Vicariously Yours,

Truthfully Denying

Marcelo tapped on his pen impatiently at his desk. He was sitting in his home office. Blind white walls surrounding him. Almost reminding him of a marble boring museum.

The windows behind him showcased the excessive snow falling down. The white blurry mess storming outside.

At the moment, Marcelo was just....thinking. He did that, now, often. Probably because of stream of things. First, his job was in jeopardy for six months now. That's a hush-hush topic which he always manages to look on the bright side but now, he knew it was an escape to turn the other cheek.

It created a sick feeling in his stomach. His father often refer that to- what was the word?-guilt.

His father had known of it which is why so many things came to play. Pamela didn't know of it, obviously and Marcelo tried not to think of it.

So he moves on to the next part which concerned Pamela because she was out during the day. And now he also knew what she was doing. Or who she was doing.

Marcelo was so bored that he thought he'd like to play detective and go and search who she shagging but that thought always disappeared when another thing that keeps bothering him comes to play.

Baby doll.

Sensations of inquisitiveness wired him. His conscience was more active now. Nothing happened but something did. Her skin, he could still fee under the pads of his fingers. The slightly honey or sweet smell coming off her was triggering his nostril. The way her soft brown eyes gazed at him, never wavering.

He didn't want to do what he want to do. It's not because of morale. Not certainly because of Pamela. However, it was because of his father. Cody DeVille, manager of Delta Casino and Resort in Nevada. He was workaholic who was so invested in the art of the gaming business that he never had time for his family.

At a young age, Marcelo learnt the only way to keep his father's interests vested in him was to show appreciation in cards, especially Blackjack. He had his own pneumonic device for memorizing cards and often schools his own father in poker.

But after a while, even one knows you can't always keep them happy. Sure Marcelo had a knack in the gaming business but it did nothing for him. He wasn't going to keep trying to attain the pedestal for being the 'good son'.

It was around when he was ten year old that he had given up to seek approval from his father and move on to things that made him happy. Maybe not happy but enough pleasure to keep him alive.

Marcelo doesn't have rules. His whole childhood were based on what he did and what he wanted. No one stood in his way and no one could. But as he grew up, things changed. Like they always did.

His father came around about with certain choice words at his life but he never had to follow them up until now. Now when he is engaged to a bitch.

Trapped in a cage where he can't get out. His days of living like there is no tomorrow were gone. These words sound like something picked up from an old country song.

He licked his dry chapped lips as he handled the iron crested key. Fiddling with it, his eyes moved to the wall. On a particular wall that faced him where a vast picture that Pamela purchased hung over there. The picture was painted in shades of light moldy grey. There were no creations of figures, no nature, no dismembered shapes. Just horizontal thick strokes of the color grey.

It made him gloomy and sad and thoughtful. He didn't remove it for a sole purpose. His hand clenched around the iron key. Smell of light rust wafted into his nostrils.

At times, when he held the key he felt two things mostly. Guilt and freedom. One emotion and the other was a word that made him feel that this was a way out.