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I donotdo this shit.
In my line of work, it's easy to become disillusioned, and I've been jaded for so long when it comes down to love, women, and relationships.
I can't even remember the last stable romantic liaison in my life. Was it ten years ago? Longer?
Yeah, definitely longer. I think I was in my early twenties then.
And didn't it turn out to be a pointless endeavor even then?
That girl, she didn't care about me, only my money, my status as one of the very few Manhattan princes still around and unshackled.
She wanted so very much to be the type of trophy wife that she was expected to be. It didn't matter to her that I had no desire to win her.
So I called things off, thinking that pursuing music would bring me closer to real people, people that would really care about me, that would want to know the real me.
It didn't go that way.
I went from old-money prince to famous rock star, and the scene changed, the cities changed, but the women didn't. Sure, their appearance was different. The Chanel-wearing socialites turned into adoring groupies with big eyes circled in too much black kohl. The playground was different, but the game was the same old one.
Shallow Manhattan mavens that wanted money and status turned into shallow rock star-chasing bunnies that wanted to be famous-adjacent and go to bed with a dream more than a human being. I've had my share of hangers-on that wanted a quick fuck with a bad boy rock god —their words, not mine. For fuck's sake, some wanted me to bone them with my leather pants still on just to fulfill a fantasy.
That shit grows old very fast.
The Press likes my bad-boy image. It sells copies. They think I fuck my way through any pussy that gets thrown at me, but they couldn't be further from the truth.
I've been on my own for over a year now with nothing but my own hand to break the solitude.
I needed off that fucked up merry-go-round of meaningless flings, and nameless one-night stands like I needed to breathe, and that's precisely what I did.
That shit was slowly poisoning me, worse than my parents had ever come close to accomplishing. The stark ugliness of it had started to affect my view of the world in such a dark way that I got depressed, and my songwriting had turned hopeless and dry.
I needed to take a step back and re-evaluate my life, and that's what I did.
I'm still doing it, I guess. That's why Little Beauty has been able to throw me for a loop like this.
Celibacy fucking sucks, that's for sure, but it's better than what I had before.
Living life like I did, I had nothing but emptyhere-one-second-gone-the-nextpleasure. Being alone, at least I had myself, and I could look in the mirror without wanting to punch myself in the face.
That's why I hate so much that, tired or not, I acted the rude rock star brat yesterday, and that's why she's so stuck in my head, maybe.
Okay, no. Fuck it. I know it's not just that.
But shit, until I've got names for the rest of the feelings going through me, maybe I'll do better just focusing on the need to apologize to her.
That's right.
Think about how I should apologize…
Forget about all the visions I've had of picking her up and dragging her to my bed.
I shouldn't even go there.
I'm bad news for someone like her.
IknowI am.
So, I'll apologize, and then I'll move on.
