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And whose fault is that?
Not that a year of no contact could erase him from my mind. Reed often popped up in my dreams, those unforgettable eyes haunting me.
I thought about him incessantly.
Especially when I was fucking a guy. And I fucked. A lot.
But even that was hitting a low point lately.
I’d picked up a sexy twink late last night, over on Sunset Boulevard. Ten minutes later I was parked in an alleyway, pounding his ass in the back seat of my SUV. Or I started to. Until my cock stopped cooperating.
I’d heard about whiskey dick, but too much coke can apparently do the same.
So, of course, I lost my temper along with my hard on, and kicked the guy out of my car. Texted my dealer and got high again.
And I felt great. For a while.
But I was too wired to sleep, and I made the mistake off popping a few sleeping pills. I woke up when my alarm blared four hours later. When I arrived on set, everything went to shit. The room began to spin and then, nothing.
I woke up in a private hospital three hours later. They gave me a lecture on addiction and seeking treatment, which I ignored.
I signed myself out and headed home.
I still had the shakes and it made it difficult to even hold my phone, never mind type on it.
And what could I say to Reed?
After all this time. After all the missed calls and texts.
After I’d pushed him away. For the sake of my career.
Reed didn’t deserve the silent treatment.
And he deserved a hell of a lot better than me.
I was consumed with working my way up the Hollywood food chain, but I wasn’t the only one having professional success. Reed’s TV show became a hit. He wasn’t as widely known as me, but he was getting there.
Living the dream.
And my life? It was a goddamn nightmare.
Funny, because over the past four years, I thought that I was the one who was making it to the top and Reed was following in my footsteps.
Not anymore. And I hoped he never did.
Victor, the agent Neal had introduced me to the night of that party, convinced me that he was my ticket to the top. So, ten months ago, encouraged by Neal, I switched agents.
It turned out to be the biggest mistake.
Vic kept harping that ‘gay by association’ was just as bad for my career as if I’d come out myself. He told me to cut Reed loose for good and carefully managed my image on a level that was intrusive to an extreme. Yeah, he knew what condoms I preferred, what kind of lube I ordered, and arranged for discreet men to show up when I needed to fuck. He introduced me to a top-notch dealer. And he had women showing up at my door every day.
I was never without a female escort in public, ever. It was annoying as fuck, but I was too busy filming and snorting half my earnings up my nose to give a shit. Or, to do anything about it.
After all, Vic kept telling me that our plan was working.
I was in demand.
Directors wanted me, fellow actors envied me, and producers loved me. No matter how tired, sick, high, hungover, I always delivered.
