Dennis the Menace

this is the FIRST CHAPTER of a story me and my friend Christine are writing together about this guy named dennis who gets a second chance. a second chance so many people wish they could get-to get the love of their life back. its going to be called "A Love Lost" and so far im the only one whose done any writing, but christine gets to write the second chapter. we'll figure something out as we go along....



Dennis sank into his easy chair while the fireplace cracked and sizzled before him. The flames danced across the logs, dazzling him and warming his body, but on the inside he was cold as ice. His forearm hung over the arm of the chair, another bottle of hard liquor dangling from his fingertips. His attempt to drink away the pain was failing; the sorrow still swelled in every part of his body. In his other hand Dennis pinched a black-and-white wallet photo of the two of them that they posed for in a booth at the arcade. His arm around her shoulders, his lips on her cheek, her sweet smile that showed off her perfect teeth…he knew he didn’t deserve her, and he was a fool for letting her slip through his fingers.
Why didn’t he listen to her? She told him she didn’t feel comfortable. She begged him to turn around and drive back, but instead he kept driving. The most dangerous road in the city to be driving along at night, and he kept going.
Dennis brought the bottle up to his mouth for another swig, and let what was left in the bottle trickle down upon his tongue and down his throat. He swallowed hard and dropped the empty bottle to the floor. Longing for her warm embrace, he ran his fingertips over the face of the picture, recalling the touch of her skin, her lips, her hair…
He blamed himself entirely. He tried to swerve but the pickup was going too fast around the corner to get out of the way in time. If only he had listened to her… All Dennis could think about was how it should have been him. He was the one who insisted on going. She was the one who wanted to go back.
Dennis closed his eyes but all he could see were the two headlights coming at them in the dark. He could still hear her faint gasp just before the pickup collided with her side of the car. Not even booze could wash away the guilt that swallowed him whole, or fill the emptiness inside him that continued to grow every day that she wasn’t there. God knows nothing could ever replace her, or the happiness she brought to his life. Dennis couldn’t begin to imagine how he would ever move on with his life without her, and the guilt of having killed her was unbearable.
But how could he go on? When he was with her he felt like the luckiest man in the world; low-maintenance, less-than-average-Joe’s like him never get high-maintenance, above-average girls like her. Something about her made him addicted to her presence. He was going to ask her to marry him on Christmas eave, even, if he hadn’t driven her to her death four days ago-for days wallowing and self-loathing and couldn’t take it anymore.
Dennis had drunk himself to a point where he could see only one way out. Nothing, it seemed, not drugs, not sex, not alcohol, could relieve his pain (though he had only tried the latter two-booze and hookers-an overdose was impossible since his best friend came over and confiscated all his medication). He lifted himself to his feet and stumbled across the room to the front door of his small home. His rental car sat in the driveway beckoning him. Still he stood there, trying to second-guess what he was doing, but too drunk and too confused and too full of rage to think clearly, let alone care. The thin midnight air made his breath visible-thick puffs of mist from his heavy breathing.
The late December snow began to fall again, continuing to build up on every surface. Dennis clumsily fell into the front seat of the car and made several lazy attempts to stick the key into the ignition. Finally he managed to start the car and turned the wipers on to get the snow of the windshield. He had parked the car facing the road for easy exiting. As soon as the windshield was cleared, he pulled out of the driveway and across the road, right onto the Rosenbombs’ front lawn. But he didn’t stop there.
The car plowed through gates and neighbors ran out of their houses screaming. Dennis made his way to about the fourth house, trying to stay in what his intoxicated brain believed was the same direction he had started out in. He knew where he was going and wanted to get there fast. With nothing to live for and no possible way of ever having to pay for anymore damage he made, he figured he might as well destroy a few more things. He was never a religious man, didn’t believe in heaven or hell, just knew that he deserved to die. Never read the Bible, but still believed in the whole "Life for a life" gig.
Dennis held on for the bumpy ride over Christmas decorations, doghouses and fences as people cursed at the snow-covered Toyota racing across their property. He rolled down his window and stuck his arm outside for everyone to see the obscene gesture his fingers formed. One man stood in the path of the speeding car, hoping maybe it would stop the lunatic behind the wheel, but Dennis just stepped harder on the gas. Realizing Dennis had no intention of stopping, the man jumped out of the way just in time to escape an impact with the bumper.
Up ahead, Dennis could barely make out where the land ended, but it quickly emerged as the car carried him closer and closer tot he edge of the cliff. After all Dennis had just done, he felt a random religious inclination and prayed to God that this would kill him.
As the car toppled over the edge of the cliff and began the five-hundred-and-sixty-six-foot drop down into Balaban Bay, Dennis wished he could somehow go back in time to four nights ago, and do the right thing; keep her alive. Tears started to poor down his cheeks as he approached what he knew was the end. At least he got to spend Christmas eave with his angry neighbors, instead of his girlfriend.
The engagement ring he had planned to give her this very night sat in his shirt pocket. He covered his heart with his hand, the rigid edge of the diamond pressing into his palm through the fabric.
"Stacy…" he whispered.