climb every single night. So… nothing left to do now but pass out somewhere ’til morning. Then it’ll be the familiar gagging and heaving while most people are having breakfast, and the usual promise to myself that I’m gonna stop abusing myself like this. Never was much good at keeping promises…

-fin-