Page 14 of Ravaged For You

“You mean settle down?” I ask, incredulous. “Find one woman? Live a boring life? Not fall out of nightclubs at two in the morning?”

“Exactly.”

“Where’s the rockstar spirit, Lucas? Where’s the adventure? I’m carrying on a tradition here that dates back to the sexual revolution of the fifties and sixties, man. The Rolling Stones. All of them.”

My manager simply rolls his eyes at my passion. “Just get ready, Mick Jagger.” He checks the time on his phone. “It’s midday already and we have an important meeting in an hour.”

“Great. A meeting. How very rockstar.”

“You really do live in the moment, don’t you? No thought of the future, huh?”

I stand before him proudly in only my underwear. I know I look fucking good; I can see my toned muscular body in the mirror. Before I respond, I take a long, hard look at myself.

I am fucking sexy.

“Yep.”

“Put some damn clothes on, Elvis.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply snarkily. “Is the whole band coming to this meeting, or is it just a special treat for me?”

“Yes, the whole band will be there.”

“It better be fucking important, then.”

6

MADDIE

Making myself a cup of tea in work’s kitchen takes me a lot longer than usual on account of my severe hangover from last night. Yeah, I haven’t drunk that much in years, and it’s pretty evident in the way I look, feel, and walk. I haven’t been able to even think about eating anything this morning, which is very unlike me. A very weak cup of tea is the only thing I can digest that isn’t going to make me spew all over my desk.

I just hope Winston - my boss - doesn’t see me like this. I’m already on such thin ice with him. I don’t think I can even bear to talk to him today.

I stagger back into the office, careful not to spill any of my hot beverage as I make my way, staggering, toward my desk.

I pass Marie. She’s slumped over her own desk, clearly feeling the same effects as me. She turns to me and makes a dramatic puking expression, which makes me laugh loudly.

“We’re so hungover,” I mouth to her. She nods.

I manage to make it to my chair before my weak legs make me fall over myself. I sit down and take a cautious sip of my tea. It’s not going to make me spew, thank God.

Knowing I need to actually start my work sometime today, I open my computer and check my emails. Any thought that this might be a simple task is undone the moment I see the first message that pops up on my screen. It’s my landlord saying my rent is long overdue.

“Damn,” I mutter as I dare read the threatening email.

I am broke, that’s true. I haven’t been able to pay the rent for some time. But that’s because I send money home to Mom. I feel so guilty about her living on her own back home in Wisconsin. I left her to come here, and I’m torn up about it. She doesn’t help the situation at all; always reminding me about my abandonment of her every time we talk on the phone. I swear it wasn’t like that at all, but I can’t help but feel like I did a bad thing to her. That’s what she calls it. A selfish act. But I needed to get away from my town and start my life. I didn’t want to hurt her.

My parents got divorced when I was young, and it wasn’t an amicable good one either. It was very messy. In the years after, Mom slowly shifted towards religion to the point where now she’s practically a fundamentalist. Nothing wrong with that, but it now seems like every conversation I have with her is about sin and death and hell and how everything is somehow my fault. There’s no trace of the mom I remember from my childhood left. Even though I send my money back – even to the point of falling behind rent payments to do so – Mom is absolutely convinced I must live a life of sin in Los Angeles.

Ha. I could only wish to live a life of sin. That’ll be something different from my dull routine at least.

I came here to escape that negative stranglehold back home, but it seems like every month Mom asks for yet even more money and I can’t deny her that. I do feel… duty-bound to make sure she’s okay.

How can I tell her no? How do I tell my mom that I’m about to lose both my condo and my job? That would just confirm the state of sin I’m living in, wouldn’t it? My irresponsibleness.

A notification pops up on my computer screen. A new email. From my boss.

With a gulp full of trepidation, I read it.