i get up and pace the room, as if i can leave my guilt behind me.
Hedonism wasn’t exactly his preferred method of going through life, but there was something to be said about taking some time to just let loose. For some reason, he felt like he needed to show that he didn’t have to be chained to his age. It helped that he had a name out there, one that was recognizable. Maybe he wasn’t the kind of person who would be looked at in the same light as others, the kind of person who was immediately thought of in those sexiest men alive lists. That was okay to him. He didn’t quite care for that much attention. It let him get away with some things others might not be able to.

It was funny, some of the people he had met and worked with, the way their careers had gone. Some had skyrocketed and driven them toward fame. Some had sort of fallen from grace, in a manner of speaking. He, on the other hand, had kept his head above mediocrity, but had never really revisited the headlining he had once tasted in the same way as he had ten years prior.

Secretly, he wanted something that would give him that sort of boost once again, but for the meanwhile, he enjoyed his semi-fame. He didn’t feel envy toward his friends that had made it big. It was enjoyable to be able to savor the moments he had with them, but more so to allow himself to keep going with “extracurricular” activities. Even if his year was already seeming jam-packed with roles and filming and press and everything in between.

Although many would take to drugs of some form, that was never his motive. He was often more into pleasures of the flesh. And who was it going to hurt if he had some booze and sex? A binge was never truly out of the question, and it felt long overdue. Even if he managed to wear himself out a little in that department, he was determined to go for it. Self-destructive tendencies aside, there was always something nagging him about it, though. Even if it wasn’t, it felt oddly like cheating in a way. But that’s what alcohol was for; he’d forget that little voice soon enough. There were other, better things to get himself lost in.
He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, least of all the person that it affected. It disgusted him that he had even felt that way. It had led to a series of events that caused him to do things that he was normally more than careful about doing. Frankly, he was ashamed of himself because of it. Another thing he wouldn’t give voice to.

The reality of things was that he wanted attention, and not just any attention, but that of a specific person. But things had come to a point, where he felt he needed to let sleeping dogs lie. What was done was done. They weren’t going to go back to the way they were before. Here he was, nearly 40 years old, and still behaving like most people would in their twenties. Maybe it was time to throw in that particular towel.

Of course, he was kidding himself if he thought he was ever going to be able to do that. Realistically, it was outside of his reach. Perhaps permanently. He would need to stop pursuing things publicly. Burying his feelings was a taller task than he wanted, but not something he could avoid. It was a necessity. It would be done. Until he couldn’t. He would pretend like he had never pretended before. As much as he didn’t want to act in real life, it was time that he did. He would hide it, the skeletons would stay in the closet. At least, until there was something face to face. He both anticipated and dreaded that moment.
He hadn’t covered his tracks as well as he had thought. And at such a public event, to boot! It wasn’t the first time he had found himself in a gossip rag, and certainly wouldn’t be the last time. It was, however, the first time it had warranted a call from so many people at once asking if it were true. He could smooth things over with close friends, with publicists, but parents, well, they were another story entirely.

He had received separate voicemails from his mother and father, both of which seemed to be verbatim, at least the part that mattered. “What were you thinking?” The words echoed in his head, bound to destroy him, bound to break him down. It had been days, weeks even, and still he had not returned their calls. What was he going to say?

He was not thinking at the time. At least, not in any way that he was willing to admit. It was too difficult. That night, he had gotten as drunk as a pair of bottles would allow him to. He had taken a long walk, determined to try to clear his head. He had failed miserably. And worse, he felt that he had not only failed on that token, but also on the side of failing his family somehow. He wasn’t close to them by any means, but neither was he estranged. He didn’t sleep that night. There was no way he could. The next day was as if he had found a renewed vigor in acting.
Another take where he knew it was right, where he was given props on what he had done, but he wanted to do it again. But he said nothing. Grinned, bore it, let it slide. He had often been off and on about being able to repeat things just so, especially when it came to having to do multiple camera angles. It was nothing he minded; in fact, he enjoyed it. It was his way of proving himself, to himself.

More recently, this sort of focus was the product of other things in his life. He often went to bed tired, and woke tired, spent the day tired. It was no secret he had been chided while getting makeup done, or the times he had dozed mid-conversation if he were sitting, or even slept through a meal. He was no stranger to insomnia, as she was a cruel mistress indeed, but rare was the time when he would force it upon himself.

Fortunately, he did manage to keep hidden the scent of liquor. He didn’t need it like some people did. However, it had become such an integral, essential part of his day, that he felt more off-kilter sober than he did with a buzz. At the very least, it wasn’t overly difficult to keep from getting completely plastered. Day drunk wasn’t his game, not normally. He couldn’t afford to relax right now. There was too much at stake.