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Buster

April 20, 2015

I wonder what Molly will do now that her father has driven away in our only damned fucking car.

Fucker. I am done, I think, but don’t actually believe myself. He isn’t handsome anymore because he is always drunk and I don’t find him attractive any longer while I am drunk.

Fucker. I contemplate calling my mother but I don’t. Yet. Maybe he will call me later, out of gas, spent all his money on something temporary and can’t get any where he wants to be so he will want to come home. Home to Molly. I know I shouldn’t feel competition with our daughter for his attention but I do. He didn’t leave her but he left me.

He left me while I begged him to go.

I walk over to the music and shut it off, drink the rest of my drink and turn off the light standing in the dark, still in my underwear and look at my empty bed.

I’ll call my mother in the morning, make a plan to leave before he can come home. How quickly can  I pack up all of our stuff? Christ the kid has lot of shit and my old furniture is heavy. Do I want to drive a big assed truck back to my parents house?

Molly is little and she will learn to live like this, without him, easily. It will be easy because I just won’t talk about him anymore.

Fucker. I’m done. I get in bed, pull up the covers roll over and his pillow smells like him. I pick it up, walk over to the door and toss it into the hallway getting back into bed and close my eyes. Closing your eyes you can pretend to sleep until it just comes up and you are out.

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