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“Too much info, Eric.”
Tristan walks out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. He’s dripping wet. I notice that he has formed a six-pack. Shit, the kid is becoming a man. It isn’t that which catches my attention, but the fact that Eric’s mouth is gaping.
Oh shit.
This is heartbreak waiting to happen. I don’t have the heart to remind Eric that Tristan is straight, but I’m fairly certain Tristan is a big enough boy to tell him on his own.
Eric straightens up and walks over to Tristan. “Okay, show me this damn shirt.”
I decide to leave them alone as I need to clear my head. Grabbing my keys, I head out of the apartment with Eric’s voice on high volume. “This shirt belongs in the clearance rack at Wal-Mart! If you want a crack at this bird, you need to show off your body.”
I can hear the muffled voices and decide to leave the divas to their own. I have more important things to worry about. And Eric’s namedrop has become one of them.
I haven’t seen her in two weeks, the urge still fighting for top position. All I have to do is make it through another night, one step at a time.
And ignore the fact that her husband is in Manhattan, according to the media.
She’s all alone.
A temptation too hard to stay away from.
The one thing I love about living in California, aside from the warm weather, is that no matter where you go, you will always find something new. Sometimes it’s a new eatery, a new bookstore, or maybe just a new spot to sit and ponder.
When I first arrived here, I had stumbled upon this place when I managed to get lost heading to a meeting. The meeting was being held at my boss’ house—a mansion in Bel Air worth a hell of a lot of money. I remember pulling the car aside trying to google my location with barely any service, and frustrated at the time, I went to throw my damn cell into the bush when I noticed the view in front of me.
It was a farm, nestled behind a hoard of trees. There were beautiful horses grazing throughout the wide space. Their stunning manes glistened in the morning sunshine. It was picturesque, tucked away in a hidden part of the hills. I sat there mesmerized by how they interacted with each other. I’m not a huge animal lover, but for the first time in my life, I was so captivated by the beauty of the creatures that before I knew it, I had been sitting there for over an hour watching them—and was ridiculously late for my meeting.
I have been back there twice at my lowest moments, and I know the urge to visit is calling me now. I look at my watch seeing it’s
already after five. I’ve been aimlessly wandering the streets for hours without any destination in mind. It’s too late to head out there now, so instead, I find myself a quiet little café.
Then, the familiar feeling of loneliness consumes me at this vulnerable moment. The feeling of being alone, of being unloved, knowing there isn’t anybody out there thinking about you right now. No one to open the door when you arrive home, jump into your arms, tell you how much they’ve missed you.
No one to look into your eyes and feel their gaze penetrating every part of your soul.
I close my eyes. Pools of brown eyes watch me. Call me. Beg me to save them.
I miss her so much my chest aches.
Chelsea… Charlie… Chelsea… Charlie.
You fucking piece of worthless shit, you don’t know what you want.
How the fuck can you fight the fire when you don’t know who’s igniting the flame?
The weakness. I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now, so I haul ass back home. In a desperate act, I reach out to the two closest people who could possibly save me from myself right now—Tristan and Eric.
It has come to this.
Tristan and Eric aren’t my saviors tonight. Tristan said Claudia isn’t feeling well, and he also feels ill from something he ate at dinner, and so he isn’t up for anything. Eric says he’s busy, and I’m not going to ask questions. I figure it has something to do with Charlie, hence, why he’s so vague. Either that or he’s doing something illegal, in which case, I still refuse to ask questions.
All I know is that I need physical contact with another human being. I yearn to feel the desire from a woman, and in other words, get laid—pronto.
Alone at a bar on the corner of pathetic and worthless streets, I find myself a stool and make acquaintances with my long-lost friend, Johnny Walker.
The place is busy, people cramming themselves in. The music blares loudly but is muffled by the drunken chatter. There’s a section in the corner where people dance, and the lights are dim. I search the room looking for something nice to take home. I don’t give a fuck if Tristan’s home, my dick has its own agenda and needs a fucking release.
As I watch the dance floor, the music changes, and the dancing slows. A woman wearing the tightest hot pink dress is playfully staring at me, licking her lips and pretending to suck the tip of her bottle. Okay, so I’m fairly certain she’s all show but gives poor head. Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. I’m about to walk toward her when her boyfriend grabs her arm and pulls her in a different direction.
