Dealing
He expected the room to be darker. More places to hide. The florescent lights gave everyone a nasty pallor. Not just him.
Why had he come? What had possessed him? What was he doing in this room full of losers?
Fitting in.
He was doing it for her, doing it for Dawn. He sure as hell wasn’t doing it for himself, was he?
Dawn, who rode, her arms wrapped tightly around his narrow waist, totally trusting, on the back of the cycle. She, who made that godawful/delightful burping gag when she swallowed. In the bar, in the crypt.
So now, in a room full of losers, the ugly disgusting thing, listening. Listening to some ugly, disgusting things.
This was ridiculous. He was leaving. He stood to go, but her eyes were everywhere. Her cold eyes, full of contempt. “You’re beneath me.”
There were so many things he had no control over, things he couldn’t change. There were things he could.
“Hello,” he said, “My name is William, and I’m an alcoholic."