| What the hell was it about being on the road that turned him into a different entity? He couldn't figure it out, and spent many a guilt filled morning staring woefully at abandoned condom wrappers, empty bottles of alcohol, and occassionally, remnents of various drugs. It was always the same, play the role they required of to play while on the clock, but once the cameras were gone and he was alone, the maniac that lived within him emerged. He'd prayed for it to be different, promised himself he would strive to change, to become more like his public persona, be that image he stared at in magazines and interviews. That guy always sounded so together, looked so impressive, appeared so perfect. Once again, he failed himself. Climbing out of the sex stained bed he'd shared with, fuck, was it two or three girls last night, he couldn't remember, he stumbled to the bathroom. The sight that met him in the mirror was all to familiar, deep brown circles under his bloodshot eyes, angry red loves bites, and today, three deep scratch marks that adorned his shoulder. He touched them gingerly and sighed. It was sheer lunacy. There was nothing normal or positive about his life now. How had it started, he strained to remember. Innocently, he knew, five years ago, the shy one, a virgin, sweet, and well, quite frankly, the ignored one. He'd watched with envy as his four group mates indulged with women, booze and sometimes drugs. Stepping under the hot spray of the shower, he winced as the water connected with his wounds, stinging them. He was feeling increasingly disgusted by his sexcapades lately, and carried around a persistant dirty feeling, causing him to bathe two or three times a day. He wished he could go back, start over, return to a time where he truly was the image he now only portrayed. But how, how could he revert now? He'd become addicted to the comforting feel of arms around him, even if it was only temporary, the special attention, even if he was blind to the fact all these girls were after was a star fuck, the lonliness sheared away, even if it was only for an hour or two. He blinked the water from his eyes and stood silently, replaying his shattered reality. Tears threatened to fall, and he tried to recall the last time he'd cried. He couldn't remember, his walls were too thick for that now. Fame had soured him. The water grew tepid, and he cursed, cutting it off and stepping out. Steam covered the mirror and he made no attempt to clear it, afraid to look into himself, afraid he'd see his bruised soul staring back at him, and that was a sight he just couldn't bear. Stepping back into the room, he avoided looking at the bed. Instead, he covered his nakedness with a towel and sat in one of the two hideously decorated chairs near the bed. He kicked his shoes to the side and noticed a small peice of paper on the nightstand. It was, no doubt, a phone number, or address, or little love note from one of the girls. Disgusted, he grabbed at it, tearing it into shreds, and littering the rug with it. So much anger festered inside him, so much disappointment, and fear. The tears finally overtook him, and his body shook with sobs. He cursed words he'd never said before, he threw things, listening to them shatter as they crashed into the wall, he screamed as loud as his voice would allow. Then he grew quiet. Faintly, he heard a frantic knock on his door, who was it? He couldn't seem to focus on the voice calling his name. It didn't matter anyway, he was growing cold, even though sweat glistened on his body. Carefully, he climbed onto the balcony and stared down. The breeze was powerful and he closed his eyes, praying for the sun to warm and comfort him. Shivering uncontrollably, he stood onto a resin chair and lifted himself onto the narrow concrete ledge. His heart thudded in his ears as he stood up, his arms in front of him. He was only 21, just a baby in a business that ate people for breakfast, and spit them out for lunch. The fear of failure, not only to himself, but his family overwhelmed him, and the lonliness caught him sharply, making his heart ache. Shallow, short breaths escaped his lips as he tilted his tear stained face to the sky. No matter what he did, he couldn't go back to the time where he loved and respected himself, that time was gone. An erie calm stopped him from shivering, and he leaned into the strong gusts of wind, feeling himself fall forward. Suddenly, hands from heaven shoved him back, and he fell into the arms of his hysterical friend, who had broken down the door after hearing the commotion in the room. They tumbled to the hard ground, his friend breaking his fall. His green eyes focused, snapping him back to sanity. He rolled over and stared into Joey's panicked face. And then he began to laugh, an out of control, insane laugh which soon lead to sobs once again. Joey held him tightly, rubbing his bare back in an attempt to warm his icy body. "It's okay! Lance, it's okay. You're okay." Lance sniffled loudly and collapsed into Joey's arms, exhausted and frightened. For the first time in forever he felt human again, vunerable. He had faced darkness and death, and yet, he was still alive. Someone was looking out for him, and he vowed to change into that sweet, innocent, young man once again. |
| THE TEST by destiny |