Three Days
I remember it was raining that night. I was relaxing on the sofa, beer in one hand, cock in the other, porn on the TV. The girls in the video were 69ing. This was the life, 21 and not a care in the world. I had moved out of my house on my 18th birthday, the very day—I hadn’t even finished my cake—just to get away from my bitch of a mother and her husband. My sister, Lori, had helped me move all my stuff here before I drove her back home. “Don’t forget your promise,” she told me. “When I turn 18, I’m moving out too, and I’m coming straight to your place.” “My casa is your casa or whatever.” Of course, I had forgotten all about that. I hadn’t seen her or my …