It’s been almost four years, but lately I’ve been thinking about her daily. Hell, I have always thought about her daily, but now she haunts my mind every waking second of the day. I wish I was lucky enough to avoid her in my sleep, but it’s even worse then. My dreams are filled with visions of her laughing and of us making love; those dreams are the best because I can actually feel the emotion in them. Before the dream ends, it is always the same—the dream morphs into the day we broke up, the day I left her shattered in pieces, then all that happiness evaporates into a gut-searing pain. I wake up in a cold fucking sweat Every. Single. Night. Lately, the dreams are getting even more vivid and they seem to last a lot longer. I wonder how many times I can relive seeing the heartbreak in her eyes and feel the pain crushing through my soul.
It really doesn’t help that tomorrow is her birthday, but that’s why I volunteered to come out here this weekend—so that I would be sure to stay far away from Los Angeles. I know, without a doubt, if I had stayed home I would’ve gone to Connor’s party and gotten drunk. Anytime an emotional anniversary comes up it seems like Connor is having a party that weekend. As much as I tell myself I won’t drink, I always do, to the point of oblivion. Well, up until six months ago that is. Up until I fucked Vanessa right under Daniel’s nose. To be fair, I would’ve never been with her on a good day sober or drunk. She’s a grade A bitch, and I still wonder if she didn’t slip something in my drink that night because even drunk, I have never not known who I was fucking.
The best thing that came out of that night was Daniel finally breaking up with her. It killed us all to see how much she continually used him for his money. I get that she comes from trailer trash, drug addict parents who are barely conscious of what day it is, but she didn’t have to be vindictive and act like life owes her something. I grew up privileged, but I left it all behind and built myself up from the bottom after Katherine and I broke up. Leaving was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but it was the best thing that could’ve happened to me and helped me grow into the man I was meant to be.
I need this weekend to be all about pleasure, my pleasure. Hopefully that will keep Katherine Moore out of my head once and for all. I’m looking forward to just losing myself in someone. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s pleasing women in bed, but in order to do that I need to find the right kind of girl. I don’t want a girl that’s going to want to latch on, or one that wants to exchange phone numbers. Hell, I’m perfectly fine with not even knowing her name because half the time I don’t remember it anyway. It always amazes me how gullible some women are. They are so easily excited when you call them by an endearing name. They have no clue I call them sweetie, sweetheart, baby, honey, sunshine, precious, beautiful or darling because I have forgotten their names. The goal for tonight is to find a hot girl with a nice ass and a great rack that I can bend over and fuck the living daylights out of. I prefer one I can tie to my bed so I can have complete control. It’s not like I have a fetish or anything, I just really don’t like to be caressed and touched a lot. I don’t like or want intimacy with my sex, not since Katherine. I just want to take them hard and rough. Believe it or not, girls love it. I’m great at giving multiple orgasms which is a skill I have developed over time. That’s another thing I regret about Katherine, I never tried to give her multiples. That’s something I would’ve loved to watch. Even after all this time I have never seen anyone come the way she did, it was exquisite. Just thinking about it now, years later, still makes me hard. Damn it. I need to get drunk fast so I can push her to the back of my mind; I’m so tired of thinking about her.
When the elevator doors open, my mood lightens up. I love casinos. Even the overwhelming smell of smoke is okay because it’s all part of the atmosphere. Vegas is truly the place where no one gives a fuck what anyone does, how they dress, or how they act. If you aren’t walking around drunk, you’re not doing Vegas right. Already there are girls eyeing me up—I know they think I’m hot and tonight I play it up to my advantage. It’s not like I’m even slightly conceited, but I’ve been asked many times if I’m a long lost Hemsworth brother and I know girls think they’re hot.
Tonight I’m wearing a very tight black t-shirt that grips all of my muscles, a comfortable pair of blue jeans, and my black Dr. Martens. The tattoos on my arms are visible and my hair is styled with just a little bit of gel in that way girls tell me is ’just so hot’. Personally, I don’t really care how my hair looks—I’m more than happy to just buzz it off—but the one time I did, I seriously lacked in hookups for two months while it grew back. Who would have thought a guy’s hair would make that much of a difference to girls?
I take a seat at my favorite bar and throw some money in the video poker machine while waiting for the bartender to make his way down here. I love this place; by the time Dave comes down he’s already got my drink in his hand. “Hey, Mike. How’s it going, man? I got your gin and tonic, Bombay Sapphire with limes of course.”
I take the drink and shake his hand. “Thanks, Dave. It’s been a while, how’ve you been?”