Most people didn’t really know Aaron. Sure, there were a few who could say they knew some of his deeper feelings, some who knew in an instant what kind of mood he was in, those little nuances from years of knowing one another. And well, you couldn’t always teach an old dog new tricks. He got better at hiding things from people, but they still managed to know. They always did.
On the whole, he tended to keep people at arm’s length; it wasn’t anything against them, no. It was Aaron’s way of shielding himself. Putting up boundaries and barriers to keep himself safe in his own mind. And, in his mind, to keep them safe, too. Not from him, but from the things he might say or do. Yet, there were those that managed to find their way past those barriers, and sometimes even manage to keep him feeling somewhat sane and normal. People that would make him forget that he was feeling shitty and awful and like he wasn’t currently fit to be around others.
But when he was working, he would put on a happy face, and most would be none the wiser. He’d step out of a trailer or hotel room or wherever he happened to be, and he’d smile, and people would think it genuine. The upside to being an actor, he would think to himself. He could make it look real. He did that often enough. And do his best not to let his anger get the best of him. That was the hard part.
For now, he was in a room, looking over a few options before him. All of them were bottles, but none seemed overly appealing right then. Tequila, brandy, scotch, and Zoloft.
As per his usual ritual when he felt as he did, he took up the pills, looked at the directions, dosage, refills left, expiration date. He never got them refilled. That would mean he would start actually taking them. He didn’t even understand fully why he bothered to fill the scrip in the first place. Maybe in some vain hope that he’d take them and they’d work and there wouldn’t be some sort of placebo.
The biggest problem was that he liked his other options too much. Even when they weren’t really “options” that he was looking at. One wasn’t supposed to take antidepressants and consume alcohol. But that steady buzz could sometimes kill whatever it was that was getting to him at the time.
A knock came at his door. Quickly, he hid the bottle of pills somewhere, just the first convenient place. No one needed to see that. Taking a second to compose himself, he put on a smile to see who the visitor was. He was expecting someone, at least. Tonight was definitely a night for alcohol.
As it turned out, it was indeed the company he was waiting for. A somewhat younger man, and, as far as Aaron was concerned, attractive. Unlike many of his counterparts, Aaron was not one to be subsumed into the set of drug users. But on the other side of that token, he would neither encourage nor discourage use with anyone he might borrow for a night.
No, alcohol wasn’t really the answer that night after all. But a good, raw fucking would do nicely. He opened the door to let the man in. After all, that was what he was there for. He’d likely be gone by morning; they usually were. The challenge was to keep them for the night with no promise of anything after. In any other state of mind, he might even feel bad for using him as no more than a bedwarmer and a way to exert frustrations. But he could already feel everything raging and ready to go. Oh yes, this man would have a story to write home about.
On the whole, he tended to keep people at arm’s length; it wasn’t anything against them, no. It was Aaron’s way of shielding himself. Putting up boundaries and barriers to keep himself safe in his own mind. And, in his mind, to keep them safe, too. Not from him, but from the things he might say or do. Yet, there were those that managed to find their way past those barriers, and sometimes even manage to keep him feeling somewhat sane and normal. People that would make him forget that he was feeling shitty and awful and like he wasn’t currently fit to be around others.
But when he was working, he would put on a happy face, and most would be none the wiser. He’d step out of a trailer or hotel room or wherever he happened to be, and he’d smile, and people would think it genuine. The upside to being an actor, he would think to himself. He could make it look real. He did that often enough. And do his best not to let his anger get the best of him. That was the hard part.
For now, he was in a room, looking over a few options before him. All of them were bottles, but none seemed overly appealing right then. Tequila, brandy, scotch, and Zoloft.
As per his usual ritual when he felt as he did, he took up the pills, looked at the directions, dosage, refills left, expiration date. He never got them refilled. That would mean he would start actually taking them. He didn’t even understand fully why he bothered to fill the scrip in the first place. Maybe in some vain hope that he’d take them and they’d work and there wouldn’t be some sort of placebo.
The biggest problem was that he liked his other options too much. Even when they weren’t really “options” that he was looking at. One wasn’t supposed to take antidepressants and consume alcohol. But that steady buzz could sometimes kill whatever it was that was getting to him at the time.
A knock came at his door. Quickly, he hid the bottle of pills somewhere, just the first convenient place. No one needed to see that. Taking a second to compose himself, he put on a smile to see who the visitor was. He was expecting someone, at least. Tonight was definitely a night for alcohol.
As it turned out, it was indeed the company he was waiting for. A somewhat younger man, and, as far as Aaron was concerned, attractive. Unlike many of his counterparts, Aaron was not one to be subsumed into the set of drug users. But on the other side of that token, he would neither encourage nor discourage use with anyone he might borrow for a night.
No, alcohol wasn’t really the answer that night after all. But a good, raw fucking would do nicely. He opened the door to let the man in. After all, that was what he was there for. He’d likely be gone by morning; they usually were. The challenge was to keep them for the night with no promise of anything after. In any other state of mind, he might even feel bad for using him as no more than a bedwarmer and a way to exert frustrations. But he could already feel everything raging and ready to go. Oh yes, this man would have a story to write home about.