Dorian went straight home. No friends, no lovers, no other bullshit he liked to indulge in other than a pizza from Domino's and a bottle of rum he got from the nearby liquor store. He wasn't usually the quiet type. Far from it. Dorian detested being alone, being a social butterfly that always wanted to be surrounded by other people, but tonight... Ha. He didn't think he could handle company tonight.
Diets, regimens, pills herbal or otherwise. Strict schedules, contracts, meetings, photoshoots. Glitter and glamour, luxury goods, branded clothes. Dorian snipped the ribbon on the pizza box and opened it up, stuffing his face with pepperoni and cheesy goodness, chugging down coke and rum. Bad! This was bad. His head was already counting up the calories in alarm. He had a perfect, flawless body, but it wasn't one that didn't come with a price. He had to work for all of this. All the time. Dorian glanced at his achievements on the walls, pictures of him shaking hands with people of import. They called him the golden boy back in the day. Colleges were clawing after him.
He was impressive. He was. Was he? Was he really? He could remember looking at the hologram in Malara's hand, showing them the Prax, speaking of Vatar as a creator. He made something better than Mother. Sapient life, she said. Dorian's hand hovered over the glossy stickers around his counter that said "Crawford 2016" and all he could think of was, what is this for?
What was all of this for?
Dorian drank, and drank, and drank and drank and drank until he was out of his proper mind. He could see his father with a ruler, slapping his back when he slouched. He remembered his father telling him, his voice low and venom in his tone, that he couldn't trust anyone, because when you give even the slightest opening, even prey can become a predator. Dorian hurt people. He hurt so many people, stripped them of jobs and fired them without ever flinching. Trust no one, his father said. He was right. He was on top. His advice worked.
But at what cost?
He could remember Felix, back then, so ethereally beautiful (still is, never stopped, a goddess in his own right) with his golden earrings and sky blue eyes and long jet black hair he liked to put in a braid. They were at the edge of the Pier with their shoes off and his sari wrapped around the two of them, used as a blanket for the chilly summer night. He could remember glancing at his neck, tattoos, midriff, getting swatted for all his leering. Dorian told him he could never love, and Felix huffed a laugh in that sweet, flirtatious manner he never does around him anymore, and then he said something Dorian kept coming back to during dark nights: "Wow, you're really an idiot, aren't you? You love more than anyone I've ever known."
Dorian's eyes fluttered open, vision blurry from intoxication, and all he could see was the endless glitter of the Manta Carlos, bright like gold, like Felix's gold, like the way Logan's hair shone under the sunshine. Gods were real, and for all his accomplishments, his god would never see him. In the end he was nothing but a single speck in the wide universe. He was no different than an ant, a tree. He was no different from all those people he's hurt. He was nothing trying to be something to make sense of his existence at all. What was he, beyond all this? Was there really a Dorian underneath it all?
He fell asleep with the thought that said no, there wasn't.
Dorian woke up like shit around noon. He missed a class. He never misses class. He couldn't find it in his heart to care right now. He barfed out his stomach in the toilet. He stood in front of the mirror. There were bags around his eyes, and his skin was pale and pasty. He gained a little weight. It was hardly noticeable from usual, but he noticed it. He looked absolutely dreadful. He took a shower, but that didn't help with looking sick. He didn't even bother putting on make-up. He combed his hair, put on sunglasses to hide the bags in his eyes, and put on the bare minimum decent outfit — jeans, a graphic tee, and a fashionable coat to trick people into thinking he put in effort. He went straight out to school.
Ah, damn. He was fifty minutes late for class. Probably shouldn't bother coming in anymore. Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He headed for the area on the main rooftop where the cool kids liked to hang out sometime. Hopefully, nobody would be there, and he could nap in peace.
Diets, regimens, pills herbal or otherwise. Strict schedules, contracts, meetings, photoshoots. Glitter and glamour, luxury goods, branded clothes. Dorian snipped the ribbon on the pizza box and opened it up, stuffing his face with pepperoni and cheesy goodness, chugging down coke and rum. Bad! This was bad. His head was already counting up the calories in alarm. He had a perfect, flawless body, but it wasn't one that didn't come with a price. He had to work for all of this. All the time. Dorian glanced at his achievements on the walls, pictures of him shaking hands with people of import. They called him the golden boy back in the day. Colleges were clawing after him.
He was impressive. He was. Was he? Was he really? He could remember looking at the hologram in Malara's hand, showing them the Prax, speaking of Vatar as a creator. He made something better than Mother. Sapient life, she said. Dorian's hand hovered over the glossy stickers around his counter that said "Crawford 2016" and all he could think of was, what is this for?
What was all of this for?
Dorian drank, and drank, and drank and drank and drank until he was out of his proper mind. He could see his father with a ruler, slapping his back when he slouched. He remembered his father telling him, his voice low and venom in his tone, that he couldn't trust anyone, because when you give even the slightest opening, even prey can become a predator. Dorian hurt people. He hurt so many people, stripped them of jobs and fired them without ever flinching. Trust no one, his father said. He was right. He was on top. His advice worked.
But at what cost?
He could remember Felix, back then, so ethereally beautiful (still is, never stopped, a goddess in his own right) with his golden earrings and sky blue eyes and long jet black hair he liked to put in a braid. They were at the edge of the Pier with their shoes off and his sari wrapped around the two of them, used as a blanket for the chilly summer night. He could remember glancing at his neck, tattoos, midriff, getting swatted for all his leering. Dorian told him he could never love, and Felix huffed a laugh in that sweet, flirtatious manner he never does around him anymore, and then he said something Dorian kept coming back to during dark nights: "Wow, you're really an idiot, aren't you? You love more than anyone I've ever known."
Dorian's eyes fluttered open, vision blurry from intoxication, and all he could see was the endless glitter of the Manta Carlos, bright like gold, like Felix's gold, like the way Logan's hair shone under the sunshine. Gods were real, and for all his accomplishments, his god would never see him. In the end he was nothing but a single speck in the wide universe. He was no different than an ant, a tree. He was no different from all those people he's hurt. He was nothing trying to be something to make sense of his existence at all. What was he, beyond all this? Was there really a Dorian underneath it all?
He fell asleep with the thought that said no, there wasn't.
Dorian woke up like shit around noon. He missed a class. He never misses class. He couldn't find it in his heart to care right now. He barfed out his stomach in the toilet. He stood in front of the mirror. There were bags around his eyes, and his skin was pale and pasty. He gained a little weight. It was hardly noticeable from usual, but he noticed it. He looked absolutely dreadful. He took a shower, but that didn't help with looking sick. He didn't even bother putting on make-up. He combed his hair, put on sunglasses to hide the bags in his eyes, and put on the bare minimum decent outfit — jeans, a graphic tee, and a fashionable coat to trick people into thinking he put in effort. He went straight out to school.
Ah, damn. He was fifty minutes late for class. Probably shouldn't bother coming in anymore. Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed. He headed for the area on the main rooftop where the cool kids liked to hang out sometime. Hopefully, nobody would be there, and he could nap in peace.