The Long Road Home; pt. 5

He was tired. For so long he had no where to go and no idea where he was going. She took her clothes off, and sat on the bed. The room reeked of alcohol and bad sex. He noticed dried blood on the wall beside the television set. He felt disturbed, but the scenario seemed all too familiar too him.
“Uh, maybe we can just get some coffee, or something,” he said.
She looked at him with a cold and castrating glare, “You drag me all the way up here and you’re not even going to get it done.”
He felt emasculated. He noticed a fifth of whiskey on a sink at the side of the room. He poured himself a drink. The warmth and comfort of the alcohol soothed his mind, and he decided to go through with the act.
He approached her at the bed, and kissed her. She pushed him away, “None of that,” she said.
He didn’t understand her hesitance. She did not want any emotions; this was purely for satisfaction, or even comfort. He had no problem with this, and he took his time taking his pants off.
“Do it,” she said.
He slid his hands between her legs. She was undeniably sexy, skin smooth and milky, like an actress in an old Film Noir. She remained silent, and he wondered if he was doing it right, it had been a while. She grabbed his penis, making him painfully aware of his total lack of an erection.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” she said.
He was humiliated. His face wore a color of red generally associated with blood. He simply couldn’t feel. He wanted to be alive, to give this strange and exotic woman comfort, but he lacked the courage and fortitude to be fully engaged in the act of love. Or maybe, there was something else to the situation.
She kicked him out of bed and he swiftly put his clothes back on. She put on the television, flipping through the channels, and stopped when she noticed “Casablanca” being played on AMC.
“Life is never like this,” she said.
“It can be,” he said, “some people can live like that, but we are of a dead generation.”
“Don’t get fucking philosophical on me,” she said, “I can’t even get a decent lay out of a useless prick like you.”
He felt suddenly violent. He wanted to lunge at her, but she was of such inconsequence to him that the feelings of hurt vanished as if they were never there to begin with.
“Get the fuck out,” she said.
He walked towards the doorway, and looked at her one last time. She lay there, mouthing along to Humphrey, “Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.”
He opened the door, and gazed into the abyss. Then, he walked back into the darkness, and made his way to the road.