I was sitting in front of some apartment building, down town, in the worst neighborhood. I had a razor on me; I was thinking about turning down an alley and just ending it all. I was hoping someone would come along and make the choice for me, rape me and slit my throat. Hell, I've already gotten comfortable with the rape part; after a few times you hardly notice, you know?
Then this guy comes along, just before dawn, and tries this Good Samaritan crap on me. He was thirty something and smelled like a car engine. He looked tired and dirty, like he hadn't showered in three days. He's eyeing me up like a piece of meat. I'm used to it. I should be fair; he could have been genuinely concerned, but I never take something like that for granted. He asked if I was all right, and I told him, "Does it fucking look like I'm all right?" He said something about being a nice guy and wanting to help. Hell, I don't trust anyone anymore. I ended up following him though, hoping he would put me out of my misery. It was his apartment building I was crying in front of.
"My name's Michael," he told me as he let me into his apartment. I didn't believe him at first. Nobody gives their real names around this town, nobody. I checked his mailbox later on; he was telling the truth.
He tried to get me to talk. I just didn't feel like it at first. He had this beautiful porcelain doll that looked a lot like I did when I was a kid. It had long brown hair, big brown eyes, and a chubby little face. I guess I was getting a little too close to it; he seemed to get really nervous as I admired it. I asked him what a grown man was doing with a doll and he told me it was his daughters. He seemed a little choked up about it, so I tried to say something nice about the situation and let it drop. I hate awkward situations like that.
The man must have been lonely. He was talking about everything, practically telling me his life story. He babbled on for a good half hour about his ex-wife and what a bitch she was after the kid died. I figured he was trying to open me up using reverse psychology. I quickly got tired of the game and offered to tell him.
I asked, "Okay, do you really want to know what happened to me?"
He said, "Yes, I would really like to know what happened to you."
So I told him a little bit about my abusive boyfriend and he became angry, acting like he was going to do something about it. He even fucking offers to have a few of his friends find this guy to beat the shit out of him. I told him not to bother; he isn't worth it.
Then he made me breakfast. I began to notice just how many empty beer cans he has laying around. He had a little bag over flowing with Budweiser, Bush, and Coors Light beer cans. It was disgusting. I should have guessed he was a drunk; the first thing he pulled out of the fridge was a beer.
He made me breakfast; oh, I don't mean just a bowl of cereal and a glass of OJ, he makes me eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, sausage, toast, a bagel with cream cheese, a bowl of cereal, half a grapefruit, a glass of orange juice and a glass of milk. This man goes all out, and I was quite impressed. He didn't burn a single thing, and made all this stuff up at once. He said he used to be a chef; I say he still is. I couldn't finish it all, but he understood and finished it up for me.
