Sinful Delights & The Masters That Share

Chapter 27 •Dean's POV•

Chapter 27 Coming Home•Dean's POV•

Have you ever been forced to sit down and evaluate your most personal relationships with people, and your past behavior when dealing with said person? Have you ever sat down with a pen and a piece of paper to make a list of pro's and con's about how your own actions were the deciding factor to an outcome with each different relationship? Have you ever sat back and watched every memory you process only to realize you're a fucking royal douche, and can't understand how anyone ever put up with your shit?

No? I seriously fucking doubt that, but it's fine. After today I can promise you THAT'S gonna change! Because the first thing that's been drilled into my head for eight days now is, the first step to fixing your problem is actually admitting you have a problem in the first fucking place!

So, here goes nothing. My names Dean Masters, and I'm an asshole, who pushes the people he loves the most in this world away. Before they could even possibly have the chance to do the same to me. Then runs away like a coward with its tail between its legs, and turns into a vicious grizzly bear when someone confronts me.

As you can see shit's a little different around here now. This won't be the same dog and pony show you're use to. If you don't like it tough shit! Don't let the door hit ya in the ass on the way out! Today's a new mutherfucking day, I've been working my ass off to fix me, and I feel like a totally new man. So, watch the fuck out I'm on a mission!

In a weird round about way I have Sasha fucking Little to thank for the kick in the ass towards the right direction! After she cornered me in the private back hallway of my own damn club it was like a switch flipped inside my brain. When I finally got away from her that night I marched myself upstairs, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls rattled, and proceeded to pour every drop of the alcohol from the bottle I brought up down the drain.

I gave myself the rest of the weekend and Monday morning to dry my body out. Then I sealed my fate with the devil, and called in the one person I know that won't tolerate an ounce of my shit, Sheena, in to help me. After clearing all the alcohol from my apartment, and even taking my keys to the club from me, the first thing she did was drag me, albeit kicking and screaming, to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting into.

Now I have a question. Is it just me, or does listening to a room full of people talking about their problems make you feel better, somehow, about yours? Just me? Because let me tell ya, sitting in that room on the first night I realized real fucking fast I had no good goddamn excuse for my recent behavior!

Unlike some of the people's stories I heard in there! Compared to the one person struggling to live after surviving the crash that killed their wife and two children, and worst of all they were driving the vehicle. Or, unable to cope after losing the use of my own body from the mid-chest down like another is. Listening to each broken tale made me realize I've been acting like a damn kid this whole fucking time!

Sheena was there beside me every day and night. Mainly to make sure I didn't relapse down the bottom of a bottle again, and moral support each night at the meetings. While also trying to help me work through the rest of the jumbled up shit floating around inside my head, but I just couldn't seem to let go enough to let her in all the way.

I can't say the same about Big Al though. I meet him the sixty-five year old, long white hair and beard biker the first night Sheena took me to a meeting. He was the last person to share their story, and I was on the edge of my seat the entire time.

The Santa look alike, was an ex-Air Force Pilot who served four tours during The Gulf War. He married his one and only girlfriend at the age of seventeen, and spent forty-five of the best years of his life with the amazing woman. Until cancer took her away from him the day of their wedding anniversary. He waited long enough to be present for her funeral before attempting to rid the world of every drop of alcohol, or die trying himself.