But He Stopped Pt 2

Dirt On Your Shoulder

"Thanks, Sister." I winked at the woman.

Her brunette hair was kept long and in a, decidedly messier than before, bun. Her bright hazel eyes were lifeless and doped up. She smiled back at me sloppily sighing in sated pleasure.

She had probably been stunning once. I shook my head, dismissing the thought.

Most the chicks I was with these days just wanted a quick moment of ecstasy with drugs. And that was my style. No more love, no more proposals. No more being played. Everything was out on the table, I knew where I stood and so did my partners. I pulled the brahamin intestine condom off, letting it fall to the floor with a disgusting noise.

The one good thing I could gather from it was the experience. I had learned about women, how to listen to their bodies instead of their voices or words. Sometimes they were verbal, taking little effort to get off. Other women were very quiet and needed a little more convincing. Those ones were my favorite, learning to read each twitch of muscle, each sigh, and hand clench to help me get them where I wanted them to go. It amazed me how few men took the time to get to know a women that intimately.

It was far more rewarding and they always came back for more. I let the door close behind me, wandering through the cramped up metal room, past the myriad of occupied mattresses, the drugged up and intimate groups. The haze of chems made everything seem surreal. I pushed through the door into the sunlight and took a deep breath. I didn't realize how stale I had felt as the clean air filled my lungs. When I exhaled it was as though a layer of dust left my body. I crossed around the purifying plant and across a few crop fields to my house.

"Mom," I let the door slam shut as I strode across the new carpet. "I'm home. Let's get you cleaned up..."

Guilt washed over me as the smell of rotting food, urine, and filth assaulted my nose. I rubbed my temples, my all-night bender had turned into a few days and Mom had been alone. Of course she had been. Guy was busy pushing his political campaign and was too preoccupied to visit, let alone care for, our mother. I'd just wanted to relax a little bit and taken it too far.

I looked in the mirror, wincing at my reflection. Between the drugs, lack of sleep, and various women I entertained myself with I was looking worse for wear. The dark circles and bags under my eyes made the light blue look haunted, the blood-shot whites didn't help any. My skin had sunken in during my wild, extended, weekend. My hand moved to my knotted, filthy hair now at shoulder length. My clothes weren't much better; covered in sweat, chem residue, bodily fluids of myself and various women. Absently I scratched at the pinprick scabs now scarring over. The ghost of shame shadowed me as I moved back towards Mom's room.

Shame that I had been using drugs to mute my pain. Shame that I used women as a means to an end, no matter how delightful the in between was for both partners. Shame that women seemed drawn to me for the connections I had and chems I could get them. I knocked on Mom's door softly before opening it.

The smell attacked me, the sight nearly killed me.

Mom was laying in her bed, her IV bag was empty; her bed was filthy and stained. It was obvious the nurse I had hired had never come by which meant Guy had probably forgotten to schedule someone.

I should have known better. I raged, anger consuming everything else as I replaced the IV bag, emptied the bad pan and the overflowing bag of Mom's wastes.

"I'm sorry Mom." I whispered. "Someone was supposed to come by and take care of you."

I carefully peeled her clothes off, putting them in a metal bucket. They were getting burned. It was a huge struggle for my chem-weakened muscles, but I moved mom onto a covered bed, taking my time to scrub her own mattress and bedding clean. I hung the wet items outside to dry and replaced the sheets, pillows, and blankets.