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What I didn't know was that my parents were working against us in the background to derail our musical careers, and they weren't alone in their doing: Sly's old man and both of Rick's parents were on it, too.
They were out and out fucking sabotaging us, threatening the labels that wanted to sign us, blackmailing the directors of the radio stations that offered to play our songs. It was fucked up.
And then they really went crazy. They started to stage all kinds of accidents in whatever hole-in-the-wall club we happened to be playing at with zero regards for the people that could get hurt.
The last straw was when one of thoseaccidentsalmost fucking cost me the use of my left hand –my dominant one. If they had succeeded with their scheme, my fingers would have been useless, and I would have been left with no range of movement to play any instrument at all.
They denied their involvement, of course. But I had learned their tricks. Deny, deny, deny was the name of the game. They would keep pretending to be the outraged, butthurt party that was being falsely accused of something so heinous as to harm their only son so they could tie me to a fucking desk.
That's when I saidfuck itand stepped back from my role at GGG and cut those motherfuckers loose. My boys, Rick and Sly, followed suit immediately. We even left New York City altogether for good measure, just so that we wouldn't have to deal with the money-hungry, bloodthirsty monsters that spawned us.
Daddy-dearest’s response to my ‘Fuck you’ was to disinherit me, to which I said, ‘Fucking go ahead and do your worse’.
I've been estranged from both my parents since then. It was 2007.
My rebellion cost me all the wealth that wasn't personal to me, basically, all the money and properties I was set to inherit and the access to all the accounts that had been funding my life up until then. That cheap bastard took away all my toys, too: cars, bikes, expensive guitars, my apartment, hell, even the fucking money that had gone into a specific account every month when I received my damn salary.
I was still rich when they were done with me, and the trust fund left to me by my paternal grandfather —the only person in my family that actually loved me a little bit— they couldn't touch. Not that being left completely broke would have made a difference in my choice to cut them loose. I would have still gone through with it if there was not a dollar left to my name, but the fact that they couldn't wholly fuck my life up was a good reason for gloating as any. MakingBurning 21known worldwide, becoming a rock star, and being reinstated to my billionaire status by 2017, thanks to my earnings as a musician alone and the savvy ways I invested them, was the fucking cherry on top if you ask me. Not because I really cared that much about the money or the fame, but because Iknewhow much it would sting them, how much they would loathe it.
My phone keeps on ringing,Holtz's name still flashing.
Fuck, I gotta get a new number already. This time it took that douchebag less than two months to get his grubby hands on a way to contact me, and we can't have that.
I switch the phone off, toss it at my side on the sofa and go back to strumming my bass, hating that a simple call from this leech still has the power to bring me back in time, to make me think of people and deeds I wish I could forget.
I go back to thinking about Little Beauty.
Now, she's a much healthier, much happier obsession to focus on, that's for sure.
I see her clearly in my mind's eye. Those curves, those lips, that angel-face. And I immediately start to feel better, old bitterness dispelled.
I should grab onto this feeling and just go with it. That's what I want to do.
Still, it is in my nature to torture myself. So, I can't help but wonder what's about this stranger, this person worlds apart from where I am, that just calls to me so much? What's about this woman, so different from the girls that have come and gone in the past, that keeps my mind in this loop?
What's about this girl that sets her apart?
What is it that makes the wish to run out of this suite and find her burn so deep into me?
What's this restlessness that I feel?
Why am I so sure that this is about so much more than an apology I feel morally bound to give or even more than a hot curvy body I wish to sink myself into to outrun past pains and disappointments?
What's about this feeling in my heart, breathing new life into me even as I sit here like an idiot, going on too much caffeine and too little sleep? What's this strange hope I feel?
And why is it that I feel like everything is about to change?
What is it that makes apologizing to her so important in the first place?
Why do I need so badly to prove to this girl that I'm not like anything that she's probably thinking I am right now?
Why is it that I wish to be anything at all for her, to her?
Too many questions are crowding my head, that's for fucking sure.
And I have zero answers to them. There is just this strangeknowingkeeping me company as I wait for my chance to meet her again and make things okay between us.
I don't know what's going on with me.
