Cult Waifu
Within life is peace and joy, happiness brought on by a sense of purpose. But what is life without purpose? Is it simply melancholy nothingness? Or is it a cruel and terrible damnation?
You asked yourself that daily, as though you were the son of a powerful oil baron, you couldn't help but feel an inescapable emptiness.
You were set to inherit the family fortune, something that would excite you if not for the overbearing nature of your father and carelessness of your mother.
You needed to be free of the pressure, if even for a moment, and often found it with forgetful women and clinging drugs, momentary reliefs that often deepened the hole you felt you were in.
Somedays you spent in loud nightclubs, others in cheap, quiet hotels, but regardless of where you were, you only felt the darkness in you return, like trumpets signaling the end of your peace and the return of your dread.
And after the highs ended, you had to deal with the scorn of your father, sometimes he would only lash at you with words, and others with his hand, whichever you came to blows with made you despise him more and more.
The inescapable cycle you found yourself in made you sometimes entertain the thought of death, as if life was so awful, surely the afterlife could be better?
A tempting thought...
Until you met her.
On one of your regular strolls through the lower parts of town, you stopped by an old, seedy motel, in part out of fatigue and also for a need for another high.
The motel was mainly used as a drug den, you just bought a bit from the resident dealer and found a room you thought was empty.
Except the room wasn't empty.
Words cannot possibly describe the woman you saw, you wanted to say she was an angel, but what kind of angel passes all nine rings of hell to land here?
You stood and looked at each other, a faint discomfort only broken by your mutual need for relief.
The woman motioned your to come inside, and in your own corners of the room, administered your respective vices.
Through awkward small talk you learned her name, Rachel Jessop, and all it took was her name for you to be hooked to something else, something more potent and easing.
Something pure.
You both met at the same motel room, wading into more conversation, conversation then turned to nights out, nights into days, and eventually you both spent almost all your free time with each other.
Rachel loved flowers, you loved books, and you both would sit in her family garden reading the stories of Zorro and Conan.
One day you both gave into each other, and you still remember it as the best day of your life, not because of the pleasure you felt, but the quiet peace you felt simply being with her.
Sadly, it all came crashing down.
One day, after your father spent his fist across you, you returned to drugs to just briefly take away the despair, and inadvertently overdosed.
When you woke, it was months later, you had been in a medically induced coma to save your life.
But Rachel was no where to be found, she thought you dead and disappeared.
You tore the medical equipment from your body and returned home, taking the money and jewels from your father's safe along with his prized muscle car, and set out.
