Desire 1 : Change

Vincent didn’t find the answer at the bottom of his drink, so he called for another with a slam. The glass didn't break and cut up his hand this time but he had already forgotten about the empty glass.

“Last time I warn you, Vincent!” Shayna called from behind the bar. Vincent waved his hands apologetically in front of him as his gaze found a spot on the floor. He heard her sigh but also heard her grab another glass.

“You’re a good girl Shayna, never change,” Vincent muttered into the plastic bar top.

“Yup.” was all she said, weariness in her voice. Vincent heard her approaching and finally looked up. She was a small pretty girl, with long straight black hair, a plain white tank top, that showed a bit too much tit, piercing green eyes, and most notably, dimples in the corner of her mouth.

He had a theory, that all that other shit is superficial, makeup can accentuate the eyes, you could wear bra’s to push up your tits, hell even where pants to show off a partly imaginary ass. What you really want in a woman though, were dimples. It showed she liked to smile and have a good time. His own testing seemed to give some credit to his theory.

“And you’re not nearly as much of an asshole as you think you are,” she said softly handing him another draft. That smile on her face said it all. Fuck, if only he were ten years younger.

“That’s because you’ve only seen me half in the bag.” Vincent didn’t waste any time searching the bottom of this glass.

“From my experience, it’s how they act wasted that is the real sign.” Shayna shrugged and went to another patron. Vincent stopped drinking long enough to tip his glass to that sentiment before continuing his search. He was about to slam the glass again but thought of those dimples and placed it a little more gently on the bar top instead.

The smile reminded him so much of Shannon, fuck even their names were similar. Shayna was the spitting image of Shannon in her twenties; a slight curl to the hair, hazel eyes, and a little more meat on the bones, and bam, Shannon at twenty-four. The same Shannon whom when he was ten years younger he took home. The same Shannon to whom had excavated his dreams from his self-pity, the dreams he didn’t even realize he had. The same Shannon had given birth to two of his kids. The same Shannon that…

Vincent spun on his barstool to look at the rest of the bar, to find something interesting, someone interesting, anything interesting. Behind him was the rest of the bar area, small booths full of dirt and emptiness. He turned at a small hoot to see two guys playing pool off in the corner to his left. There were three tables back there but of course, Roger was the one being used.

Roger was covered in food stains, spilled beer, and blood. But for some reason it was the lucky table, a table he felt some camaraderie with.  Roger may be a slob but he was dependable. There was one night; there was a line-up of about eleven people all waiting to play a game. Anytime someone lost they would just go to the back of the line and wait. All these people waiting to play on Roger, the other tables being used to place beers and spectators on, but not a single rack was made besides on Roger.

Vincent couldn’t believe it; he had just been here two times before. He had gotten a few drinks in before working up the courage to ask a random guy in line why he didn’t just play on another of the tables, the man just laughed and shouldered him off. Feeling like he was missing out on something, Vincent got in line. It took about thirty minutes before he was up. When it did get to him, he carefully picked out his cue and broke the racked balls. At the end of the night, Vincent got the appeal; he went home a hundred dollars richer. He learned to depend on Roger that night.

He almost fell off his barstool at the sudden sound of another person sitting down beside him. He had no idea where he had come from; he hadn’t seen him walk in or heard the door open and he definitely would’ve noticed him before. He was seated oddly, back straight on the stool and his hands in his lap.

The man looked like the opposite of the patrons here. Where they wore jeans and leather jackets, this man wore a striped red dress shirt, straight red dress pants, and what looked like genuine Italian leather dress shoes. His long wavy blonde hair hung around his shoulders, accentuating a strong jaw and tight face. He already hated him.

“How was the meeting? How many points are you up this quarter?” Vincent asked deadpan. The man just sat there looking at all the bottles on the rack.

“Guessing you got demoted, maybe your papers were in the red?’ Vincent added a little sarcasm to his voice. Again the man just stared at the bottles on the racks. Shayna looked over from the cash register, probably at Vincent's voice, and gave a shocked look. She looked over at the door and then back to the man. She did a small shake, put on that cute smile, pulled her shirt down just a tad lower, and walked over.

“How ya doin’ honey?” she asked in her friendly give me tips voice. After about thirty seconds, the man still didn’t answer and she gave Vincent a questioning look. He just shrugged and turned to face the bar again.

“What can I get you?” she tried again. The man gave her a questioning look.

“You don’t have what I want,” he said, almost sounding soulless.

“We do have a more selective inventory,” Shayna said. She turned to what Vincent always thought was a stupid decorative cabinet. He now found out though as Shayna found the right key on her keychain, which it opened. Inside was liquors Vincent had never heard of in his life, and probably costs an entire pay check to buy. The man looked genuinely interested for a moment but quickly lost it.

“Not in there either.” was all he said.

“Well, maybe I can mix you up something anyways? I have a few homemade recipes I’d like to try and if.” Shayna trailed off into silence.. The man looked up at her, right into her eyes. She looked transfixed, like she had found something fathomless and could not help but stare into its depths. After a few moments, he looked away and Shayna seemed to shake herself.

“It’s what you want so I will accept this ‘drink’.” The man said ‘drink’ as though he tasted the word for the first time. He put a fifty on the bar very deliberately.  Shayna blushed for some reason, not even looking at the money and went off to make a drink.

“You’ve got her all flustered,” Vincent commented, chuckling to himself. For three years, Vincent had been coming here; he had never seen Shayna lose her cool. He gave the man another look over. He wasn’t any prettier than the man whose nose Shayna had broken.

“I did not mean to cause her any discomfort,” he said. Vincent would be lying if he wasn’t just a bit jealous of Shayna’s reaction.

“I don’t think it’s really ‘discomfort’ on her mind,” he said glibly, as he tried to hide the weird jealousy. The man turned on his stool to face Vincent, still in that awkward stance, as though he didn’t understand how a person’s body carried weight.

As he turned, Vincent’s gaze drifted to the man’s eyes, when their gazes touched he knew immediately why Shayna reacted the way she did. It was like sharing all your intimate wants with another soul, and as this other perused them like trinkets on a shelf, they also accepted them without judgment; as if to say you are who you are and you want what you want. This was a validation both mesmerizing and terrifying in its implications.

The man looked away and the experience with it, leaving him feeling empty and lonely. He shook himself and looked towards the bottles on the rack, pretending to inspect the meaningless liquids posed there. Silence dropped between them, only the sounds of pool balls smashing into each other, sporadic laughter from the booths and Shayna working on the drink to fill it; That is to say inadequately filled.

“I didn’t mean you any discomfort either.” the man offered suddenly, his voice as empty as Vincent now felt. He recoiled for a moment but realized he was being silly.

“It’s fine.” Vincent offered with a weak smile on his face. The man looked out of sorts for a second seeming to become aware of his bearing. He looked around at the other patrons and decided to carefully lean forward onto the bar, still with no weight on his arms. When he spoke again he looked in Vincent’s direction but not directly at him.

“Why do you not speak the truth?” the man asked.

“Are you calling me a liar?” Vincent asked, unreasonable anger rising.

“Yes.” the man answered. Vincent felt the inexplicable anger filling him so fast that before he came to himself he was on his feet, grabbing the man’s pinstriped collar. He pulled, spinning the man on the stool to face Vincent.

“You take that back you bastard!” Vincent demanded. Complete silence was now all around them. Shayna hurried over and put the drink down away from Vincent.

“You sit the fuck down Vincent, or I will have to get you to leave!” she yelled. Vincent didn’t move.

“You were uncomfortable and you said you were not. Do I not understand your language quite right?” the man asked, again looking into Vincent’s eyes for only a moment. For that moment when their eyes met, Vincent lost himself.

He was holding his divorce lawyer in a small office in the same way, Vincent standing over the sitting man with his collar in Vincent’s left hand. The man looked pitifully scared and his beady rats like eyes were bulging from their sockets. He didn’t know when he started but Vincent found he was punching, each hit knocking the lawyers head back before Vincent pulled him back with his left hand into another. Vincent didn’t stop.

“Vincent!” Shayna screamed. He found himself in the bar again, only holding the strange man and Shayna was making some hand gestures towards the door. Vincent let go of the strange man and sat back down, with a smile on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Vincent offered, looking at both the man and Shayna. He put up both hands as he let go, showing them he was over the situation. He heard Jerry still moving towards him from behind and was ready to be manhandled before the man looked over Vincent’s shoulder and Jerry’s footsteps stopped. A moment later he heard Jerry walking away and after Shayna nodded seriously towards Jerry, the tension left her shoulders.

“You confuse me, Vincent.” the man said.

“Get in line,” Vincent said, grabbing his empty glass and shaking it.

“Here you go sir,” Shayna interrupted them. “If you don’t like it I’ll refund it for you; it’s only my third time making it.” Shayna offered a smile and glared at Vincent. She took his empty glass.

“I believe I am the only one here to get in line.” the man said pronouncing each word carefully, looking at Vincent, and actively avoiding eye contact. Vincent gave a small snort of laughter.

“I meant, I confuse a lot of people in my life, hell just ask Shayna here, she’ll tell you,” Vincent said.

“That's an understatement,” she muttered as she gave Vincent his half-full drink. Vincent picked up the glass and offered a toast.

“How about we toast to our wonderful and patient bartender,” Vincent said. The man just looked at him oddly.

“For Christ’s sake, you grab that glass of alcohol there; knock it against my glass, and drink. It celebrates Shayna’s god-like patience and her unpaid job of babysitting a drunk and an alien” The man looked ready to ask another question but instead grabbed his drink and knocked it against Vincent’s. Before Vincent could even bring his drink to his mouth, the man had downed his shot. He got most of it into his mouth. but spilled some onto his immaculate leggings. Before I could even think to do so, Shayna showed up with some napkins.

“That was a weird drink,” he said ignoring the napkins. He put his glass on the bar top very similar to the way Vincent had earlier. Sighing, Vincent grabbed some of the napkins and put them onto his pants.

“Now you wipe with them.” Vincent made the motion in the air with his hands. The man awkwardly did so and then Vincent put the used napkins on the bar.

“So, how was it? Weird in a bad or good way?” Shayna asked a little giddy.

“I believe it was morally positive.” the man said. Shayna just looked at him for a second before grabbing the napkins and glasses.

“So, you got my name, what’s your name stranger?” Vincent asked, now openly facing the man.

“Desire,” he said with a straight face.

“No wonder you’re so strange your parents must’ve been quite the pair.”

“I do not have parents in the sense of the word.” Desire said.

“Ahh adopted then?” Vincent asked.

“That’s the closest summation to your own experience, yes.” Desire answered.

“Well you’re not missing much.” Vincent said.

“What are you doing here Vincent?” Desire asked. The sudden change of subject caught Vincent by surprise.

“Grabbing a few drinks before heading home, and apparently having to help a stranger understand how to give toasts,” Vincent said.

“Is this not a den of sin? From what I have understood, people drink when they need fun, need an escape, or need a vice.” Desire asked, again looking into Vincent's eyes. That strange connection formed again and he found himself truly thinking about the question.

“It’s to escape a world I hate and cannot do anything about,” Vincent answered, shocked at his own words. Only a moment of reflection though proved their truth.

“I don’t know if those are the only reasons people drink but you caught me.” he laughed awkwardly. Desire just continued staring, emotionless.

“What do you hate?” he asked. A visual list of people sped through his head.

“It’s not the shortest list,” Vincent answered, feeling suddenly sober.

“Who’s Shannon?” Desire asked and the blood drained from Vincent’s face.

“Who the fuck are you, really?” Vincent asked, sitting straighter. He eyed the door noting Desire was in the way. He thought quickly and remembered a way out the back.

“I’m Desire. I have not misled you, Vincent.” Desire answered.

“Fuck off with the whole child act. What do you want with me?” Vincent asked.

“I want to find my Brother. But you cannot help me with that. For some reason I cannot fully understand though, you interest me, Vincent. Through all that you want, one name kept coming to the forefront, Shannon.” Desire said. Vincent calmed down a little bit and thought back to the feeling Desire seemed to cause him. Noting a near animal suspicion in the back of his mind, he could only conjure one thought.

“What are you?” Vincent whispered, almost afraid of Shayna hearing him.

“I am simply an elemental force outside the universe, tasked with one thing. Desire in your language is the closest approximation to that one thing.” Desire said. Vincent stayed quiet for half a minute before he burst out laughing.

“Fuck off.” Vincent said. When he turned back to the bar, he put his arms down… on a wooden table. Vincent stopped his chuckling and looked up suddenly. The walls were much closer and painted a light blue. He found himself sitting at a large oak table in the kitchen. A very familiar kitchen. He stood up on the linoleum floor and took in the scene. The sink was empty, but the dishwasher was going. The stove looked like it had been cleaned recently and the stainless steel fridge housed an assortment of pictures. He walked over to the familiar fridge, the same fridge he had dreamed of so many times, the same fridge that held the memories of the most meaningful years of his life.

There was a picture of him with his arms around Violet at her graduation. There was a picture of Taylor holding his bat over his shoulder at his first baseball game. There was a picture of Shannon smiling on the beach of their first vacation together. There was a picture of the four of them laughing on their new couch in their new home, in this home.

Vincent found his vision blurring worried for a moment that this too is a dream. It took a long moment for him to realize it was the tears now clouding his vision.

“Where’s daddy?” Violet's voice sounded from upstairs. Vincent went still. He wanted to believe so much yet feared it couldn’t be true. He walked slowly into the white-walled hallway. A museum of his best memories haunted this otherwise sterile pathway.

“I wanted to give him something.” she continued, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. Vincent continued down the hallway until he made it to the large foyer at the front. The usual mess of shoes littered the floor, little care for those who might trip over them, except for one unfamiliar pair.

 He walked slowly over to the elegant metal stairwell spiralling to the second floor. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, suddenly heart beating.

“My presents are better!” Taylor announced. Every time he started up these stairs he would wake up before reaching the landing. Vincent found himself glued to the spot.

“I don’t think daddy’s gonna be home today.” Shannon's exasperated and saddened voice echoed out into the foyer and Vincent ran up the stairs. No he was home, he was here for them, and for her. Shannon told him she and the kids had something special planned for his birthday and god be damned he would be there. He reached the landing and before him stood his bedroom door. A door that looked to be twice his height and three times his width. That seemed to be growing as his fear of it did. For a precious few moments he shrank from it, the fear and anger radiating from it.

Shannon’s voice echoed again, dripping with disdain “I don’t think daddy’s gonna be home today.” Without waiting any longer he ran to it and threw it open.

And there was his family, on top of their walnut bed, on top of the white sheet and blankets he bought, on top of the mattress where he and Shannon had started this family. There they were, Shannon with Violet and Taylor on each side of her. Violet looked over with her almost purple eyes, and Taylor sat up looking over, his raven hair bouncing messily around.

“Daddy!” They said simultaneously. They both quickly got up and started yelling about whose presents was better. Now openly crying, he kneeled down and brought them into a hard embrace.

“What's wrong daddy?” Violet asked, worry now in her voice. Vincent, still holding onto them leaned his head back to get a good look at their beautiful faces. Violet had his eyes and mouth, Taylor’s hair and temperament reflected his own back at him.

“I just love you both so much,” he said between his sobs. They hugged him again and then started screaming they need to get their presents. Vincent refused to let them go, scared he would never get this chance again. Only after Shannon’s hand found his shoulder and his children complained did he let them go. He stood up. He was about to tell them, not to leave him again when he found Shannon's lips on his. The attraction was matched by his disgust. He wanted to but found he couldn’t pull away. Eventually, she was the one to break it off.

“I thought you weren’t going to come again,” Shannon whispered. Vincent felt the rage suddenly rise up, only matched by the love he had for the mother of his children. For one terrible moment he didn’t know what he would do.

Desire was on the foot of the bed. Vincent started, suddenly remembered what happened and where he had been but minutes before. Remembering his children, he started looking around frantically, finding only him and Desire in the room. He looked at the bedroom door to find it now closed.

“No, no! I won’t lose them again!” Vincent yelled running to the gray door. He opened it and ran through, right back into the bedroom. The room was now dimly lit; the smell of incense mixed with the rank of sex filled the air. Some music was also playing but Vincent's anger and suspicion focused all of his senses on the bed, his fear being consumed by the rage, his children’s absence being replaced with the presence of this intruder in his home.

He heard a woman’s moans mixed with the grunts of a man, as well as the sound of skin smacking against skin and sweat. Getting pissed off at the smoky dimness, he turned the overhead lights on as he trudged fully into the room, until he found the source.

His wife was being fucked by some guy. All motion stopped as everyone in the room came to terms with what was transpiring.

“It’s. It’s not what it looks like.” Shannon said with some incredulity.

“Who the fuck are you?” Vincent asked the guy. He quickly got off of Shannon in such a hurry he fell off the side of the bed. “Who the fuck is he?” Vincent asked Shannon this time.

“Harris. Umm Harris, from uh. From. From work.” Shannon was saying distractingly as she wrapped the wet white sheets around her naked form.

“Harris from work. Well, what the fuck was he doing then, if it wasn’t what it looked like?” Vincent shouted, his vision literally blurring between the tears and anger.

“I didn’t mean. I mean, I mean.” Shannon stuttered.

“What's going on?” a small quiet voice came from behind Vincent. He looked around to find Taylor rubbing his eyes as he tiredly walked toward the room. He looked back towards Shannon and the now half-dressed Harris. Taylor's footsteps slowly shook Vincent's anger and simmered it. With a sigh, he turned from the scene and walked out to meet Taylor.

“It’s ok buddy. Me and Mommy just had an argument, but it’s ok.” Vincent leaned down and picked Taylor up and leaned him into his chest. He walked over to Violet's room as the door opened, Taylor breathing slowly into his chest.

“It’s ok Violet, me and Mommy just had a little argument. So I’m gonna sleep with you guys tonight ok?” Vincent asked her. She nodded tiredly and let him and Taylor in. He laid Taylor down on the small bed and he curled up beside him. Hearing only scuffling from his bedroom now, he listened to the breathing of his children and found himself dozing off.

Lights turned on suddenly, burning his eyes. He tried blinking out the irritation as he wiped at the tears. He heard some yelling, and then Vincent saw himself. This other Vincent was looking down on him.

“It’s ok sweetie, just go back to bed ok?” Shannon’s voice spoke from the bed. He could barely see her, the bed was so tall, he could only see her head. He was standing at the foot of his own bed, he had the inkling there was another in this room but he was so short he couldn’t see past the bed.

“No, come here Taylor.” His disconnected voice said as the other Vincent grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room. With a sudden jerk, the other Vincent roughly lifted him onto the large bed so he could witness the scene in its entirety. He could see Shannon now crying, partially covered by wet white sheets, clinging translucently to her. He could see Harris wearing only his underwear that appeared to be on backwards in his haste, looking stunned at him. 

“Look at Mommy, Taylor. See how the sheets are wet, and see that strange man over there?” Other Vincent asked him as he jerked his small face back towards Shannon’s humiliated form.

“Please, please don’t,” Shannon pleaded. “Not in front of our son Vincent!” The anger seeming to war with the need save our son from these emotional scars. The pleas fell on deaf ears.

“They weren’t playing games. That man there was inside of your mother, the same mother who promised to be faithful on our wedding night. See, the sheets are wet because Mommy welcomed him into her, to show how much she hates Daddy. She's a slut Taylor, your mothers a whore!” Other Vincent spat. Suddenly Vincent felt himself starting to cry, at what happened, at what Vincent did, and at what he could not change. The cries turned into violent racking sobs that shook his very core. Shannon was now sobbing with him.

“You can’t do that man, that's so fucked up,” Harris said, as he stepped around the bed.

“So it’s not enough that you intrude on my home that you penetrated my wife, but now you want to parent my kids?” The other Vincent said, stepping to meet Harris halfway. Harris stepped back, putting his hands up at the sudden motion from this other Vincent.

“No. I’m so sorry this all happened, I didn’t know. But that's their mom and they're just kid’s man. You’re gonna fuck them up.” Harris said. The other Vincent stood there for a moment before seeming to take the man’s words to heart. Vincent knew though and that made him sob harder. The other Vincent tackled Harris into the wall and they crumpled to the ground. After some wrestling, the other Vincent was on top of Harris and started punching him in the face.

Swing, Swing, Swing.

There was no great sound of impact. The sounds Harris made involuntarily were louder than the thuds of fist on skull. Vincent in his new vantage point couldn’t see Harris over the edge of the bed, but other Vincent’s hand reaching skyward before launching towards the Earth were visible and each time it rose, more blood soaked now mangled hand. Shannon forgetting about everything else crawled over, The sheets forgotten leaving her naked as she now hung off of the other Vincent, begging for Harris’ life.

As repeated punches hit Harris on different parts of his head, the sounds of splattering could be heard more and more loudly. Shannon was repeatedly thrown back from the force of the strikes but she kept trying to stop him. Vincent didn’t know what to do, he felt as powerless as a little boy.

The whole situation finally broke him. He closed his eyes and continued weeping. He wept and wept until he felt completely empty inside. He wept until nothing more would come. Then he just stood there, a silence falling on the scene.

“You have so many warring desires, so intermingled with each other Vincent. That is what made me curious, a spider web of wants and needs. So now, I finally see and am here to offer it to you.” Desire said. Vincent opened his eyes to find Desire before him. He now stood at the doorway, his full height. He looked over to see Taylor on the bed crying, the wet sheets half covering him. He looked over to see himself, fist in the air as Shannon’s body tries to hold it back from swinging down. He looks down to see Harris’ limp body underneath this other him, his face so swollen and cut; he looks more meat than person.

 He felt Desire slip something heavy into his hands. Vincent looked away from the frozen scene and down to his hand to find a simple handgun.

He hefted it, not even sure what was real now. It had weight, and when he checked the clip it was loaded. He cocked the pistol and looked around. They were still in the bedroom, although it looked a little different. The lights were now out. The blankets were black, the walls painted beige and pictures showed Shannon, a scarred Harris, and his kids. At that, his heart started beating faster again. He looked to the bed and saw Shannon nestled to Harris’ chest. Their heads just poked out of the blankets looking tranquil.

He looked back to the pictures to find not the scarred wreck he sometimes hoped in his worst moments, but instead a family. One not too similar to the kind of happy looking family he once found on their family fridge. An older Violet posing silly with another young boy, putting bunny ears behind his head, Taylor with a graduation gown and cap on, smiling holding a diploma in his hands, Shannon and Harris, on a beach slow dancing on the sand barefoot as the sun set behind them.

He felt the gun trembling in his hands, from anger or fear or understanding he didn’t know.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Vincent whispers.

“You have many wants and they’re all very important to you. But Vincent, from what I’ve seen and from what you’ve felt tonight, it was her that was central. Anything you do here Vincent is your decision, consequence-free” Desire said. Vincent was gonna argue but found his mouth wouldn’t work.

He looked at his ex-wife and all the emotions he had been hiding from over the past five years came swarming back. The fugue from the drinking and drugs he had used to dull the ache seemingly swept away, leaving a brutal cold clarity of thought. The betrayal of his love and the betrayal of his children fuelled the anger and coldness he still felt. The anger that came from that was of the dissolution of their family. The most inexplicable was the love he still felt for her. He slowly walked to her bedside and sat down beside her tranquil form. He used his free hand to brush the loose strands of hair from her sleeping face.

“Why was I so despicable that you couldn’t love me?” Vincent instead asked of the sleeping Shannon. He slowly put the barrel of the gun to her forehead.

“Because you were never there,” Shannon spoke from the bed. Vincent looked down to see her eyes still closed as she continued. “Because we didn’t talk, and I didn’t know you anymore. Because the kids needed a father. Because I felt unloved and unwanted. And because I was weak and did not want to destroy our family. So instead I hid it and pretended it was just a fling. Pretending that we were still okay,” Shannon said, tears rolling down her otherwise tranquil face.

Vincent felt his anger rise, but also another emotion. One he had only felt in passing. Resignation?

She wasn’t wrong, he had missed birthdays; Christmas’s, ditched on plans, missed parent-teacher meetings and cancelled so many date nights Shannon stopped trying to make them. He and Shannon hadn’t gone out in years and hadn’t had sex in almost as much time. He didn’t remember the last time they had a flirty moment.

“I should’ve tried harder,” a quiet whisper from Shannon. That admission alone took all the fight from Vincent. He fell to his knees at the bedside. He had just wanted to talk to her but after the fallout, they never did. He imagined every variation of the talk they could’ve had, all the arguments he could make. But the simple admission that she made a mistake took all the fire from his meaningless, imagined arguments and just left a single thought left.

“I should’ve tried harder,” Vincent whispered. Shannon was also broken. And instead of working through it, he scarred her and their children. The scene replayed in his head of Taylor watching his father shame his mother and almost kill another man. He had repressed the actions for so long that he almost believed it wasn’t true. He almost believed it was another person, but now he lived through it. There was no more hiding. Vincent put the gun to the side of his head.

How could anyone who did that to their own flesh and blood, to the mother of his own children, be allowed to just go on living. To be allowed a chance at anything other than suffering and pain and anguish.

And how could he go on with all that pain and suffering and anguish?

“I know what I want,” Vincent said looking over to Desire. The man’s red clothes now made sense in his eyes. “So you can’t see the blood.” Vincent mused as he closed his eyes.

“I am but the vehicle. I cannot choose what you want but only give you the desire.” Desire said. Vincent thought he heard a twinge of emotion than thought better of it. The thing beside him was beyond emotions. He took a deep breath.

“I love you,” he whispered thinking of his family, and then pulled the trigger.

Click.

For a moment Vincent sat there, wondering at the clarity of mind and thought in death. Then he realized that something wasn’t right, he had too many thoughts, he felt no pain. He pulled the trigger again and again, more frantically every time the gun just clicked. Feeling despair Vincent threw the gun at Desire and fell to the ground weeping. He felt more than heard Desire sit down in front of him.

“What is your game?” Vincent asked the sheer anguish in his own voice scraping against his soul.

“I am but the vehicle.” was all that he said. Vincent looked again but he was alone on the floor of the bedroom. He crawled towards the corner and curled into a ball. He didn’t know how long he stayed there.

“What’s going on?” a small voice asked from the doorway. Vincent opened his eyes.

“Sleeping beauties awake?” Shayna's voice asked. “Good, I’m done cleaning up, gonna be closing up.” Vincent looked up; Shayna was putting her jacket on. Vincent looked over and found the seat beside him empty.

“What happened to Desire?” Vincent asked weakly, his voice showing none of the anguish he still felt. She smirked.

“He left when you passed out. Weird guy, but he’s alright.” he noticed her put a slip of paper into her pocket. Vincent wiped the drool from his mouth and took the jacket Shayna offered him. He finished getting himself together then took one more look at the barstool where Desire had been.

He still felt discombobulated.  Half of him still lived in that anguish of that dream. The other half, one that seemed to feel damaged but clear, the one that let him grab the jacket and stand up regardless of the pain he still felt, allowed him to move. Allowed him to think, allowed him for a single moment that maybe just maybe, he could try to make a difference. Never make up for what he did, he knew he couldn’t but try.

“Do you think bad people can change?” Vincent asked Shayna as he pulled on his jacket. Shayna eyed him from the corner of her eye sceptical. But something in his expression must’ve hit her because her face softened.

“There are no good or bad people Vincent. There are just people.” She said opening the door to the brisk night air. Vincent looked at her for a long time, the early years of his relationship with Shannon playing over in his head.

“So there might be hope yet?’ Vincent found himself asking. Shayna smiled a little and Vincent turned his gaze away.

“There’s always hope,” Shayna said, a little sadly. Vincent took a deep breath, straightened himself, and walked out the door.