Copyright 2016 *A. M. Wilson
This is unedited and subject to change.

She scurries back against the arm of the couch, my words alone scaring the crap out of her. Her chest rises rapidly and falls slower with a long, deep breath. “All the men I’ve met in the past two years did nothing but drink. I can’t help but wonder if you’re one of them.”

The hand holding my glass of scotch freezes in mid-air, and the breath I just took expands in my chest to the point it hurts and I can’t take air in or let it out. I’m suffocating, her words are choking me.

Using all my control, I force the air out through my nose. It’s a slow, painful process. Everything inside is screaming at me to let it out in a loud bellow of rage. My muscles tense with the desire to beat the fuck out of something. Before I break the glass, I lean forward and, as gently as I can manage in my drunk, violent state, I place it on the coffee table.

My back molars grind together so forcefully it’s a wonder one of them doesn’t snap right in half.

Then I move.

With perfect precision, I stand up, plant a knee in the couch, and throw myself in the direction of the girl. An arm lands on each side of her, one on the arm of the couch and one planted in the backrest, caging her in. The girl’s eyes go wild with fear at my swiftness and proximity, but I don’t give a single fuck. Her words cut deep. So deep, I don’t think I can staunch the bleed.

Lowering my face to hers until there’s nothing more than a centimeter of space between our lips, I force her gaze to mine. She tries to hide her head, but I’m one step away from physically holding it in place.

“I’m a goddamned man. A man who lives and breathes life without anyone telling me what the fuck I need to do. I want to drink, I’m going to drink. I want to fuck, I’m going to find a nice, willing, hot wet pussy to fuck. I want to drive, I’m going to hop on my motorcycle and take off without relaying my whereabouts to anybody. I’m a fuckin’ man.

“What I’m not is a lowlife piece of shit who abuses and rapes women to get his fuckin’ rocks off. What I’m not is a man who has a woman beneath him wearing nothing but a thin tee, and more helpless than an injured bird, and takes advantage of that. Don’t doubt for one fuckin’ second that I couldn’t rip those tiny clothes off your skinny ass and fuck the shit out of you and you couldn’t do one. single. thing. about it until I was good and done with you. Don’t ever doubt my power. But just because I could, doesn’t mean I ever fuckin’ would. Don’t lump me in with those goddamned pieces of shit all because I like to drink. Fuck!”

Finished with my tirade, I throw myself backwards off her, grab my glass, drain it, and trudge drunkenly to the sink. My hands tremble so hard they make little tap tap sounds against the metal basin, so I grip the counter top until my knuckles turn white. Guilt swamps me as the moment recedes, and I start to calm back down.  “All I said is true, but you also don’t have to question my restraint,” I whisper. My heart pounds in my chest as the words choke me and painful memories flash before my eyes. “I would never fuckin’ hurt a woman.”