Post by The Last Real Man on Mar 17, 2016 19:59:56 GMT -5
Johnny, I’m running out of fucking options with you…”
I could hear the sincerity in her voice. Every single word was thought out, chosen carefully, masterfully crafted with the precision of a seamstress, and with every sentence she weaved, my fate became that much more sewn.
“You’re never there, you don’t answer the fucking phone when I call… it’s like I’m raising him by myself...”
Nothing cuts deeper than the truth. Nothing hurts more than a broken heart. Nothing can cure a broken conscience. I’ve reached that conclusion, and along with that epiphany, I realize that I’ve got a mountain of questions piling up with absolutely no answers. I constantly feel like there’s this black cloud of uncertainty following me, looming over my head.
But my future is shining to bright at the moment for me to be concerned with the shade.
“Kharissa, I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but you’ve got to believe that I’m sorry, and I promise that I’ll make it up to you. I realize what’s important now. I’m changing...” I replied, lying through my teeth as she sucked hers. We were on opposite sides of the world, two souls grown apart by constant complications and tribulations - most created by my own hands. There was a time when we loved each other more than life itself, but like most things I love, they end up despising me. But buried deep beneath that resentment lies a glimmer of hope that I’ll turn it around, and return to being the man they once knew me as.
“I don’t want to hear how you’re sorry. I want to see how sorry you fucking are. I want to see this change. Prove to me how serious you are by making a fucking effort for once. I’ll be bringing him by tomorrow morning. I hope you’ll keep your word this time.” She was throwing me a bloody lifeline, a fucking float because I was out there sinking in deep shit, descending deeper and deeper down in that hole I dug myself. But I’ve got an even bigger well to climb out of. Having not won a match in what feels like decades, listening to the outside world yell about my decline, reading reports of my demise. Someone told me the more people that agree with a statement, the more likely it is to be a fact.
But that’s just someone’s opinion, and I can’t afford to live my life based on someone else’s interpretation of the reality.
“You can count on me…”
Lying is a talent. No one is born a liar, you have to develop that skill overtime. I’d do it professionally, but it doesn’t pay that well. Actually, the only returns are sorry, and misfortune, but those are necessary sacrifices, and a tradeoff I happily accept because I’m working for something much bigger than myself - much bigger than William too.
A legacy.
Lying Is A Talent[/font][/b]
March 16th, 2016
Los Angeles, California
”You sure you can even trust those two? I mean, it’s Carmine for fuck’s sake,” Goodrich asked, while I downed another shot. It was a good question, and one that needed to be asked. Things were happening swiftly, and he was right to be concerned about my well being, after all I am his cash cow - or friend, but really, the difference between the two isn’t that distinct.
“Trust is not my biggest concern right now, Q. Farthest thing from my thoughts to be honest,” I replied dismissively, eyeing a group of gold diggers who were situated across the bar at their own little booth. They looked like out of towners. Young, twenty-somethings who split one hotel room between the four of them. Prolly split the flight too. But it’s spring break, and who the hell am I to judge anyone. I mean, they worked hard all semester skipping class to take selfies, and smoke hookahs on snapchat. They deserve a Spring Break.
“Well it should be. I mean, I see the appeal, the guy’s a stud, he’s going places, but he did stab his last associate in the back,” Goodrich added, spewing wisdom that fell on deaf ears.
“I’d be hypocrite to hold that against him. Besides, what he did to Chandler isn’t any different than what I did to Abby last year. Friendships are not more important than career progression. He saw a business opportunity and he took it. Blew up in his fucking face, but that happens.”
“Yeah, I’ll concede that, but what do you really know about this Diamond guy,” another good question, and one I hadn’t really given the topic much thought. Like every other guy in this business with that surname he was brash, cocky, and thought the world of himself. But from that meeting, I gained enough information about the man to know I wasn’t wasting my time with him.
“I know all I need to know…,” I told him, flagging him as I hopped down off my stool, bottle of Bacardi 151 proof in my hand as I threw a couple hundred down on the counter, winking at the bartender as I did so, turning my back on my personal sage as I turned my focus solely on the fresh meat that flew in via coach. Good thing that they’re comfortable sharing beds with each, because I was about to bring them back home to share something else.
“And what the hell is that?”
I turned back around at him with a grin, nudging him to accompany me on my hunt, “he wants it all, everything… every fucking thing,” I told him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder as he walked over to the booth.
“Ladies,” I said, taking the longest sip of Bacardi, sippin’ on it like my life depended on it, and in a way it did. I needed to fill that void Misha left in stomach. Ironically enough, the only solution was the very problem itself, “this is my friend Quinn, he’s too shy to come up and say anything, but he was wondering if you’d like to come back to his condo on the sunset strip?”
And that probleem? Oh yeah. It’s a beautifully profound lack of judgement.
OOC: Apologies, I'm just posting the CD, on account of google docs LITERALLY just crashing while trying to transfer it to the boards. Apologies.
I could hear the sincerity in her voice. Every single word was thought out, chosen carefully, masterfully crafted with the precision of a seamstress, and with every sentence she weaved, my fate became that much more sewn.
“You’re never there, you don’t answer the fucking phone when I call… it’s like I’m raising him by myself...”
Nothing cuts deeper than the truth. Nothing hurts more than a broken heart. Nothing can cure a broken conscience. I’ve reached that conclusion, and along with that epiphany, I realize that I’ve got a mountain of questions piling up with absolutely no answers. I constantly feel like there’s this black cloud of uncertainty following me, looming over my head.
But my future is shining to bright at the moment for me to be concerned with the shade.
“Kharissa, I know I sound like a broken record at this point, but you’ve got to believe that I’m sorry, and I promise that I’ll make it up to you. I realize what’s important now. I’m changing...” I replied, lying through my teeth as she sucked hers. We were on opposite sides of the world, two souls grown apart by constant complications and tribulations - most created by my own hands. There was a time when we loved each other more than life itself, but like most things I love, they end up despising me. But buried deep beneath that resentment lies a glimmer of hope that I’ll turn it around, and return to being the man they once knew me as.
“I don’t want to hear how you’re sorry. I want to see how sorry you fucking are. I want to see this change. Prove to me how serious you are by making a fucking effort for once. I’ll be bringing him by tomorrow morning. I hope you’ll keep your word this time.” She was throwing me a bloody lifeline, a fucking float because I was out there sinking in deep shit, descending deeper and deeper down in that hole I dug myself. But I’ve got an even bigger well to climb out of. Having not won a match in what feels like decades, listening to the outside world yell about my decline, reading reports of my demise. Someone told me the more people that agree with a statement, the more likely it is to be a fact.
But that’s just someone’s opinion, and I can’t afford to live my life based on someone else’s interpretation of the reality.
“You can count on me…”
Lying is a talent. No one is born a liar, you have to develop that skill overtime. I’d do it professionally, but it doesn’t pay that well. Actually, the only returns are sorry, and misfortune, but those are necessary sacrifices, and a tradeoff I happily accept because I’m working for something much bigger than myself - much bigger than William too.
A legacy.
Lying Is A Talent[/font][/b]
March 16th, 2016
Los Angeles, California
”You sure you can even trust those two? I mean, it’s Carmine for fuck’s sake,” Goodrich asked, while I downed another shot. It was a good question, and one that needed to be asked. Things were happening swiftly, and he was right to be concerned about my well being, after all I am his cash cow - or friend, but really, the difference between the two isn’t that distinct.
“Trust is not my biggest concern right now, Q. Farthest thing from my thoughts to be honest,” I replied dismissively, eyeing a group of gold diggers who were situated across the bar at their own little booth. They looked like out of towners. Young, twenty-somethings who split one hotel room between the four of them. Prolly split the flight too. But it’s spring break, and who the hell am I to judge anyone. I mean, they worked hard all semester skipping class to take selfies, and smoke hookahs on snapchat. They deserve a Spring Break.
“Well it should be. I mean, I see the appeal, the guy’s a stud, he’s going places, but he did stab his last associate in the back,” Goodrich added, spewing wisdom that fell on deaf ears.
“I’d be hypocrite to hold that against him. Besides, what he did to Chandler isn’t any different than what I did to Abby last year. Friendships are not more important than career progression. He saw a business opportunity and he took it. Blew up in his fucking face, but that happens.”
“Yeah, I’ll concede that, but what do you really know about this Diamond guy,” another good question, and one I hadn’t really given the topic much thought. Like every other guy in this business with that surname he was brash, cocky, and thought the world of himself. But from that meeting, I gained enough information about the man to know I wasn’t wasting my time with him.
“I know all I need to know…,” I told him, flagging him as I hopped down off my stool, bottle of Bacardi 151 proof in my hand as I threw a couple hundred down on the counter, winking at the bartender as I did so, turning my back on my personal sage as I turned my focus solely on the fresh meat that flew in via coach. Good thing that they’re comfortable sharing beds with each, because I was about to bring them back home to share something else.
“And what the hell is that?”
I turned back around at him with a grin, nudging him to accompany me on my hunt, “he wants it all, everything… every fucking thing,” I told him, wrapping my arm around his shoulder as he walked over to the booth.
“Ladies,” I said, taking the longest sip of Bacardi, sippin’ on it like my life depended on it, and in a way it did. I needed to fill that void Misha left in stomach. Ironically enough, the only solution was the very problem itself, “this is my friend Quinn, he’s too shy to come up and say anything, but he was wondering if you’d like to come back to his condo on the sunset strip?”
And that probleem? Oh yeah. It’s a beautifully profound lack of judgement.
OOC: Apologies, I'm just posting the CD, on account of google docs LITERALLY just crashing while trying to transfer it to the boards. Apologies.
