Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Dark Life of Scott Winthrope, Part One

Scott rolled from his side, coughing and hacking as he tried to clear his parched throat. Looking with a bloodshot eye blearily around the room, he heaved a sigh as he caught sight of a shapely thigh half draped over his lower half, connected to a bass guitarist whose name he couldn’t quite remember at the moment, as it felt like miners were trying to crack open his skull as if it were the second gold rush. Lifting her thigh from his midsection, he swung his own legs over the side of the bed and raised his body up to a half sitting position, fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand. Scratching his back as he slipped his glasses on, Scott looked around the room in disgust.

His grandfather had died a very rich man with very few relatives, a few estranged nephews and an odd cousin or two were all that had showed up to the rainy funeral, the dismal little day leading to a long drinking binge for Scott as he did his best to honor his grandfather’s memory by wiping it from his mind. Kicking over an empty bourbon bottle on the wooden floor, Scott rose to his feet slowly, stretching out the kinks in his body as he made his way to the bathroom.
The large house had been his grandfather’s crowning achievement, a three bedroom mansion set atop a hill in the lush hill country of Texas, where he’d spent his days studying various little research projects that interested the old man in his twilight years. While Scott had yet to explore the majority of the house, he’d become well acquainted with the wine cellar and the kitchen, along with the halls leading to the main bedroom, where he’d brought girl after girl from the local bars for a string of one-night stands.
Scott smiled at that, opening the door to the bathroom and padding over the tile from the wood, finding the toilet to relieve himself.
“What would Mom say if she saw me now?” Scott mused as he urinated, taking only a mild interest in where his stream landed. “Getting drunk every night, playing guitar in dive bars, hooking up with farmer’s daughters… I bet she’d have a fit!”
Dear old Mother was not a figure that Scott had gotten along with during her lifetime. A raging alcoholic Catholic, she’d forced religion upon him at a young age, and incited his father to beat him whenever there was a slight against her, real or imagined. Scott had made peace with his father’s violent past, though he’d never really been able to let go of his mother’s indifferent attitude towards the abuse.
Clearing his throat, Scott flushed the toilet before moving over to the exquisite marble sinks, he rubbed at the uneven growth on his face while examining himself in the mirror. Looking at his skinny frame and short cropped black hair, Scott mused over the fates that had been thrust upon him at birth; while not overly ugly in any way, he was far from a teenage idol. Looking at his sunken eyes and narrow cheeks, he looked like a freshly risen zombie that was strongly reconsidering the deed. His frame was lithe and scrawny, though he’d lately been doing his best to try and remedy this through a regimen of yoga and weight lifting. So far the result had been a slightly more toned walking corpse.
“Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man…” Scott mused as he thought of the body he longer for, and the lengths that he had been taking to get it.
All for her.
Jessica Samson. A local barmaid that was a beauty beyond compare. Too beautiful for Scott to approach in his current state of being. And so he visited other bars, and other clubs; playing music with a few other musicians he’d found via Craigslist, bedding any girl that got drunk enough to see past Scott’s pallid appearance and more at his musical ability.
“Eh, what does Nietzsche know anyway…?” Scott grumbled, reaching into his medicine cabinet for a bottle of aspirin. Popping three of the large white pills from the plastic container, he chased them down with a fistful of water from the sink, sighing as he felt them settle in his stomach.
A stirring noise from the other room caught Scott’s attention. “Ah, what’s-her-name must be waking up… wonder what the reaction will be this time?”
Strolling out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, still naked, Scott smiled down at the blonde haired woman supine in his bed, the sheets tussled over her glorious body, hiding just the beginning of a small tattoo on the small of her back. Cracking her eyes open, she blinked a few times before she could focus on Scott, who merely smiled. Then she flinched back at his grin.
“Good morning!” He smiled, reaching down to pull a spare sheet from the floor to wrap around his lower half. “Now that the coyote ugly has occurred, this would be the time when you vamoose! Your keys should be in the ceramic bowl by the door. Try not to let the door hit you on the way out.”
“Oh my god, what did I drink last night…?” The woman asked as she propped herself up on her elbow.
“A bottle of bourbon here, four tequila shots downstairs, an indeterminate amount of beer at the bar, and I have a sneaking suspicion you sampled some of my favorite wine from the fridge when I wasn’t looking.”
“Oh god, my head feels like it’s in a vice…” She whined, holding up an arm over her eyes, the sheet dropping low enough to reveal a bare breast.
Scott smiled grimly as he thrust the bottle of aspirin her way, clearing his throat. “You can cover yourself, if you’d like. I have a feeling your panties are around here somewhere…”
“No, I remember you tore them off me…” The woman replied with a heavy sigh as she snatched the bottle from Scott’s hand.
“Really? The weightlifting is paying off then.” Scott mused, walking over to his closet to pull out a fresh tee shirt for the day ahead, as well as last night’s jeans. Dressing swiftly as he listening to the woman gripe and moan about her head, Scott pulled on his pants, buckling the belt in place before looking back at the woman. “So what’s your name?”
The woman shot him an evil glare. “Wow, real subtle there…”
Scott shrugged. “I think subtlety left the room the moment we did what we did to each other. I must say you are a remarkably flexible girl for someone so involved in a band.”
She flushed, looking over the side of the bed and fishing up her Led Zeppelin shirt, pulling it over her head. “My name is Sonya asshole… what’s your name?”
“Scott, Scott Winthrope.” Scott replied, eyeing her as she dressed from behind the cover of the sheets. “Your pants are by the door I think.”
“Then grab them for me!”
“The front door, I mean.” Scott clarified, a hint of amusement crossing his features.
“Not a word…” Sonya growled, eyeing him from the confines of the bed.
Scott smiled, pantomiming a zipper being dragged across his lips before turning and walking out of the room and down the hall.

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