The ruckus downstairs was more or less ignored.  He paid for the room, and knew the madame well.  A man of god.  A hypocrit who espouses a life without sin who doesn’t practice what he preaches.  He knows he’s in the wrong, knows some people find him a disgrace.  Who could them?  He doesn’t.  He doesn’t flaunt his faults.  He knows them for what they are, but those who know him, know his reasons.  They do a respectable job of deflecting criticism.  ‘A man has needs’ is what it boils down to.  The truth is what is a man whose seen what hes seen is supposed to do.  A man who knows that there are no angels... only devils.  And god isn’t a kind god.<br/><br/>A kind god wouldn’t let something like that exist.<br/><br/>He preaches out of fear now.  Not fear of hell.  Not even fear of death.  He prays that whatever he or it is, it doesn’t decide to break him a second time.<br/><br/>He takes a drag of a cigarette.  He still feels the sweat of an impassioned and wild session on his flattened chest and on his neck.  He still feels the slickness between his thighs, the heated droplets now cooling in the night air.  He still feels the crick in shoulder from when he forced her down by the throat while he savaged her over and over.  She was sleeping soundly now behind him, the sheets hugging her body just over her dainty curves, the purple of the bruise slowly forming on her neck.  He knew he was going to get yelled at again. Thankfully the lady was more sturdy then most women, and had plenty of collars and scarves to not dissuade her next customer.<br/><br/>Colette’s real name was Diane and she was a sweet girl.  Too sweet to sell her body in this god forsaken desert.  Too sweet to get bruises and welts on her body because an angry and scared man just happened to need something, someone to take out his frustrations. Too sweet a girl to smile up at him with tears in her eyes and sticky filth on her face and ask for more.  Too sweet to be called a friend to this husk of a man. Jacob looked at the cigarette, watching the edgings and ash burn.  He reflected on how he felt.  Even a lovers embrace.  It was like using a trowel to fill a quarry.<br/><br/>Colette stirs as she unconsciously rolls over, her pillowy breasts heaving for a moment before her arms follows, pawing for something to hold onto, something warm to cuddle up against in the brisk cold.   Jacob would be gone by the time she wakes, already searching the confines of the room for his clothes.<br/><br/>He stepped from the room just at the last moment that the Madame had kicked out the last of the drunks.  He was staggering down the hallway to the second floor foyer that overlooked the pub.  He could already feel the wisps of the consequences of the whiskey he had a few hours prior.  He was debating whether to get water or another few shots for the road.  He'd rather forget this night as well.