Adam absently drummed his fingers on the table as he pushed a chunk of potato around on his plate. He hated potatoes, but the only alternative was a box of Kraft dinner, which he loathed even more.
How long had it been since he had eaten a decent hot meal? Eating had become a chore, a bland experience that he was slowly moving away from. Money was painfully tight these days. He had already cut the cable and many other fringe benefits that would make his days either interesting or comfortable.
Most days, he wondered why he even bothered. He was serving no purpose, and he knew it. He had dropped out of school in the tenth grade due to depression. His family had been…dysfunctional, to say the least, which had only served to aggravate his dreary outlook on life. What was the point of going on? The point of living was to grow and evolve, to rise above one's past, even one's current circumstances.
He had never come close to accomplishing such a feat.
All he knew how to do was watch. His camera had always served as a buffer against the world. He didn't have to get too close. He didn't have to give up anything. Socially retarded was a label he had coined for himself. There was nothing more difficult than being with people, opening up to them, feeling for them.
He set his fork on the table, abandoning the nauseating attempts to eat the cold mush he had made. He reached into his pocket and got a cigarette. A simple pleasure he wasn't prepared to go without. He blew a ring of smoke into the air and savoured the moment. He didn't need food as long as he had cigarettes.
It didn't matter. Things would be a lot better for the next month or two. He had been approached by a man named Bob and tonight was his first night on the job. Bob had called earlier that day to confirm it. It was a good paying job that would last at least two weeks, and at $200 per night, it was an offer he simply couldn't refuse.
He inhaled another breath of smoke and smiled. Yes, things will be better, he thought. He had already sold his integrity, so he may as well go all the way. He was tired of going hungry; he was tired of having no heat and only five minutes of hot water every few days. He had to just take what he could. Fuck it, he had to live.
He would be tailing some doctor. He knew the type. He had done this before. It wasn't exciting, but it was work. Such men were pathetic, but Adam knew he himself was no better, so he reserved judgment. Two hundred bucks was enough to keep his mouth closed and his questions repressed.
He butted his cigarette and scraped the remaining potatoes into the trashcan. Yes, it was a waste, but hey, his first $200 installment would be a arriving shortly. He'd go out for pizza or burgers. Yeah, that sounded really good.
He dumped his dishes into the sink and ambled into the bedroom like he did every night at this time. It was more of a closet with a mattress in it, but it served its purpose.
There was no logical reason to close the door. No one had been in his apartment for six months, but he knew that there was no sense in giving anyone the chance to see him. After all, he knew he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of his chosen profession.
He unfastened his belt and freed himself from the confines of his pants. His hands were cold and the temperature difference was…oddly pleasurable. He inhaled sharply as he began the slow, mechanical movements. He closed his eyes and let the warm tingling feeling spread through him.
Ah, the pleasure of self-stimulation. Sure, fucking a woman had its perks, but most of them wanted a commitment and became clingy after he showed them a good time. It wasn't a tradeoff worthy of the headache. At least this way, he could still get a taste of what he wanted without the vulnerability.
He often wondered what was wrong with him. Why was the world beyond the safety of his apartment so…scary? What was it about people in general that made him want to run and hide? He couldn't remember a time when it hadn't been like this. Being a child in a classroom of happy, vibrant children had been torture. Standing at the front of a classroom facing thirty pairs of cold eyes had been enough to bring about collapse. People were scary, and he had never had the need for anyone.
Even now, in the privacy of his room, he felt ashamed for what he was doing. He had felt ashamed ever since he discovered that his mother had once watched him without his knowledge. If ever there was a day he wanted to die, that had been it.
He chuckled at the irony. He had caused more strife than even he realized by doing the exact same thing to others that his mother had done to him. Watching them without consent.
His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he neared the precipice of release. His pace quickened and his body erupted in a fit of euphoric intoxication. A moan escaped his lips. He continued the movements, easing out every last ripple of pleasure.
Oh yes.
He situated himself and refastened his belt. It was the highlight of his day – of every day – and it was now over. Another cigarette was in order. The bedroom door creaked as he opened it and he found his carton and lighter on the kitchen table. He removed one and lit it as his stomach emitted a low growl.
Patience, he thought.
He grabbed his Discman from the couch and drowned out the silence with this own brand of dreary rock. If he must be of a negative mindset, he may as well enjoy it. He laid down on the dilapidated couch and lost himself in his music and a newspaper he had picked up earlier that day. He didn't know why he had bothered with it. The music droned on, distorting his sense of time, and he fell asleep.
He was brought to some time later by the sound of a brisk knock on his door. His Discman had come to a stop. He shook the sleep from his body as he stumbled to the door.
"I'm comin'," he yelled.
He fumbled with the aging lock that served as yet another barrier between him and all that was beyond his front door. Once he released the lock, he swung the door back to reveal a tall black man who had a thick scar around his neck. He had wanted to ask about it, but decided that the less he knew, the better.
Without so much as a hello, Bob handed him a wad of $200 in small bills and a note with his target's address and left.
Strange man, Adam thought.
But what did it matter? He had money for food, money for beer and cigarettes, and he'd have enough to keep his water and heat for a few months. He closed the door and grabbed his keys and his camera. First on to get some real food, and then on to his first night trailing some loser.
Yes, things were starting to look a little better.