WHO'S THE MASTER

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Part 1: Who Let the Freak Out

Sam reflects on his actions while driving through the night with his beautiful hostage. This is Sam’s POV...


Would I dare purport to be the best of men? You know those hero types the women swoon over in their romance books or chick flicks. The supermen found in comic books who put others before themselves or the more classic type that wore a suit of armor while riding a white horse and held to a code of chivalry. Fuck supermen and knights in shining armor! Such outdated prototypes fill women’s heads with unrealistic expectations that no human man can ever compete with. All of it is bullshit, anyway!

Women don’t want that hero-complex guy who’s all protective no matter how much they claim that they do. They don’t want a nice guy either who’s sensitive and listens to their problems. Hell, that’s what they have their girlfriends for. What women really want but will not admit to, is a guy like me. Confident. Takes what he wants without apologizing. They want the guy they know they cannot change, the one who treats them without a care and who fucks the shit out of them.

I choose my path. I will be me. Not some slave governed by the ideals of others but by my own motivations wherever they take me. Besides on general principle, I live my life as I see fit, refusing to conform to other’s perceptions or expectations. I am long past caring about what others think. In the end, all that matters to me is what I want and what I can control.

How low could I stoop, in other words since I am no hero or fairytale knight? As low as necessary to get the job done I say. There’s no such thing as a fair game where everyone wins. Humph! More bullshit!

Someone must be the loser. It sucks; I know. I’ve been there and done it. I wallowed and built a castle in it for years after my life imploded at the death of my wife and son. I lost so many friends, but the best of them, Sterling never gave up on me. He kept trying to get through to me. Sterling helped wake me up to see what life I lived wasn’t a life at all. I’ll never forget the words he spoke to me that I am always reminded of in low moments.

“Get busy. Living or dying. Which is it to be, Sam?” my friend asked me.

It took me a long time to answer him, but I understood the bullseye struck. I had done little living since I lost my family. In fact, I didn’t give a fuck about anything at all. If I had the guts to end my life, I would have been happy because I wouldn’t have been depressed anymore or despondent, trapped in my guilt bubble. Maybe if I went with my wife that the day to see her mother, things could have been different. Tracey wouldn’t have been driving. I would have. She, Larry, and I all could have perished together in any case. Wouldn’t that had been a better outcome than the misery I faced without them?

I asked myself the same then as I do now. Which would it be? Busy living or busy dying? So, I decided. It was not an easy thing, but I made no illusions that it ever would be.

The hurt and loss I felt swallowing me into an abyss I would disconnect from. I focused on the other emotions I felt. That I was angry as hell because I couldn’t control the car accident that took my family away from me. I channeled it all into what I did actually like doing… fucking. No more lonely nights with the constant pool of fresh interns. Ahhh, I fucked myself to better days. The best therapy ever!

My career is mine, too. I still control it. It means a lot to me, and I throw my all into it. From that moment of busy living, I refuse to ever be on the losing side of anything. I am the most wicked of the wicked. Every time I play intending to win. Casualties are expected, but I don’t care about them.

What I do at present with my assistant, this very long night is premeditated, sure. It results from the summation of my peak frustration with an impossible woman. She cannot be reasoned with and is too willful for her own fuckin’ good. It’s her fault besides! She’s driven me to this extreme, and I mean to see it through.

Have I thought of hog-tying Amalea Neubalm? Fuck yeah! And not just that. Gagging her ass too has popped into my mind more times than I care to consider right now while driving my SUV down this dark highway.

Part of me thinks I have gone too far. Have I? Another part of me contends that I have only gotten started. There will be penalties for my acts at some point, but I don’t give a fuck! If punishment is a guarantee, I might as well make it epic!

Glancing back to the rear seat, I see Amalea with her arms raised above her head with her wrists handcuffed and chained to the handle above the door. Sleep still claims her in a gentle snore. When I stop for a fill up on gas, I check on her. Once I roll my suit jacket under her head for a pillow, I drape over her body the blanket I find in my emergency kit I leave in the back cargo area. Over time, Amalea does her best to curl into it.

Sighing, I look forward to the dark road ahead. It is more than a metaphor of my life as it stands today. Why can’t I just have a normal fuckin’ one? Why can’t things be simple?

I want what I want is why. Isn’t it obvious? I would do whatever I want without apology and would do it again if need be to get it. But, the truth is this… if anyone is to blame here for this irrational course of action on my part, it’s Amalea! Fuckin’ woman drives me crazy!

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