Ring a ding ding, Baby Pt. 1
My memory before Goodsprings was as useless as a bloatfly. I had these phases of "almost-remembering" and some things trigger them, or I'd dream about them. It's like something on the tip of your tongue that you just can't spit out. That was me, on a constant nagging basis. You can see why discovering my past wasn't really my priority. If I tried, I'd go insane. Instead, I focused on the future, and the future seemed to be in peril at the moment. Not just for me, but for the entire Mojave.
There's a lost art, I think, of following one's gut. These days, everyone around me was so intent on their troubles, their problems, and thinking out ways to fix everything for themselves, that they didn't really listen to that inner voice. With a slate wiped clean by that bullet, nothing holding me into my own dark thoughts, I think I had a lot more freedom and ability to go where the road takes me.
Ring a ding ding, Baby Pt. 2
There probably wasn't a more cliche image in all of Vegas history; late at night, a tall svelte woman in a curve-hugging dress ran in heels back to the door of her apartment; hair disheveled, makeup smeared, pale cheeks flushed. But there you go; for once I wasn't the grimy hardass courier. It was dark enough that the people who saw me go running up the stairs to the Lucky 38 were people I didn't give a shit about, strangers who gave me startled looks as I streaked across the pavement and then up the glowing, flashy steps. Victor was outside, and barely got a "Well hidey--" before I threw open the door and crossed the casino main floor.
The elevator ride provided solace, because I was finally alone. I was still crying silently, my forehead against the elevator wall. It wasn't so much what happened at the Tops, it was what didn't happen. Benny had asked me to hold him while he slept. Laying in his bed with him, he hadn't tried to as