Father
free
His dark orbs skimmed over the white paper. It was blank, much like the look on his face and his eyes. A writer for the generation, an expressionist for the young and hopeless. Self proclaimed tortured soul and a heartbreaker. He was whatever media wanted him to be.
At times, he enjoyed it. Who wouldn’t? Free pass to the backstage of every party, free goodies from the high and expensive stores, free clothing, free make-up, free everything. Even girls for free. That was his favorite perk of it all.
And he had them all. Every single one of them. Blondes, redheads, brunettes, with freckles, tall, short, catwalk model supper skinny or Shakira curvy. You name it; he fucked it. Without an emotion, put on autopilot, in and out. Just a daily routine. Another day in life of a rock-star.
Even when he got the best of the world, it still wasn’t enough. He got more people to be like him, to enjoy in their successes, which were, more or less, the exact replica of his own. He watched those boys grow up in front of his eyes making the same mistakes, and not warning them about the consequences, not that he didn’t care, he loved those boys like they were his own (which they were, he owned them), but because he wanted to see what it was like. He watched others living his life, step by step, the exact way. He was standing by, standing outside looking in.
He was there for them, every single fuck up. He consoled, he gave his shoulder, his arms to wrap around, his chest to snuggle in. He claimed that he loved them, he proved his love for them, over and over again; in a small bunk, while the windows were fogging from the exhaling of hot breaths from swollen lips; in a comfy, five star hotel room, with room-services and designer sheets.
With time passed, it became another routine.
But then again, nothing in his life seems satisfactional enough to make it last. To have the same kick as it was the first time. And maybe the second time. Third time tops.
That is until, she re-entered into his life. Tall and beautiful, with her piercing eyes and mesmerizing smile. She was definitely out of his league, her being seventy three on a scale from zero to ten, him being only nine. Maybe eight point three.
They exchanged glances and kisses, hiding from the world, denying it for the media and reputation.
But there is a limit to as much a heart can take.
She didn’t wanted to be a secret anymore. A personal call girl when everybody else would turn their backs, close their eyes, and she’d tiptoed in a private area at the back, dim lights, just for a lap dance. And maybe a kiss on the neck.
When the bed screeched she was never as happy before, as in the moment he confessed his love, the bedpost marking the intensity of two hearts beating in the same rhythm, the feeling of inked skin against the velvet one.
With a two million dollar ring on her finger, she wasn’t a secret anymore. Even he changed. He wasn’t the same, in a term of fucking around, no, he wanted to experience what it would be like to be faithful. After all, in his life, people whom he considered to spend the rest of his life with found another person to do the same. Sometimes it seemed like he was a stepping stone to something better. Which might explain his previous behavior. But with her it was most certainly different.
He slowed down. Quit smoking and drinking (for a while), even the words coming from his pen were different. More mature. He was smiling again. And it had nothing to do with the free stuff given at parties and award shows.
No, he was becoming something no one would understand, except experienced it themselves.
He was a husband.
He was a father.
At times, he enjoyed it. Who wouldn’t? Free pass to the backstage of every party, free goodies from the high and expensive stores, free clothing, free make-up, free everything. Even girls for free. That was his favorite perk of it all.
And he had them all. Every single one of them. Blondes, redheads, brunettes, with freckles, tall, short, catwalk model supper skinny or Shakira curvy. You name it; he fucked it. Without an emotion, put on autopilot, in and out. Just a daily routine. Another day in life of a rock-star.
Even when he got the best of the world, it still wasn’t enough. He got more people to be like him, to enjoy in their successes, which were, more or less, the exact replica of his own. He watched those boys grow up in front of his eyes making the same mistakes, and not warning them about the consequences, not that he didn’t care, he loved those boys like they were his own (which they were, he owned them), but because he wanted to see what it was like. He watched others living his life, step by step, the exact way. He was standing by, standing outside looking in.
He was there for them, every single fuck up. He consoled, he gave his shoulder, his arms to wrap around, his chest to snuggle in. He claimed that he loved them, he proved his love for them, over and over again; in a small bunk, while the windows were fogging from the exhaling of hot breaths from swollen lips; in a comfy, five star hotel room, with room-services and designer sheets.
With time passed, it became another routine.
But then again, nothing in his life seems satisfactional enough to make it last. To have the same kick as it was the first time. And maybe the second time. Third time tops.
That is until, she re-entered into his life. Tall and beautiful, with her piercing eyes and mesmerizing smile. She was definitely out of his league, her being seventy three on a scale from zero to ten, him being only nine. Maybe eight point three.
They exchanged glances and kisses, hiding from the world, denying it for the media and reputation.
But there is a limit to as much a heart can take.
She didn’t wanted to be a secret anymore. A personal call girl when everybody else would turn their backs, close their eyes, and she’d tiptoed in a private area at the back, dim lights, just for a lap dance. And maybe a kiss on the neck.
When the bed screeched she was never as happy before, as in the moment he confessed his love, the bedpost marking the intensity of two hearts beating in the same rhythm, the feeling of inked skin against the velvet one.
With a two million dollar ring on her finger, she wasn’t a secret anymore. Even he changed. He wasn’t the same, in a term of fucking around, no, he wanted to experience what it would be like to be faithful. After all, in his life, people whom he considered to spend the rest of his life with found another person to do the same. Sometimes it seemed like he was a stepping stone to something better. Which might explain his previous behavior. But with her it was most certainly different.
He slowed down. Quit smoking and drinking (for a while), even the words coming from his pen were different. More mature. He was smiling again. And it had nothing to do with the free stuff given at parties and award shows.
No, he was becoming something no one would understand, except experienced it themselves.
He was a husband.
He was a father.