You're familiar with my name,
But you don't understand my thoughts and emotions.
You see the surface, but not the depths of my being.
As I awaken and my eyes flutter open, my initial observation is that the ceiling of my room is not adorned in pink, but rather a deep shade of black.
I turn my face to the side, catching sight of a bare back, and gradually my gaze moves towards the individual's face. A feeling of repulsion begins to settle deep within me. It's hard to fathom that I slept with someone again.
Someone who isn't her.
Quietly expressing my frustration, I drag my fingers across my face before hastily leaping out of bed and gathering my things. Once dressed, I hastily exit the apartment, eager to return home and rid myself of the unpleasant scent that clings to me.
With my hoodie pulled over my head, I hail a cab and provide the driver with my address. Throughout most of the journey, I keep my head lowered, gazing out of the cab window at the bustling streets of Los Angeles. Suddenly, I feel a vibration in my pocket, prompting me to retrieve my phone and answer the incoming call.
"What on earth am I supposed to do with you?" The voice on the other end exclaims in frustration.
I let out a chuckle and reply, "Good morning to you as well, Rix." Rix, my assistant, is one of those individuals I simply can't imagine my life without. I am fully aware that if he ever decides to resign, it would throw my career into disarray.
"You've grabbed the attention of the media once more!" he exclaims with a mixture of frustration and exasperation, attempting to regain his composure. "Young man, I understand the challenges, but consider the impact on your professional trajectory and, more importantly, think about your mother."
Through clenched teeth, I inquire, "Has she called again?"
"No, but you're fully aware of the consequences that unfolded the last time she became aware of your controversies," he responds solemnly.
Oh man, that hit hard.
A pang of discomfort shoots through me as I recall my mother's heart attack. It was during the time when my promiscuous behavior became known to her, and she didn't handle it well. Upon learning about her heart condition, I promptly flew back home and devoted myself to her care until she made a full recovery.
She even attempted to make me comprehend that engaging in promiscuous behavior would lead me down a destructive path, one that would irreparably ruin my life.
But obviously, it didn't work. When I returned back to LA, I immediately found myself in a bar looking for another night of meaningless sex.
But I don't understand, why I do this, when I know that it meaningless.
Am I hoping for her to become a guardian angel and somehow instill some wisdom into my stubborn mind?
"And this time, your responsibility for damage control is to attend the fundraiser this evening," he says, as I let out an exasperated groan. He chuckles and adds, "You brought this upon yourself, my friend. Now, face the consequences before I give you a good kick in the rear."
"You got it boss." I tease, knowing that I'm his boss, not the other way around. Rix, is the best.
I pose one more time for the reporters, but their attention is diverted to something else behind me. With curiosity building inside me, I turn around to see the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I once again assume a pose for the journalists, yet they shift their focus to something else situated behind me.
A sense of intrigue intensifies within me, prompting me to pivot and witness the presence of the most exquisite lady I have ever laid my eyes upon.
Clad in a striking maroon gown, she gracefully accentuates her figure, as the gown's long slit elegantly reveals her toned, extended leg. The heart-shaped neckline enticingly enhances the appearance of her breasts. With her hands confidently resting on her hips, she assumes alluring poses for the cameras.
Her clear azure eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, gazed directly ahead, fixed upon the press corps. Her lips, painted a deep shade of red, subtly formed a slight pout while she slightly tilted her head, revealing her well-defined jawline. However, in a surprising turn of events, her eyes suddenly met mine, and an expression of shock instantly enveloped her countenance.
Swiftly brushing over my tuxedo in a gesture of composure, she swiftly pivoted to ensure that no one had detected the brief eye contact. I let out a despondent sigh, my gaze drifting downwards towards the floor, when suddenly a fruity fragrance wafted into my senses. Startled, my eyes shot up, catching sight of her walking past me, her stunning dark blonde hair cascading as she gracefully flipped it.
She dyed her hair.
Anticipating the reporters' potential suspicion, I promptly made my way towards the entrance, purposefully striding towards the bar. With a sense of familiarity, I found myself consuming alcohol in a rapid manner, much like I had done on countless previous nights.
My gaze remained fixated on the person I cherished the most, who engaged in joyful conversation with her cousin brother's friends from the football team. After some time, as if sensing someone's stare, she turned around. Once again, our eyes met and locked with a newfound intensity that surpassed our previous encounters.
It feels like a life changing moment.
And at that moment, she abruptly broke our gaze. She redirected her attention towards her brother, who stood there with an astonished expression, his eyes fixed on Cristine. With determination, Cristine strode confidently towards the cousins, donning a gown that resembled Skylar's in style but with distinct colors.
As they engaged in conversation, I shifted my focus and proceeded to order another glass of alcohol. However, when I turned my attention back towards the captivating individual, she had disappeared. Panic surged within me as my eyes darted around, scanning the crowd in an attempt to locate her presence.
Eventually, my eyes caught sight of a blonde figure donning a maroon gown, making her way towards the rear exit. Determinedly, I rose from my seat and briskly walked towards the door, driven by the intention to pursue her.
Disregarding all the greetings and social niceties, I persisted in forcefully maneuvering my way through the densely packed crowd. The moment I burst through the door, the sight that unfolded before my eyes triggered an intense surge of anger and frustration within me.
With a rush of adrenaline, I swiftly propelled myself forward, intercepting a punch that had been targeted at Skylar. Using my strength, I deflected the blow and swiftly raised my right leg, delivering a forceful kick. The confrontation intensified as approximately five men encircled us, but Skylar positioned herself beside me, assuming a defensive stance, ready to retaliate if they made a move.
I was well aware that Skylar wouldn't stubbornly refuse my assistance in this situation, knowing the importance of our collective effort to fend off these men. As soon as they initiated their attack, we swiftly retaliated, unleashing a flurry of punches and kicks against anyone who dared to target us.
Over the course of four years, I had dedicated myself to learning enough about self-defense, allowing me to stand confidently by Skylar's side in combat, as we did in that very moment.
After we had fought them off, I was curious as to why they attacked her? It didn't look like they were trying to her harass her though.
But still I wanted protect her and so I did.
And I'll always protect her despite the fact that she hates me.
I retrieved her phone from the ground, noticing that despite the rough fall, it remained in pristine condition. Handing it back to her, she expressed gratitude in a composed and formal tone, addressing me as "Mr. McCoy."
Internally, a sigh of disappointment escaped me, as I disliked the formal manner in which she addressed me. I longed for the days when she used to call me by a more endearing and familiar term, reminding me of the connection we once shared.
"Hello, dear cousin," a voice greeted, causing my eyebrows to knit together in confusion. I swiftly turned around to identify the source of the familiar address.