Post by hadrian peyton on Dec 27, 2008 13:55:45 GMT -5
Hadrian Peyton
[/font][/size]basic information;
full name: Hadrian Lande Peyton
nicknames: None
age: Seventeen
grade: Junior
gender: Male
sexuality: Straight
their inner beauty;
[/font][/size]personality: Despite his predicament, Hadrian has never uttered an angry word in his life. Although many of them used to float around in his brain, when he was still refusing to accept the fact that he'd probably be deaf forever, he never let any of them escape, never let anyone see the pain that had built up inside his sore, hurting chest. Although some may call it being laid back, he likes to think of it as extraordinary self-control, for there have been many times when he'd like to yell at his parents for their innocence, their undying love and comforting words. But always a small voice in the back of his head would utter softly, telling him to control his anger, that he'd just regret it later. And always he'd give in to the voice, though sometimes it seemed very hard to obey, especially when kids were laughing at him, thinking that he couldn't hear their mean, harsh words. Of course they were right, but as an expert lip-reader he had no trouble picking out the harassment in their tones, and the gloating expressions on their faces. When this used to happen, he'd feel a stab of remorse inside his heart, but now he has gotten quite used to it, and for that it is much easier to ignore and discard. After all, he knows that not everyone can love him.
His friends, the people that have actually bothered to get to know him, understand that being deaf has it's advantages. For one thing, he can always tell when something is wrong, due to the fact that he has become to accustomed to reading a person's face for answers. More often then not a person's expression will tell how they are feeling much more accurately then words ever could. This allowed for hardly any secrets to pass between the social rejects of the school, making the most tightly knit group of all and allowing for strong bonds of love and attachment to take place, while most of the "popular" kids had their best friends. For this, he is a strong, loyal friend, and would never think to lie to anyone, even though it might hurt the person if he didn't. But Hadrian believes firmly that lying simply makes everything worse; it breaks the trust of the friendship, which cannot survive without it. He is also a writer, and spends much time in the company of himself and a pen and a notebook, scribbling down short stories and poems and words, the things he cannot hear outside his body but which sound clear as a bell inside his head.
He's never had a girlfriend, which isn't to be surprised, considering most girls are turned off by the way his voice pulls up in odd places, and crushes the wrong way to speak syllables. He sounds almost as if he has a mental disorder, though this is not the case; not being able to hear his voice greatly hinders his ability to speak words right. Although his good looks can charm from afar, most hearing girls don't want anything to do with him; they don't understand his deafness and are afraid of anything that doesn't fit into their perfectly manicured lives.
likes:
- Writing
- Sign-language (it's easier for him to understand then lip-reading)
- His parents
- His friends
- Being a good person
- Reading
- Staying positive
- Lyrics, even though he can't hear the accompanying music
- Girls
- Peace
dislikes:
- you
- Despair
- People laughing at him
- Anger
- Feeling left out
- Fast-talkers
- Caffeine
- Rich people that brag
- Loneliness
- Chaos
goals:
- To obliterate any bad feelings
- Get a book published.
fears:
- Being lonely forever.
- Someone he loves dying.
- Never getting to hear music.
- Himself dying.
their outter shell
appearance: He has a heart shaped face, and due to his Italian origin his skin is slightly dark, though not so much that it is immediately apparent he is not simply just tan. His eyes are wide and dark, with long eyelashes and thick brown eyebrows. His hair is long, and reaches below his eyes, cut in a simple way that makes it look carelessly messy. It is impossible silky, looking as though he put in some kind of product to create the effect, although he always just wakes up in the morning and hardly touches his hair. His lips are full and pink, and his nose is normal if not a little too big for his finely-structured face. His useless ears are small and often they throb painfully, looking a bit red on the inside if anyone bothers to look.
He's normal height, standing at about 5'9, and his stomach is flat, though not built as one might expect from seeing him with his t-shirt on. His ribs stick out ever so slightly, although since coming to Dayton that's beginning to disappear considering he's actually getting good, full meals now instead of the cheap soups and casseroles his parents could only afford. His chest is covered with a light layer of silky dark hair, as are his arms and legs. His chin is scruffy, though not so much that it looks like he has the beginnings of a beard, and his hands are calloused and strong.
His style is simple, and he usually wears dark ripped jeans, although the rips are due to the fact that he bought them second-hand instead of some designer putting them there for style. They are washed, faded, and it is easy to see that they aren't of expensive origin, and a few pairs fit him a bit too tightly, showing that he hasn't the money to buy new ones. His favorite kind of shirts are long-sleeved ones, and even in the heat of summer he'll wear one, although his shirts, like his jeans, are inexpensive and battered-looking. He only owns one pair of shoes; old black vans that have a large rip in the toe area, exposing his dirty socks.
portrayed by: Thomas Dekker
hidden in the past
parents:
Elisa Peyton, mother, works at a Laundromat.
Harry Peyton, father, works at a packaging company.
siblings:
None.
history: Elisa and Harry Peyton were born in Italy, though only Harry was of Italian origin. At the age of seventeen they decided to wed and leave the country, without informing either of their parents, who assumed the two had died in some horrible, unknown accident and grieved for their lost children. Though this should have bothered the newly wed pair, neither of them were paticulary fond of their parents, nor the places they had called home for so long - Elisa due to insistent sexual abuse, and Harry due to physical.
Though the two had hardly any money, as they hadn't gone to college and took up jobs with long hours and little pay, it was plain to see that they were happy. And not trickles of the emotion, but so deeply and irreversibly happy that they could hardly keep the grins from sliding on their handsome faces. The two were quite unique in the way that they were joyful even in their little, two bedroom home placed in a questionable neighborhood where the sounds of gunshots wasn't far off every night. But they didn't mind, because they were together, and that was all that mattered to them.
Hadrian was born premature, a tiny baby that the doctors shook their heads at. It was unlikely he was going to make it, they said, their faces wrought with the fake grief that they were so good at showing. Elisa was scared and terrified, and in her state she wanted to scream at them, wipe those stupid looks from their faces; it wasn't like they really cared whether her baby lived or died. It was just another day, just more pay they could use to to buy their daughters cars and yachts and new clothes. But, despite the odds, Hadrian did survive, with the help of ototoxic drugs and his caring parents who never gave up on their pretty baby. They named him Hadrian, a name of Latin origins that Elisa thought was pretty and unique. But giving him a name also gave them hope that he would survive; instead of just calling him the impersonal baby, they felt they were somehow giving him life.
For the first year that Hadrian was alive, everything seemed to be going perfect. Although money was tighter then ever, with Elisa and Harry having to take alternative shifts to take care of their baby, they were happier then ever at the way he would wave his little fist and shout incoherent things. They thought it endearing, the blank look that would cross his face whenever they cooed things at him. But as he turned two and began walking around, laughing and yelling in a way that sounded wrong to them, they began to get worried. They believed he had some kind of mental disease, for he still couldn't respond to their questions, nor did he ever amble to them when they called. Though it took a long time for them to save up, they took him to a doctor, frightened that their perfect son had some terrible flaw.
It turned out that the premature death, along with the ototoxic drugs had caused Hadrian's ear canal to collapse, which meant one thing to the doctor; he was deaf, and expensive surgery was their only hope of fixing it, though even that had a high chance of doing nothing at all. For a few weeks after the doctor visit, the parents were horrified, and they considered a million different ways of making up the money for the surgery, although every plan they made fell to pieces after they realized how long it would take. Eventually they realized that they were just going to have to deal with this, that they would have to raise their son deaf. So instead of putting away the money for the surgery, they invested it in sign-language and lip-reading lessons. This helped their son's disease become more real to them, and they felt less and less like they were living in a nightmare.
So Hadrian grew, and as his lessons turned more complex and he mastered the art of lip-reading, he was able to attend the dirty public school that was right down the street. Elisa and Harry were delighted to see that their son's intelligence grew at a rapid rate once he was able to understand them; it was clear that his deafness hadn't caused any penetration in his brain. Though he always received A's in all his classes, his social performance suffered; kids were frightened by his strange way of talking, as he had no idea that his tone pulled up in odd places and his words sounded labored, and a little strained. He sat with the other rejects at the table in the back of the lunchroom, and that was his only solace; when he was with these people who accepted the fact that he was deaf, he felt strong and loved. But when they were separated by classes and "normal" students, he felt undeniably alone; no one wanted to play with the deaf kid.
So for years he lived this way, in the shadow of the popular kids socially, but outstandingly bright in the academic field. He was pushed repeatedly in the hallways, laughed at and made fun of in sniding voices of the snotty kids who knew he could not hear them, and loved by all the teachers for his large mental capacity and the way he could solve problems so quickly. But he began to let go some of his anger at the fact that he was deaf, and accept it a little more happily; after all, he had a couple of great friends he probably never would have met if things had turned out differently. For although he dressed in the ratty, secondhand clothes that were the only things his parents could afford, he had a handsome face and attractive features.
It was one day in April that his teacher told him he had received an academic scholarship to Dayton Academy in New Jersey, and although he was sad at leaving his friends and frightened at blending into the new school system he was excited at the chance to stray so far from his home and his loving parents. He wanted to see how he could do on his own, away from them.
reality check
ooc name: Bella
years of experience: 3 or 4 years?
sample post:
[/blockquote][/blockquote]
As Alec Madi ; 1,155 words
Another night, another show. He hadn't even produced his next record yet, and still he was expected to preform every weekend at the same venue. It wasn't like being on tour, where there were new places and new faces to be seen, and the constant that was this place was really getting to him. He was bored with the same kids that showed up here every day - sick of hearing their drama shouted across rooms, sick of his name being called in the same voices. Well, that last statement wasn't exactly true; he was flattered by their obvious love for his music, but still, the girls' tended to add a shrill tone to his dubbance that didn't belong there. But as it was, he was a man, after all, and all the feminine attention had been getting to him lately. He noticed it only when he was drunk, for his self esteem seemed to rise like a hot air balloon when he started to feel a little tipsy. It was an awful trait, and he wondered now how many hearts he had broken while messed up. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and he threw the rest of the drink down his throat, where it slid gradually into his stomach. He grabbed his guitar and headed for the stage, ready to do the job he had so wanted when he was younger. But now, it seemed like an annoyance.
There was nothing he'd rather do, though, thought Alec, as he strummed his guitar lightly for the faces that showed up here devoutly every Saturday. It was slightly sickening, the way they never wavered in their routine. He would have thought that they would have somewhere else to go, but then again, he wouldn't know much about the normal lives of teenagers and kids. He hadn't even left his house unless forced to from the age's ten to thirteen, Alec sternly reminded himself, so at least these people were doing something if not productive, it helped them socially. He had no right to stand here and judge them, and yet their wails and cries of delight seemed to sting his ears rather then please them tonight. Maybe he just hadn't drank enough.
At the end of his set he waved to the crowd a final time, happy to get away from the loud noise that they were making. The backstage was no quieter, but it was easier to breathe here then where all those expectant people were staring at him. He heaved a huge sigh, which he seemed to do quite a lot these days, and picked up another bottle. It was good that he had an endless supply of them stored away in some distant refrigerator on the other side of the room, for he went through them at an alarming rate. But the routine was so common that no one spared him a glance as they passed by. A different seventeen-year-old might have been snapped at for underage drinking, but not the famous musician who was making his record deal quite a bit of money. But that was how it was; as long as he was playing like he always did and not hurt or dead, they didn't care about his mental well-being at all. Maybe that's why I'm so bitter, he pondered, as he downed another bottle, the warmness beginning to travel to the very tips of his toes.
He looked up to see a gaggle of girls heading his way, no doubt aiming straight for his short, yet slightly lanky frame. With a groan that went unnoticed by the gang, they rushed up to him; their faces alight with some kind of sexual wanting. He knew that look very well: he had seen it on many before, including himself, which one time he had looked in the mirror while drunk. He looked them over, appraising them, and saw that they weren't that good-looking, despite that they had poured on the makeup and pretty clothes, perhaps to impress him. He never understood why women did this, for he sure as hell hadn't tried to dress in a special way for his show. In fact, he was wearing a rather bland outfit: a pair of black jeans with a gray long-sleeved T-shirt. But this wasn't unusual for his style. He hardly bothered with what he wore, and he never had.
Alec smiled and nodded at the girls mechanically, and spared a glance towards the place where the bottles were stored. Although he was slowly beginning to feel free, the sensation hadn't spread all through his limbs yet, which was his angle while drinking. He wanted to be completely gone, so much that the girls in front of him maybe wouldn't look so undesirable anymore. He felt a stab of warmness near his pelvis area, for it had been a long time since he had gone a Saturday without a hook up. He remembered being sixteen and being detoxed off of girls' fake love, but he couldn't ever imagine himself going to the place again. It was safer, it made him a better person, but in all truth he really just didn't want to give up that one small comfort. The booze wouldn't let him.
He wondered if excusing himself from the girls' presences would be rude, and just as he was best deciding how to go about it, he caught sight of a burst of bright orange hair. At first he had thought that he had imagined it, for so quick did he avert his eyes that it appeared as a blurred face and something like fire. But as he glanced back he saw that he wasn't mistaken; a girl stood there, looking a bit annoyed and as bored as he felt. He stared at her openly, amazed that he hadn't taken notice to her before. She was so much prettier then her friends that the comparison was laughable, and he suddenly felt obliged to keep the girls' that were so interested in him talking. He wanted to sidle up to the orange-haired woman and embrace her in his arms, for so great was his sudden desire that he had to mentally shake himself and push it back down. It would have to wait.
"Can I offer you ladies a drink?" He said attractively, smiling crookedly and invitingly as he strode over to the fridge, opening it and revealing the liquor inside. He grabbed a bottle labeled Vodka and a few glasses, bringing them back over to where the girls' were standing. With quick, swift hands he poured the liquid into the glasses and handed them to the women one by one, until only the orange-haired girl remained. His hand remained outstretched, the cup slid inbetween his unnaturally long, pale fingers. "For you?" He asked her, a bit of a sexual smirk playing around the edges of his lips.
Another night, another show. He hadn't even produced his next record yet, and still he was expected to preform every weekend at the same venue. It wasn't like being on tour, where there were new places and new faces to be seen, and the constant that was this place was really getting to him. He was bored with the same kids that showed up here every day - sick of hearing their drama shouted across rooms, sick of his name being called in the same voices. Well, that last statement wasn't exactly true; he was flattered by their obvious love for his music, but still, the girls' tended to add a shrill tone to his dubbance that didn't belong there. But as it was, he was a man, after all, and all the feminine attention had been getting to him lately. He noticed it only when he was drunk, for his self esteem seemed to rise like a hot air balloon when he started to feel a little tipsy. It was an awful trait, and he wondered now how many hearts he had broken while messed up. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and he threw the rest of the drink down his throat, where it slid gradually into his stomach. He grabbed his guitar and headed for the stage, ready to do the job he had so wanted when he was younger. But now, it seemed like an annoyance.
There was nothing he'd rather do, though, thought Alec, as he strummed his guitar lightly for the faces that showed up here devoutly every Saturday. It was slightly sickening, the way they never wavered in their routine. He would have thought that they would have somewhere else to go, but then again, he wouldn't know much about the normal lives of teenagers and kids. He hadn't even left his house unless forced to from the age's ten to thirteen, Alec sternly reminded himself, so at least these people were doing something if not productive, it helped them socially. He had no right to stand here and judge them, and yet their wails and cries of delight seemed to sting his ears rather then please them tonight. Maybe he just hadn't drank enough.
"If you pull on my hair, and bite me like that,
and the truth is that I can't hardly wait,
and I don't care if we stay up too late."
At the end of his set he waved to the crowd a final time, happy to get away from the loud noise that they were making. The backstage was no quieter, but it was easier to breathe here then where all those expectant people were staring at him. He heaved a huge sigh, which he seemed to do quite a lot these days, and picked up another bottle. It was good that he had an endless supply of them stored away in some distant refrigerator on the other side of the room, for he went through them at an alarming rate. But the routine was so common that no one spared him a glance as they passed by. A different seventeen-year-old might have been snapped at for underage drinking, but not the famous musician who was making his record deal quite a bit of money. But that was how it was; as long as he was playing like he always did and not hurt or dead, they didn't care about his mental well-being at all. Maybe that's why I'm so bitter, he pondered, as he downed another bottle, the warmness beginning to travel to the very tips of his toes.
He looked up to see a gaggle of girls heading his way, no doubt aiming straight for his short, yet slightly lanky frame. With a groan that went unnoticed by the gang, they rushed up to him; their faces alight with some kind of sexual wanting. He knew that look very well: he had seen it on many before, including himself, which one time he had looked in the mirror while drunk. He looked them over, appraising them, and saw that they weren't that good-looking, despite that they had poured on the makeup and pretty clothes, perhaps to impress him. He never understood why women did this, for he sure as hell hadn't tried to dress in a special way for his show. In fact, he was wearing a rather bland outfit: a pair of black jeans with a gray long-sleeved T-shirt. But this wasn't unusual for his style. He hardly bothered with what he wore, and he never had.
Alec smiled and nodded at the girls mechanically, and spared a glance towards the place where the bottles were stored. Although he was slowly beginning to feel free, the sensation hadn't spread all through his limbs yet, which was his angle while drinking. He wanted to be completely gone, so much that the girls in front of him maybe wouldn't look so undesirable anymore. He felt a stab of warmness near his pelvis area, for it had been a long time since he had gone a Saturday without a hook up. He remembered being sixteen and being detoxed off of girls' fake love, but he couldn't ever imagine himself going to the place again. It was safer, it made him a better person, but in all truth he really just didn't want to give up that one small comfort. The booze wouldn't let him.
He wondered if excusing himself from the girls' presences would be rude, and just as he was best deciding how to go about it, he caught sight of a burst of bright orange hair. At first he had thought that he had imagined it, for so quick did he avert his eyes that it appeared as a blurred face and something like fire. But as he glanced back he saw that he wasn't mistaken; a girl stood there, looking a bit annoyed and as bored as he felt. He stared at her openly, amazed that he hadn't taken notice to her before. She was so much prettier then her friends that the comparison was laughable, and he suddenly felt obliged to keep the girls' that were so interested in him talking. He wanted to sidle up to the orange-haired woman and embrace her in his arms, for so great was his sudden desire that he had to mentally shake himself and push it back down. It would have to wait.
"Can I offer you ladies a drink?" He said attractively, smiling crookedly and invitingly as he strode over to the fridge, opening it and revealing the liquor inside. He grabbed a bottle labeled Vodka and a few glasses, bringing them back over to where the girls' were standing. With quick, swift hands he poured the liquid into the glasses and handed them to the women one by one, until only the orange-haired girl remained. His hand remained outstretched, the cup slid inbetween his unnaturally long, pale fingers. "For you?" He asked her, a bit of a sexual smirk playing around the edges of his lips.
Another night, another show. He hadn't even produced his next record yet, and still he was expected to preform every weekend at the same venue. It wasn't like being on tour, where there were new places and new faces to be seen, and the constant that was this place was really getting to him. He was bored with the same kids that showed up here every day - sick of hearing their drama shouted across rooms, sick of his name being called in the same voices. Well, that last statement wasn't exactly true; he was flattered by their obvious love for his music, but still, the girls' tended to add a shrill tone to his dubbance that didn't belong there. But as it was, he was a man, after all, and all the feminine attention had been getting to him lately. He noticed it only when he was drunk, for his self esteem seemed to rise like a hot air balloon when he started to feel a little tipsy. It was an awful trait, and he wondered now how many hearts he had broken while messed up. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and he threw the rest of the drink down his throat, where it slid gradually into his stomach. He grabbed his guitar and headed for the stage, ready to do the job he had so wanted when he was younger. But now, it seemed like an annoyance.
There was nothing he'd rather do, though, thought Alec, as he strummed his guitar lightly for the faces that showed up here devoutly every Saturday. It was slightly sickening, the way they never wavered in their routine. He would have thought that they would have somewhere else to go, but then again, he wouldn't know much about the normal lives of teenagers and kids. He hadn't even left his house unless forced to from the age's ten to thirteen, Alec sternly reminded himself, so at least these people were doing something if not productive, it helped them socially. He had no right to stand here and judge them, and yet their wails and cries of delight seemed to sting his ears rather then please them tonight. Maybe he just hadn't drank enough.
At the end of his set he waved to the crowd a final time, happy to get away from the loud noise that they were making. The backstage was no quieter, but it was easier to breathe here then where all those expectant people were staring at him. He heaved a huge sigh, which he seemed to do quite a lot these days, and picked up another bottle. It was good that he had an endless supply of them stored away in some distant refrigerator on the other side of the room, for he went through them at an alarming rate. But the routine was so common that no one spared him a glance as they passed by. A different seventeen-year-old might have been snapped at for underage drinking, but not the famous musician who was making his record deal quite a bit of money. But that was how it was; as long as he was playing like he always did and not hurt or dead, they didn't care about his mental well-being at all. Maybe that's why I'm so bitter, he pondered, as he downed another bottle, the warmness beginning to travel to the very tips of his toes.
He looked up to see a gaggle of girls heading his way, no doubt aiming straight for his short, yet slightly lanky frame. With a groan that went unnoticed by the gang, they rushed up to him; their faces alight with some kind of sexual wanting. He knew that look very well: he had seen it on many before, including himself, which one time he had looked in the mirror while drunk. He looked them over, appraising them, and saw that they weren't that good-looking, despite that they had poured on the makeup and pretty clothes, perhaps to impress him. He never understood why women did this, for he sure as hell hadn't tried to dress in a special way for his show. In fact, he was wearing a rather bland outfit: a pair of black jeans with a gray long-sleeved T-shirt. But this wasn't unusual for his style. He hardly bothered with what he wore, and he never had.
Alec smiled and nodded at the girls mechanically, and spared a glance towards the place where the bottles were stored. Although he was slowly beginning to feel free, the sensation hadn't spread all through his limbs yet, which was his angle while drinking. He wanted to be completely gone, so much that the girls in front of him maybe wouldn't look so undesirable anymore. He felt a stab of warmness near his pelvis area, for it had been a long time since he had gone a Saturday without a hook up. He remembered being sixteen and being detoxed off of girls' fake love, but he couldn't ever imagine himself going to the place again. It was safer, it made him a better person, but in all truth he really just didn't want to give up that one small comfort. The booze wouldn't let him.
He wondered if excusing himself from the girls' presences would be rude, and just as he was best deciding how to go about it, he caught sight of a burst of bright orange hair. At first he had thought that he had imagined it, for so quick did he avert his eyes that it appeared as a blurred face and something like fire. But as he glanced back he saw that he wasn't mistaken; a girl stood there, looking a bit annoyed and as bored as he felt. He stared at her openly, amazed that he hadn't taken notice to her before. She was so much prettier then her friends that the comparison was laughable, and he suddenly felt obliged to keep the girls' that were so interested in him talking. He wanted to sidle up to the orange-haired woman and embrace her in his arms, for so great was his sudden desire that he had to mentally shake himself and push it back down. It would have to wait.
"Can I offer you ladies a drink?" He said attractively, smiling crookedly and invitingly as he strode over to the fridge, opening it and revealing the liquor inside. He grabbed a bottle labeled Vodka and a few glasses, bringing them back over to where the girls' were standing. With quick, swift hands he poured the liquid into the glasses and handed them to the women one by one, until only the orange-haired girl remained. His hand remained outstretched, the cup slid inbetween his unnaturally long, pale fingers. "For you?" He asked her, a bit of a sexual smirk playing around the edges of his lips.
Another night, another show. He hadn't even produced his next record yet, and still he was expected to preform every weekend at the same venue. It wasn't like being on tour, where there were new places and new faces to be seen, and the constant that was this place was really getting to him. He was bored with the same kids that showed up here every day - sick of hearing their drama shouted across rooms, sick of his name being called in the same voices. Well, that last statement wasn't exactly true; he was flattered by their obvious love for his music, but still, the girls' tended to add a shrill tone to his dubbance that didn't belong there. But as it was, he was a man, after all, and all the feminine attention had been getting to him lately. He noticed it only when he was drunk, for his self esteem seemed to rise like a hot air balloon when he started to feel a little tipsy. It was an awful trait, and he wondered now how many hearts he had broken while messed up. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and he threw the rest of the drink down his throat, where it slid gradually into his stomach. He grabbed his guitar and headed for the stage, ready to do the job he had so wanted when he was younger. But now, it seemed like an annoyance.
There was nothing he'd rather do, though, thought Alec, as he strummed his guitar lightly for the faces that showed up here devoutly every Saturday. It was slightly sickening, the way they never wavered in their routine. He would have thought that they would have somewhere else to go, but then again, he wouldn't know much about the normal lives of teenagers and kids. He hadn't even left his house unless forced to from the age's ten to thirteen, Alec sternly reminded himself, so at least these people were doing something if not productive, it helped them socially. He had no right to stand here and judge them, and yet their wails and cries of delight seemed to sting his ears rather then please them tonight. Maybe he just hadn't drank enough.
"If you pull on my hair, and bite me like that,
and the truth is that I can't hardly wait,
and I don't care if we stay up too late."
At the end of his set he waved to the crowd a final time, happy to get away from the loud noise that they were making. The backstage was no quieter, but it was easier to breathe here then where all those expectant people were staring at him. He heaved a huge sigh, which he seemed to do quite a lot these days, and picked up another bottle. It was good that he had an endless supply of them stored away in some distant refrigerator on the other side of the room, for he went through them at an alarming rate. But the routine was so common that no one spared him a glance as they passed by. A different seventeen-year-old might have been snapped at for underage drinking, but not the famous musician who was making his record deal quite a bit of money. But that was how it was; as long as he was playing like he always did and not hurt or dead, they didn't care about his mental well-being at all. Maybe that's why I'm so bitter, he pondered, as he downed another bottle, the warmness beginning to travel to the very tips of his toes.
He looked up to see a gaggle of girls heading his way, no doubt aiming straight for his short, yet slightly lanky frame. With a groan that went unnoticed by the gang, they rushed up to him; their faces alight with some kind of sexual wanting. He knew that look very well: he had seen it on many before, including himself, which one time he had looked in the mirror while drunk. He looked them over, appraising them, and saw that they weren't that good-looking, despite that they had poured on the makeup and pretty clothes, perhaps to impress him. He never understood why women did this, for he sure as hell hadn't tried to dress in a special way for his show. In fact, he was wearing a rather bland outfit: a pair of black jeans with a gray long-sleeved T-shirt. But this wasn't unusual for his style. He hardly bothered with what he wore, and he never had.
Alec smiled and nodded at the girls mechanically, and spared a glance towards the place where the bottles were stored. Although he was slowly beginning to feel free, the sensation hadn't spread all through his limbs yet, which was his angle while drinking. He wanted to be completely gone, so much that the girls in front of him maybe wouldn't look so undesirable anymore. He felt a stab of warmness near his pelvis area, for it had been a long time since he had gone a Saturday without a hook up. He remembered being sixteen and being detoxed off of girls' fake love, but he couldn't ever imagine himself going to the place again. It was safer, it made him a better person, but in all truth he really just didn't want to give up that one small comfort. The booze wouldn't let him.
He wondered if excusing himself from the girls' presences would be rude, and just as he was best deciding how to go about it, he caught sight of a burst of bright orange hair. At first he had thought that he had imagined it, for so quick did he avert his eyes that it appeared as a blurred face and something like fire. But as he glanced back he saw that he wasn't mistaken; a girl stood there, looking a bit annoyed and as bored as he felt. He stared at her openly, amazed that he hadn't taken notice to her before. She was so much prettier then her friends that the comparison was laughable, and he suddenly felt obliged to keep the girls' that were so interested in him talking. He wanted to sidle up to the orange-haired woman and embrace her in his arms, for so great was his sudden desire that he had to mentally shake himself and push it back down. It would have to wait.
"Can I offer you ladies a drink?" He said attractively, smiling crookedly and invitingly as he strode over to the fridge, opening it and revealing the liquor inside. He grabbed a bottle labeled Vodka and a few glasses, bringing them back over to where the girls' were standing. With quick, swift hands he poured the liquid into the glasses and handed them to the women one by one, until only the orange-haired girl remained. His hand remained outstretched, the cup slid inbetween his unnaturally long, pale fingers. "For you?" He asked her, a bit of a sexual smirk playing around the edges of his lips.
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