Page 5 of Michael's Awakening
Chapter Two
Michael
It was that time again. That time when the sun set in the sky and cast the world into darkness. It was the time of day that I dreaded most, when all light disappeared and left me alone with the nightmares inside my mind.
Twenty years had passed since the horrors of my childhood were put to an end. Within those many years, I had learned to cope with the trauma, but there were still moments where I felt like the weight of my past was just too much to bear. Moments where the despondency crept up my spine and wrapped around my throat, suffocating me.
Moments like now.
I sat at my kitchen table, a glass of whiskey in hand, and stared out the glass door that revealed the countryside surrounding my house. Out there, I was secluded from everyone and everything. My isolation from the world was by my own choice. It was better for everyone if I just stayed to myself, outside of my profession. As much as I craved companionship, I knew I could never truly have it. Not without a price. Not a monetary price, but rather an emotional one.
I was always in a constant battle with myself.
Deep down, I believed I was a good person. I felt like I made a difference in the world. But those thoughts were buried so deep and were always overcome and overshadowed by feelings of intense self-loathing.
You little beast!The bite in my mother’s tone as she belittled me was still strong in my mind, even twenty years later. Growing up, that was all I had heard. And after a while, after being told something so often, a person started to believe it.
If I were to try and get close to someone– closer to them than just a physical, sexual release– I knew they’d reject me once they saw me for what I actually was. Repulsion would cloud their eyes and they’d toss me away in a heartbeat.
Lifting the glass of whiskey to my lips, I took a long drink. It burned as it went down my throat, but I didn’t mind. It was nice to feel something, even if it was through a drunken haze. I didn’t drink to excess often.
With my job, being a drunk would inhibit my ability to work effectively. My mind always needed to be clear in the courtroom. However, sometimes in the evenings, I turned to my good, well-acquainted friend, Jack, to help me forget about things.
If only for a little while.
The reason unbeknownst to me, I chose to live with my pitiful existence, instead of ending my misery. It wasn’t because I was afraid of death. Death would actually be a relief. I think a small part of me still wanted to believe that things would eventually get better– that there was more to my life than just the pain I had suffered. Or maybe the reason was because I felt like I was helping the world by ensuring that justice was served with my line of work.
Within the numerous years of practicing law, I had won more cases than I had lost. I had a real knack for prosecuting criminals. It wasn’t winning that satisfied me, though, it was the fact that low-life pieces of filth were taken off the streets and put away, unable to harm anyone else.
Whatever the reason was, I was alive.
Tilting the remaining liquid from the glass to my mouth, I finished it off and scooted back from my seat, my head already spinning. In my semi-drunken stupor, I stumbled to my bedroom and flung myself on my bed, on top of the blanket. My eyes found the bookshelf in the corner of my room and I stared at it, too uncoordinated to do much else at that moment.
Books lined my shelf: books on poetry and sonnets, classic literature, and philosophy, as well as a few law textbooks. Those might sound like an odd fascination, especially coming from someone like me, but I had found that studying the words of ideological men of the past helped me make sense of my own purpose in the world. A lot of the poetry, I skipped. It was too focused on happiness and love for my taste.
It was the poetry that spoke of darkness that piqued my interest.
Even the darkest of souls held the chance for redemption. Whether that was true or not, I didn’t know, but the idea made for a decent distraction in my gloomiest of hours. Laying my head on the pillow, I closed my eyes. Hopefully now with the whiskey coursing through my veins and blanketing my mind with a layer of numbness, I could get some sleep.
With any luck, I wouldn’t dream.
