I was raised well, in a "good" family. God taught me what was right and wrong, my father taught me how to be a man, and my mother taught me how to treat a lady with proper respect. Yet, here I am. The way fate has twisted its crooked fingers around me is beyond my comprehension.
I don't know how to walk away without feeling bad. But I know how to recover well and find my next victim.
Brent once told me that women are like fish.
"Wet, slippery little bitches, man. But there are so many, and we can take whatever we want and toss 'em back." He took a drag on his cigarette, eyes closed, tilting his head back as the nicotine rushed through his veins. He passed me the cigarette and I took a puff.
"Yeah, s'pose so."
"And you got so many, man, that it doesn't matter what you do with them. Another one will pop up, pussy wet, ready to suck your dick, and-"
"Yeah, yeah, man. I get it." Sometimes I hated when Brent was so crude.
I suppose that's just it, then. I'm a hunter, and I must be merciless with my prey. I do what I want, I make them believe I'm worth keeping around...and then it's over.
I can't blame anyone but myself. Sure, Christina went and fucked someone else when we were sixteen and we were in love. Marissa only made out with me when she was drunk and didn't tell me she had a boyfriend. Justine was a mess, a total mess... But, no. I still, somehow, broke them all. And, though I felt bad at the time, I no longer feel remorse. They're fish. They're pawns. They're my entertainment, my toys, my play things.
So, cheers, my ladies. I'll drink to you.
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