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Jessica was a pain in the ass on a good day. What would I do if every woman were like that? If that were the case, I'd rather be single for the rest of my life. I can't imagine sleeping with only one woman for the rest of my life, anyway. I'd be bored to death. My cock might actually shrivel up and die if I was stuck with one woman.
I'm a man, and I use my God-given talents to get what I want. I want women. A lot of them. I'm good at seducing them. I'm happy with who I am now. I don't want to have to give everything up.
Getting rid of someone like Jessica is the only benefit to taking my place as king. Commoners like her would never be allowed to even look at me, never mind speak to me.
But the price is too high. Freedom from a few complicated entanglements in exchange for eternal bondage? I can't do it. I'd rather deal with a hundred Jessica’s but still have my freedom, than give it all up and rule a country I’d never been able to relate to.
I can't count the number of women I’ve been with. I pick up a new one every weekend. I only go back to the same woman now and then, when they're particularly fun. But that doesn't happen very often.
And if Jessica was the result of going back, I'm not going to do that again any time soon.
No. I don't want to be a crown prince who's pure and innocent and put his country before himself. I want to be selfish and perverted. I'm good at it. Eventually, they would force me to take my place. I can only escape my fate for so long. But until then, I'm going to drink and fuck as much as I can.
If my life is ending soon, I want to make sure I really live. An image of Nicole drifts into my mind, with her dark hair and pale eyes. I want her to be part of my last hurrah.
Nicole
I meet Lucy at Solas Bar a couple of blocks away from my apartment and NYU. It's a narrow bar, with a lounge feel to it, sandwiched between a small restaurant and an apartment. The vibe is always good and no one bothers us when we just want a drink-and-catch-up session.
"I like your hair like that," I say when we sit down at the bar. The bartender slides two Mojitos in our direction, and I sip my drink.
Lisa had cut her blond hair into a long bob, and it's wavy at the edges when she doesn't straighten it. After Graham dumped her, she stopped trying to doll herself up. Raw, natural beauty shines through, now. I personally consider it an improvement.
She shrugs. "Thanks. Everyone says that. I don’t miss my long hair."
"How are you doing?" I ask.
She dated Graham for almost a year. It had been serious, at least for her. He’d told her he was serious, too. He’d been serious until the very moment he left her, telling her that he didn’t want what she wanted.
It's been brutal.
"I’m fine," she says. "As well as I can be. I don’t miss him or anything, if that’s what you’re asking."
I shake my head, sipping through the straw. "That’s not what I'm asking," I say after I swallow. "I just want to make sure you’re okay."
I feel for Lisa. I’ve never had a relationship that long or that serious, but I’ve seen how much she cared for him. In her opinion, he’d been the one. She’d known it right after their first date, when they’d slept together. I don't understand the logic behind giving it all away if you don't even know the person. I'm probably the only twenty-one-year-old virgin in New York City, but I don't want to just give it to anyone. I want to love, first. I want to know that it's all for something bigger than just … getting off.
"I’ll be fine," she says. Her drink level is sinking rapidly. She drinks fast. At this rate, I'll have to carry her home.
"You’re better off if he wasn’t that serious," I say. "You deserve someone who will put as much into the relationship as you do."
Lisa nods. "Damn right, I do. I just wish he would've told me earlier, you know? I wouldn’t have been upset if he’d told me, at any point in our relationship, that he wasn’t serious about me."
"I know what you mean," I sympathize, even though I don't really. I can imagine it, though.
"I mean, sure, it would've hurt. But not like this."
She waves at the bartender and orders shots. Tequila. She's planning on getting drunk.
"I met someone," I say. I glance up at her, waiting for a reaction. She blinks at me.
"Really? Where?" She stirs the last bit of her drink with a straw. When the tequila comes, she throws it back without the salt-and-lemon routine. She moves the other one across the bar to me.
I shake my head.
Lisa shrugs and drinks that one, too.
"Slow it down a bit," I say. She pulls a face at me. "And I met him at Starbucks."
