Leaving Las Vegas

by John O'Brien

“Sera,” he starts, “I hope that you understand how I feel about this. First of all, you’re welcome to my money. We can buy a couple of cases of liquor and you can have the rest. But I don’t think you’re talking to me right now about money. I think you’re talking about you. I’ll tell you right now that I’m in love with you, but be that as it may, I’m not here to impose my twisted life on your soul. I’m not here to demand all your attentions, to the point where you’re removed from your own life. We know I’m a drunk. That’s part of what we have here, and you’re all right with that. Likewise, we know you’re a hooker, so if and when you decide to work, whatever your motivation, that’s up to you. I don’t think I’m inferring too much when I say that you’ve been doing this for long time, that you’re comfortable with it. It’s not as if you’re a fifteen year old who’s being victimized on the streets of Hollywood. I hope you understand that I’m a person who is totally at ease with this. You’re not an oddity to me. In fact, I feel rather akin to you. Please don’t think that my apparent indifference means that I don’t care, I do. It simply means that I trust and accept your judgment, your inclinations. What I’m saying is: I hope that you understand that I understand.”