Author's Note: So this is not my typical type of story. It's a dark snapshot of hitting rock bottom; there's definitely no sweetness and light here. Warnings for strong language and sexual situations.
Safety in Numbness
"You are one crazy son of a bitch." It almost doesn't seem sportsmanlike, Wayne Smith thought as he tucked a $20 bill into the shirt pocket of the man who stood before him. The bearded man was lean-muscled, had a weary look about him. From the way he'd been drinking, Wayne figured a strong wind could blow him over, but he had also heard the other regulars say this guy was like the Tin Man. He took a licking and came back for more as though he didn't feel a thing. "You sure about this?"
"Do it."
No hesitation on his part. Yes, he was one crazy son of a bitch. The burly man hauled back and threw a punch.
Nathan Wuornos heard the sound as the man's fist connected with his jaw. A thud. No crunch. At least that was something. He perceived himself moving backward as his body automatically fought to balance itself against the hit. Odd not to feel the force of the strike. The acrid taste of blood filled his mouth, the only sense of injury he had. He paused to spit, to wash away the taste with the cheap beer. The raucous crowd around him cheered in the dimly lit dive.
"Another beer for the Tin Man," Wayne called to the brunette waitress who threw a dirty look at the crowd but went to fulfill the order nonetheless.
Another patron pulled out a $20 and waved it in front of Nathan, but Nathan pushed it away. "Later. I have another drink coming."
A murmur of disappointment came from the patron.
"It's a shame to ruin that beautiful face. Of course, it's also a shame to hide it behind that beard." Her voice was like honey, cloyingly sweet, suggestive. It pierced through the fog of his mind.
Nathan's eyes followed her as she brushed past him, much as her eyes stayed on him as she walked away. She was blonde. Her eyes were blue, the wrong shade, lips thinner than hers, though they curled softly into an invitation. The low cut shirt she wore barely covered her full breasts.
Her finger curved. Follow me.
The crowd whooped as he did.
"A drink's not the only thing he has coming," Wayne commented loudly.
They went out back, the street lights the only illumination between the crumbling brick wall of the bar and the metal dumpster. Shadows surrounded them, but he could see enough. She lifted her skirt, pulling the tiny swath of fabric from under it. One hand lingered under the skirt suggestively.
"My name's Nathan." It had been so long since he'd uttered the words, he was almost separate from the identity. Nathan Wuornos had once been a name he could wear with pride. Now it felt like a curse.
"I don't care," she laughed as she launched herself at him and pushed him against the wall, her body flush with his. He felt none of it. Not even as her hands found his belt, unhooking it, and he heard the tell-tale sound of his metal zipper being lowered. She palmed him with one hand, even as she took one of his hands and pressed it against her ample breast.
Noticing his lack of arousal, she frowned. "You take punches off men like they're nothing. They say you can't be real."
"They send you to find out?" Nathan snarled.
She shrugged. "I took it as a personal challenge." With that she freed him from his underwear, lowered her head to his flaccid cock, and took him in her mouth.
He felt nothing, though he heard clearly the eager ministrations of the woman who knelt before him.
The last time he had felt any sexual gratification had been with Sarah. Audrey but not Audrey. Her tiny hands had stroked him, and urged him to join with her. Her soft, supple skin pressed against his had offered encouragement, though he needed very little as they settled in the back seat of the convertible. Not exactly the way he would've planned it had he planned it. But she was before him, wanting him in a way Audrey never had offered. She had murmured that she didn't usually do this sort of thing, but there was something about him that captured her. And then she'd captured him. Sarah met his thrusts with ardor, his touches with sighs of bliss, and when he found his release, their eyes locked. He could see her eyes widen and then darken in the throes of her own pleasure as her muscles contracted around him.
He'd planted his seed within her that day. He hadn't known at the time they'd created a son together, but he'd known happiness. Perfection.
And now he felt nothing. None of the warmth. The tightness. The lust. The love. The laughter as they fumbled with their clothes and as she pressed sweet kisses to his neck and chest and they'd started all over again.
Numbness. That's all he had left. A shell of a man. He'd destroyed everything that ever mattered to him. Audrey. Their son. Duke. Haven.
And somehow he didn't have the guts to finally, irrevocably destroy himself. Safety in numbness, he supposed.
"Mmmm. You're awake now," the woman purred as she pulled away from him long enough to remove a foil packet from her bra.
Nathan watched as she tore the condom from the wrapper and slid it on his now-erect penis.
Nothingness.
Awake? Yes. Living? That was debatable.
"How do you want to do this?" she asked. There wasn't even a question in her mind of whether he wanted to do it but how.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because I have a weakness for hot guys." She lowered her lashes coyly before lifting her chin slightly and looking up at him. He thought the movement was as practiced as the challenge in her next words. "You do know how to fuck a woman, don't you?"
Nathan pushed her away, startling her with the force of his actions. But then his hands went to her skirt, pulling it up even as he pressed her against the brick wall and lifted her around his waist. One arm under her ass, he used his other hand trying desperately to guide himself to the bulls eye of the target. After a couple of failed attempts, she reached between them and piloted him to her opening. He rocked against her, hearing her soft grunts as he slid in and out, filling her, pushing against her as deeply as she could take him.
And quickly his movements became frenzied. Anger. Frustration. Hurt. They all poured out of him. And the woman seemed to enjoy every second of it as her grunts became louder and she threw back her head.
"Yes," she began as her nails dug into his shoulders like a vise. "Yes. Yes. Yes! I'm coming." She clung to him as she climaxed. Her breathing was heavy.
Nothing.
He felt nothing as she scraped her fingers through his beard. "You gonna come any time soon? I don't want to steal all the enjoyment for myself."
He set her down abruptly and heard the expelling of her breath as she hit the wall in an effort to regain her balance.
"Nope." He peeled the condom off, tossing it in the dumpster, before he pulled up his briefs and dirty jeans.
"A man who can keep it up? Women would pay a lot of money for that. Seems like maybe it would be better than getting beaten all day." She tugged her panties up and studied him. "You could use a shower. Maybe a meal. Want to crash at my place tonight?"
But her eyes were the wrong shade of blue, her lips thinner, her breasts fuller.
He looked toward the back door of the bar. "I've got work to do."
She smoothed her hair. "What was your name again?"
"Doesn't matter." Nathan Wuornos was dead. The only thing that remained was a shell, a shell that looked like the man who was once called Nathan.
And he found safety in numbness.