loneliness

Another night spent staring into a glass of whiskey and wondering just where I went wrong.

The bartender told me to play something else on the jukebox. Guess they’re sick of Yes. I can’t understand how anyone could get sick of Yes, really. I change it to Pink Floyd, hoping that’ll keep him quiet for a while.

The song is Wish You Were Here. I don’t really know if I wish she was here, though.

It runs through my head every time I come here. I’m one of the regulars now. So is she, somewhere else. Somewhere darker. Some other bar in some dingy alleyway in some more violent part of town. But she’s a regular for different reasons than I am.

I know why I’m here. I know I have a drinking problem, but I don’t know if I have the will to do anything about it. It’s not as bad as it could be, I guess. The drinks are good here. I like the bite in the back of my throat, it reminds me that I’m actually alive. But I’m not really trying to numb any pain. I don’t think I need it to live or anything like that. I already know that some fermented corn water isn’t going to soothe the kind of wounds I’ve got. Most importantly, past the bottle, though… it’s warm and inviting here. Even though I have a roommate, sometimes the apartment still feels too empty.

Her, though… tch. Why even bother? If she wants blood, she can just grab any dumb schmuck off the street and bite them. What’s the point of putting up appearances?

I guess I can’t be as bitter as I want to be. Trying to look human at all is better than some of the leeches I’ve heard of. You know, full-Dracula, uncaring monsters. The ones that really do push the narrative that vampires are all of the Wyrm, to the last.

The fact is, I loved her. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Not in like a weird, incest-y way, definitely not. But when you’ve known someone literally from the moment of your birth, it’s difficult to even so much as imagine your life without them. But here I am. She ran off on me. She got bit, and only then did she start talking to me again. Yeah, I was upset. I was unimaginably upset. That usually spells bad things when you’re a Garou. But the Rage just wasn’t there. No matter how upset I was… it wasn’t anger, supernatural or otherwise. It was crushing depression. Knowing why she ran off, and knowing the expectations on my shoulders.

But I just couldn’t do it. I would never have been able to do it, and I knew it, and I still know it. I couldn’t cut her out of my life, either. Because I loved her. Because I still cared. But those other Garou, they’d ask me if I ever found her. They’d ask me what I did with her.

And I can never tell them. I can never go back. Because I can’t abandon her. I’m not physically capable. I may not have taken the offer of blood she made me, but I still can never go back. Because they’ll find out. And they’ll kill her. I’m sure they’ll kill me too, but that doesn’t matter to me. The quiet black of oblivion sounds nice to me, but she fears it. And I know I can never let that come to pass.

As I am now, I am only just a step above Ronin. I have a tribe. I carry Cockroach’s banner the same as I ever have. I do Gaia’s work as much as I can. I have not denied my spiritual duty the way Ronin do. But I have no sept, and I have no pack, and as far as I’m concerned, I might never.

Of course I’m not okay with it. Why would I be? I’m bitter. Fuck me ever feeling like I belonged somewhere, right? Fuck me ever having a culture that’s mine and that I don’t feel like an outsider to just because my mom is white and I never knew my dad.

But I’ve accepted it. I am alone.

It just happens that as it turns out, being alone attracts other lonely people. Other outsiders, maybe not just like me, but they wander just like me. They’re hurting, just like me. They want to love and be loved. Just like me.

And as it turns out, I have a lot of that to spare. Even though that’s already bitten me hard in the ass.

I finish the glass of whiskey and order another one. And then, I raise a toast to loneliness.