The Dark Side of the Gla/Morous Streets of Reality

AUTHOR's NOTE: SORRY FOR THE FORMAT/STRUCTURE; LINES BREAKS WE'RE MESSED UP. SEE ATTACHMENT, IF YOU WANT, FOR CORRECT STRUCTURE!

PROLOGUE

“My name is Damien. That is all you need to know; nothing more, nothing less. You see, my life is very complicated and if I give too many details away, it wouldn’t lead to a suspenseful conclusion now would it? Because that is what you are here for right? The drama? Something that happens only to your favorite characters in the land of fiction and you find yourself thirsting to join them. Quite the double-edged sword I would say. You crave the drama—I mean don’t we all—but hide from it when you have to deal with it face-to-face.

Consider yourself lucky. ”

Los Angeles, California is the town I call home. What I love about this place is how it can easily trick people into believing it’s something it’s not, that is until you get to know it. What do I mean? Behind all the glamour of the Hollywood scene lies something much darker. When the glamour of the day ends, the “real” come out and play. The Hollywood you dream of is not the Hollywood I live and see every day—if only that could be true. Drugs, sex, and money rule the land when the lights go off. Many assume that they would never be involved in something as heinous, but you would be surprised how often I have seen them fall off the track of good and narrow. Hollywood is the place where you find yourself. Either you continue to believe the mirage the city provides or you grow a pair of balls and face the dark. The choice is always yours, but of course you meet a few along the way that can greatly influence that decision. I wasn’t always this complicated. To be completely honest, I was a simple, quiet young man who let others dictate my life. Everyone knows someone like that. Hell, you might even be that person yourself. But the point is no one wants to be around a person who is a drag all the time. I know I didn’t. I once tried to commit suicide because I couldn’t stand being alone with myself for 10 minutes. By no means did Hollywood fix the problem. That’s not in the job description.

Okay, enough chitchat about the “glamour” of Hollywood. You are aching for the nitty-gritty side of things—something called my life—after all, that’s the only reason why you picked this up, isn’t it? But before I begin, I want to warn you. This is not your average, run-of-the mill story. I will not sugarcoat anything, hide, or try to not hurt people’s feelings. That’s not my job. My job is to give the honest truth (is that real?) to the best of my knowledge. Topics will be dealt with that are considered in most places taboo and forbidden to discuss in front of your parents.

But I don’t have any parents, nor do I give a fuck about taboos.

If you don’t feel like you can handle this or don’t want to talk about said topics, then put the book down now. Drop it and don’t look back. I won’t look at you any different if you do—others may though. It would look a little strange if you just threw a book down and walked away. Maybe you should do that. Draw attention to yourself and as a result, my book. Huh, not a bad idea. But anyway, I’ll give you a couple of moments to make your decision…

Still here? Fantastic. Well, congratulations are in order. You consider yourself to be one badass motherfucker. Well, we’ll see about that. We shall see how you uphold that “badass motherfucker” status after you finish this. I know I can’t wait for the end result. And so, with that said, I welcome you to the open your eyes and focus on the story about to unfold. Everything means something and everything is essential. Remember that, will you? For it—and myself—will help guide you in the dark…the dark side of the glamorous streets of reality.

CHAPTER ONE: THEODORE: “Of Joy That Steals”

“If you expect to pass my class, I suggest you get your head off the desk and pay attention,” the shrill voice of Mrs. Kingston bellowed. I lifted my head as soon as the last syllable rang from her thin, villainous lips.

“If I catch you sleeping in class one more time, Mr. Rose you are in big trouble.”

“What are you going to do? Spank me? Call my mom?” I said with a bit of a snort at the end. Wait. Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

“Did you really just say that out loud, Mr. Rose? Of all my years teaching, I have never come across a more disrespectful student than you. I want you out of that seat right now and head down to Mr. Jamison’s office. I’ll have him deal with you…AGAIN! Now move it.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I just had to go and open my damn mouth again. Think before you speak. Think before you speak. Why doesn’t that shit ever stick with me? As I slowly gathered my things from my desk I noticed that all of my classmates were glaring at me with piercing, batty eyes.

“What the fuck are you all looking at?” Dammit.

“Oh, this is going to be a juicy report, Mr. Rose. I usually don’t allow myself to indulge, but I really am going to enjoy this one. Oh, yes. Now get out, please.”

I grabbed my book bag from the floor and shoved all of the papers crowding my desk in it. I tried not to focus on the eyes staring, for fear of saying something else that might incriminate me. But I couldn’t help myself, when I reached the front of the class and caught the face of Marcell Shaw, known as the “little bastard” in my world. I don’t know what it is, but the boy always makes my stomach crawl and I feel like I just want to punch him in the face to shut him up—even if he doesn’t open his mouth.

“Have fun,” he said, finishing it off with a snicker at the end.

He makes this too easy.

“Thank you. I will. As a matter of fact, I’ll try to have as much fun as I did when I was fucking your mom in the ass last night.”

“What did you say?” he asked, stammering over his words. It’s not every day someone tells you that they just boned your mother in the ass. Or maybe it happens more often than one would think? They should check up on that. A few students, sitting behind Marcel, caught wind of my joke and quietly chuckled as not to disturb Mrs. Kingston. But nothing could get past that old bat.

“What are you two chit-chatting about? I thought I told you to leave, Mr. Rose. Out, out you go. And for the rest of you, page 215 in your books now. Activities 1, 2, and 3 are due at the end of class. Get started,” Mrs. Kingston said, all the while never taking her glance off the disciplinary report she so proudly drew up. I slinked out of the classroom and into the hallway, which, considering the time was pretty empty. As soon I took in my first breath of “fresh air,” a dilemma presented itself to me. I was in the hallway. No teachers around. No one knows that I’m supposed to be going to Mr. Jamison’s office but the old bat and she wasn’t going to finish that report by the end of the day. So, what’s a boy to do? Follow the rules and sit idly in front of Mr. Jamison’s office, waiting for my death sentence? Or cut classes and do whatever the hell I wanted to do for the next 4 hours? Let’s see: Rules or Freedom. Rules? Freedom? Rules? Freedom? Ah, who the hell I am kidding.

I turned the opposite way of Mr. Jamison’s office and headed toward my locker at the end of the hallway. As I walked by, I quickly ducked past the classrooms as to not catch the eye of one of the teachers who happened to glance through the door window. Wouldn’t want them ruining my day now would I?

Damn, why does my locker have to be past so many doors?

After a couple of minutes of ducking and dodging, I finally arrived at my old, beaten down locker. You would think being an upperclassman would have its advantages when it comes to locker choice in the school, but no, none at all.

Locker #2154.

The familiar squeak of the hinges greeted my ears, as I opened the door of the locker and threw some of the crap in my book bag into it. As I was piling more shit on top of more shit, I noticed a small bottle sticking out of the top shelf. Fuck yeah! I forgot I had that in there. I threw my book bag down to the floor, stepped on the inside of the locker to bolster myself up and grabbed the bottle. Jack Daniels. I love the sweet sound of that name. I had forgotten that I put this up there after needing a place to stash it during class breaks. I’m surprised my old man hasn’t said shit about it yet. But then again, he has so many of these he probably hasn’t noticed that it’s gone. Anyway, it was here and it was begging to be tasted. Every time I drink alcohol it’s as if it was my first time and the smooth taste was foreign. I almost shit in my pants every time a bottle nears my lips. I guess you can say I have a bit of a problem. But nothing a few drinks can’t handle right? That’s a little contradictory there, I suppose.

After downing the entire bottle—it wasn’t that big, so don’t go flipping your lid—I needed someplace to get rid of it, because it sure as hell wasn’t going back into my locker. As I looked around—where the hell is a trashcan when you need it?—I saw no place I could chuck this. But then I noticed that the locker next to me was cracked just enough to pry open. I placed the bottle underneath my chin and I propped open the locker next to mine. Don’t know whose it was. Don’t give a rat’s ass either. I threw it in there and slammed it shut. Now it was their problem.

Now comes the fun part: sneaking out of the school without being noticed. The front door was out of the question because the office was next to it and those damn secretaries don’t have anything better to do than stare out of the office window, counting the minutes away until the final bell rings.

Sound familiar?

There are a couple of back doors without too much supervision and at the right timing would be a perfect getaway. I began to walk down the hallway, avoiding the gazes of teachers, and made my way to the back door near the cafeteria. Luckily no one was around when I reached the door and I was able to slip out with much ease. OH! How good it felt to be free from that place. With the fresh air hitting my face, birds singing their hearts out, my body began to fill with adrenaline .Oh what a feeling. Nothing could ruin my joy at this moment.

“Hey.”

Shit. Does something always break your mood when you say nothing can? Cause it’s happening right now. I didn’t even have to turn around because I would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Theo? What are you doing out here?” I slowly turned around and faced her.

Michelle Young, my crazy, psycho, ludicrous, mentally unstable, potion making, duck fucking ex-girlfriend. My brain forgot to register the fact that her and her “looney toon” friends hang out here after the lunch bell, smoking weed—and God knows what else—behind the dumpsters. Usually the girl hates anything that has to do with the good and just in the world, so I always wondered why she never burned when the sun hit her skin. Guess she wasn’t a bloodsucking vampire bitch after all.

“What the hell happened to your hand?” I said, noticing it to be red and patchy.

“I think I burned myself somehow.”

Never mind. I take that back.

“What the hell are you doing out here? Coming to see me? I knew it’d be only a matter of time before you would come running back to me.” I couldn’t help but laugh. The girl was funny, I’ll give her that. Never in a million years would I run to her; maybe AWAY from her, but never TO her.

“No, I’m ditching class. The old bat kicked me out, so I took that as a chance to get the fuck out of here.”

“Nice. You want some company?”

“Actually, I do. But, yeah, not yours though.”

“Oh come on,” she said, moving closer to me. Her voice became low, almost as if she was trying to pull off a sultry, seducing voice. When in reality, it turned out to sound nothing more than an 80-year-old smoker, trying to breathe through the right pipe in her lungs.

“It could be fun. Me and you, alone, in your bedroom. Just like old times,” she whispered, while grazing her hands across my crotch as if to arouse me.

“You know, if you were any other woman in the world right now, I would be so turned on. But unfortunately, to me, you have the sex appeal of a 13-year-old male retard stricken with aids on a cold Sunday morning. So, I must politely say: Get your fucking hands off of my dick.”

“You’re such a bastard. We had something special. We were something.”

“We were wrong. Plain and simple. Wrong. Look, you’re wasting my time and I gotta go.” I nudged her aside and began to walk away toward the front parking lot, heading to my car. I didn’t even have to look back at her to know that she was pissed. But hey, what can I say? The spark just isn’t there anymore. Not that it ever was, but that’s a story for another time. I didn’t want focusing on the past to ruin my future day that lies ahead of me. When I got to the parking lot, I looked around to make sure there were no teachers trying to sneak out for their lunch break. Once I assured myself that the close was clear, I made a mad dash to my car. Usually, I’d forget where the hell I parked the thing at, but not today. I was on a mission. As I was running, I reached my hands into my pocket, fiddling around for my keys. Shit. Where the hell are they? I reached into each of my pockets, but still no luck. Where the fuck did I put those keys? By the time I reached my red, 2004 Ford Focus, I still hadn’t found my keys. I was starting to freak out. I know at times I may be immature and a little unfocused, but I don’t lose my keys. My car is everything to me and losing my keys to it is like #2 on the list of worst things something could happen to me. #1 is crashing my car, if you didn’t guess. Okay, gotta think, gotta think. When was the last time I saw—?

I didn’t even have to finish my thought. Through the driver’s side window, I caught the glare of my Florida keychain my mom had given to me hanging from the ignition of the car. Fuck! Shit! Fuck! How the hell did I lock my keys in the car? What the fuck was I doing this morning that had me so distracted? A small smirk began to form from the corner of my mouth. Missy Stone. Damn, she’s a good lay. How could I forget the amazing blowjob she gave me this morning? I mean, the way she used her—. Okay, enough about how good Missy Stone was. Let’s get back to the point.

Luckily, my windows were cracked a bit and I was able to reach my hand down inside. Just a little bit further…a little bit…Ow! Ow! Ow...got it! Thank God above. I jumped into the car—I love the smell of my car—and started the ignition. The sound of the engine starting turns me on every time. You may think that’s weird, but I call it ecstasy. I backed out of the parking lot and hit the gas, heading toward the front gate. I was out of there. I turned onto Brighton Blvd. and sped my way down the street, heading to my house about a couple of miles away. This is what I live for: my car and me. Windows down, radio blasting, nothing could take this joy away. Before I could even get the last syllable out of my mouth, the sirens hit my ear. Shit. Shit. You would think I would have learned my lesson by now and stopped saying that nothing could take “my joy away.” ‘Cause some shit always does. Fuck. What the hell did I do wrong? Stay calm, breath, and stay calm. I began to slow down and pulled over to the side of the road. I checked my rearview mirror and began to pray to whoever was listening:

Please be a woman. Please be a woman. Please be a woman.

As the police car rolled to a stop, the driver, who was obscured from vision, slowly got out of their vehicle and started to walk toward my car, cautiously. I still couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. From the way they held their head down to the non-flattering fit of the uniform, it could be anyone walking towards me. I shifted around in my seat, but not to the point of looking like I ACTUALLY did something wrong. Breathe. Shit. Breath. Shit. Breath.

“License and registration please.”

YES!

“Yeah, sure thing officer,” I said, as I reached over into the glove compartment to pull out the paperwork. I handed them to her, then reached into my pocket and pulled out my driver’s license.

“Do you know what I pulled you over for?”

“No, I was just wondering that myself.”

“You were going 70 in a 30 mph school zone. A little dangerous don’t you think?”

“Yes, I agree…but don’t we all like to live in the fast lane from time to time?” I asked. Damn that was smooth. That’s something fucking Sean Connery would say.

“No.”

Not the answer he would get.

“I’m going to have to issue you a citation sir.”

“Look, is that really necessary? I’m sorry, okay. I made a mistake. Look, it’s only 12:30. No students were out walking, no pedestrians to be found. You can run my record; I haven’t had any priors or anything like that, so I’m not some criminal. Just, for this one time-“ I stopped to look at her police badge.

“Jamie. Just this one time, will you let me off with a little warning? I can assure you that this won’t happen again. And by the way, the nose job, looks fucking fantastic.” She looked at me for a couple seconds, contemplating on what to say next. After a couple of moments of intense silence—and me sneaking glances at her ass—she finally broke the tension.

“I’ll let you off with a warning. But don’t let me catch you around here ‘visiting the fast lane’ anytime soon.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She began to walk away, but turned slightly back into my vision. She bent down to the level of my car window and looked me in the eyes.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly? Honestly what?”

“The nose job. You think it looks good? I was kind of worried that the surgery made it worse, but what do you think?”

A smile couldn’t help but take shape. I’ve couldn’t have been more happy about the fact that my father was a plastic surgeon. God love him.

“You look damn good. You know, if you weren’t in that uniform right now and trying to give me a ticket: I’d do ya’.” And that was it. She walked away with more confidence, which truly helped define whether or not she was a man or woman in that uniform. And from this view, she was all female. I put my foot on the gas, turned the music back up and sped away, but not too fast though. Don’t think I could pull that off twice.

* * * * * * * * * *

Good, I thought myself. The driveway was empty, so that meant my dad was still at the office. I’m glad he didn’t decide to take one of his ‘lunch breaks’ at the house. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed a car in front of the house that I had never seen before. It’s probably one of the neighbor’s kids. Our street could get crowded at times—you would think for all the money we’re paying to live at the house, they could afford to build wider streets—and the neighbor’s kids would park their cars in front of the house. Gets annoying at times, but we try not to bitch about it. Just a waste of time. And, wait, what the fuck do I care? Just as long as they don’t try to take my spot in the driveway, I’m one happy camper. I put the car in park and hopped out, making sure to grab my keys from the ignition. As I walked past the front of my car, I noticed a small scratch lining its way across. Shit. The one thing I fight to take care of and something like that happens. Great. But I won’t even let that ruin this day. I’ve been through a lot to get out of that damn school and I wasn’t going to let a scratch get in the way. No sir. Nothing could steal—

Oh no. Not falling for that shit again.

The one thing I loved about my house was its modern take on homebuilding. From the design, the layout, the furniture, appliances, everything had something of a modern spin to it. The outside design rivaled some of the more expensive houses in the valley. Now that’s not to say that our house wasn’t nice, don’t get my wrong. My dad dropped $2.6 million on this bad boy, so it better stand out. I reached the front door and placed my key in the keyhole, but noticed something was off. As I turned the key, nothing clicked. I took the key out and pushed on the door handle. It wasn’t locked. What the hell? I opened the door farther and noticed that the alarm didn’t go off either. Okay, either we both forgot to set the alarm AND lock the door or someone was in the house. I quietly closed the door behind as not to make a sound. Next to the door was a small circular tub that held umbrellas and other objects of that nature. I grabbed the longest thing I could find and held it like a bat.

“Hello?” I called out, only to be answered by my echoing voice. I started walking up the stairs, leading to the bedrooms and the upper level studies. Nothing seemed to be out of place besides the door being strangely unlocked. By me glancing around, I could see that nothing, too obvious, was missing. I reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hallway, heading to my room. The door to my room was still closed, which was a good sign. I turned the handle and slowly opened the door, peering into the crack that was forming. In one quick movement, I swung open the door and jumped into a karate stance with the bat. I know, I know, what the hell was I expecting to do? But you don’t think about things like that. Anyway, the coast was clear. I left my room and starting to check the other rooms on the floor. Nothing. The only room that still needed to be checked was my father’s bedroom. I walked to his door and something stopped me in my tracks. I heard a noise. I was too far away to tell what it was, but it was definitely something. This is was it. This was the moment I was going to die. Someone has broken into my house and now they are either going to kill me or make me their sex slave who lives in their basement. Shit. Shit. For a second, I thought about whether or not I wanted to open the door. But, I’m a man. And men don’t run from shit like this. The noise was getting louder. Shit, they’re moving closer to me. I took a deep breath, paused, and swung the door open.

“What the fuck!?”

The voice was familiar.

“Dad?”

“Shit. What the hell are you doing home?”

“Me? What the hell are you doing in the bed? And what—“I stopped because I noticed that my dad wasn’t alone. Someone was moving next to him.

“Dad, who the fuck is in there with you?”

“Look, why don’t you go downstairs. I’ll get some clothes on and I’ll make us some brunch. Don’t know why you’re home, but we can talk about it downstairs,” he said, leaving the bed—revealing the fact that he was totally naked—attempting to nudge me out of the room.

“Do not fucking touch me. Who is that underneath there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who? Underneath where? Go ahead and go—. “

I didn’t let him finish his sentence, as I pushed my way past him and stood beside the bed. I noticed on the dresser a few unwrapped condom wrappers.

“Whoever the fuck is under here has about 2 seconds to make themselves known or I’m kicking some ass. I don’t give a rat’s ass about you being a chick either!”

But the joke was on me. As the covers slowly came back, I noticed the hands were larger than a normal sized woman’s. And they had a bit of hair on them. Their feet were sticking off the edge of the bed, so they were taller than your everyday woman. It can’t fucking be. Bullshit. And then all my questions were answered.

“Hi. You must be Theo. I’m Tommy. Your dad has told me a lot about you.”

Wish I could say the same.

“Dad?” I slowly started. “You do realize that this isn’t mom…and he has a dick.”

“Why don’t you come downstairs? We can talk.”

Of joy that steals.