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To the Reader:
Thank you all, xoxo. But special thanks to Anon for correcting the title. The rest of you really need to start picking up the pace. As Latin’s covered, I need a neurologist and someone who knows the geography of California. :D
Disclaimer: I, in no way own, nor am I affiliated with Caesar’s Palace (and anything in it), the 49ers or the NFL. I do not own the poem at the beginning, and I don’t think anyone else does anymore.
Si Quaeris Hominem Amoenum, Circumspice
Chapter 3
Eyesight and speech they wrought
For the veils of the soul therein,
A time for labor and thought,
A time to serve and to sin;
They gave him light in his ways,
And love, and a space for delight,
And beauty and length of days,
And night, and sleep in the night.
His speech is a burning fire;
With his lips he travaileth;
In his heart is a blind desire,
In his eyes foreknowledge of death;
He weaves, and is clothes with derisions;
Sows, and he shall not reap;
His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep
from Atlanta in Calydon
“Look! There he is!”
Andrew is behaving decidedly gay right now. Why is he skipping over to guys like a puppy? The only time he gets even remotely this happy is with football and possibly sex, and I seriously doubt he’d be this happy about another lay… damn damn damn…
“Good afternoon, Mr. Flasch, this is my boyfriend, Alex.”
He introduced me as his boyfriend? It’s upsetting. I don’t think he’d get me involved in a four way though. Four because Mr. Flasch has a guy hanging off of him.
“Don’t call me that, call me Artie. ‘Mr. Flasch’ makes me feel old.”
And calling himself Artie makes him sound old. Artie’s about forty and so is what I assume to be his lover.
“Ya’ll need to meet Vale. We’ve been together for five years. He finally got me to settle down.”
Vale smiled but was still defensive. Most likely Artie is a little reluctant to stay loyal. Some would call what Vale has for Artie as love others would call what Vale is feeling determination and steadfast. We all shook hands, making me happy because I now know that this wasn’t a swingers meeting.
Artie was looking at me every so many seconds. I don’t think he was staring any more than how I would gaze at someone who looked like me; so he most likely doesn’t plan to try something any time soon. Vale was looking at both me and Artie, trying to see what Artie was looking at and then glaring at my body for a second before that look turned into fascination. He gave up his emotional strife.
Both Vale and Artie aged well, though aged they are. Both of them are muscular, Artie more than Vale, who is somewhat small. Vale is blonde with navy blue eyes that actually seem intelligent. Artie is almost smart enough to know what he’s dealing with in Vale.
“Heard you play football.” twitch. I was hoping for the drug induced orgy instead. At least then I’d be unconscious.
“Yup, I sure do. New to the draft.” What does a draft have to do with football?
“I own a team, the 49ers, ever heard of it?” I have no clue who that is. It seems as if I say anything wrong Andy will start crying. He makes a big deal about some stuff.
“Hell yes I’ve heard of it! Oh, pardon my language.” Oh well, the mysteries of college football.
“As I said, don’t worry about it.”
“Yes sir!”
Andrew’s an accomplished kiss ass. He’s had parents and principals alike saying “be naughty if you want to”… That sounds wrong.
“Let’s find a table so that we may talk.” We’ll be talking about football, won’t we? We can’t, we just can’t, it’s just so against the theme of my life! I’m just not mature enough to sit through a game of anything. It’s easiest just to give up on the topic alltogether.
I am pulled reluctantly, by my hand like some child, to a table by Andrew. I see a small flash of white light, which was just enough distraction for him get me to sit by knocking into the back of my knees with the chair. The table that we’re sitting at faces the dancing floor.
“Ya’ll aren’t twenty-one?” Artie asks.
“Nope, and don’t worry about our drinks.” Andy replies smugly. I don’t like how this is going. He’s going to mooch off me.
I always get a great quantity of alcoholic drinks taken to me and he then drinks them so that I don’t get all drunk and compliant. Not that I mind much, because I don’t drink on regards of how I’ve seen my father. But it does make me thirsty seeing someone gobble down six or seven drinks when no drop of any liquid touches my tongue.
“I’m sure they won’t mind if we order it. It’ll be fine.”
A waitress walks up to the table.
“These beers came from over there and over there for you,” she tells me.
“Okay,” Andrew says perkily.
The waitress walks away and Andy checks her out and I don’t see why. She is flat like a man. She looks like a destitute Hilton.
“Wow,” Artie says still caught up with our drinks.
I notice that I haven’t drunk anything all day. I’m suddenly thirsty. Can feel my tongue drying into ash. I don’t like beer though. Not in any way whatsoever.
Artie orders drinks for him and Vale. Flavored vodka that costs as about five of Andy’s drinks and not as alcoholic. If you ask me it’s a waste of money, Bud should sell vodka.
Andrew goes to his second drink. He’s just making them mad now. More drinks are going to come. Ah, yes, here comes the fruit. I seldom spew derogatory terms, but I can’t help it anymore ‘cause I’m thirsty.
“This is from over there, this from there, this from there.”
God bless the fact that Andrew has a ten-drink tolerance for alcohol. He’s drinking all three drinks out of a straw though, daring anyone to conquest over him. Andrew finishes the drinks in unhealthy timing. Another one comes as soon he finishes and another. Then three more drinks come from. I’m annoyed and thirsty.
“Andrew, I’m thirsty.” He ignores me while he finishes his drink.
“’ell youu ernt getting dis.”
Amazing how drunk someone can get in ten minutes. Wait, did I say Andrew had a ten-drink minimum? Well, my phrasing may be a little ‘off’ to you people raised in normal households. I meant he had a ten-drink minimum before he falls asleep.
“Ooh, a long island iced tea!”
This sounds like heaven to me. Normally, I don’t go for the caffeinated beverages --because they give me too much energy and I start burning things. But I’m so thirsty. I feel like I’ve just drank sand.
“I’ll take that one then, thank you.”
“You don’t drink caffeine!”
“It’s never too late to start.”
“You don’t drink caffeine? Artie asks. “I’m assuming you don’t drink alcohol either. Why?”
“Tha’s aesy. Ya all sae. Ther’s a fine line ‘tween genus and imsanity. If ya give him caffeine he becomes an arsenist and no one really knows what happens when he gets ‘cohol.”
“I’ve never burnt any buildings. And I haven’t burnt anything at all in a while either. I think that I’ve gotten past my little addiction once I learned how to cook”
“You burnt a tree house though, with me in it.”
“You were getting on my nerves. You gave me soda and then pushed me out of the tree house.”
“You were lighting woodchips and throwing them up in the air.”
“I may vaguely remember that. I was a toddler, not liable for my own actions.”
“Right, and if you were drunk you still wouldn’t be responsible for your own actions.”
“Yup. But you are still responsible for yours, since you mooching and no one really wants to see what happens when you’re drunk. You getloud, not naked.”
“Yup, I’d probably say something idiotic too.”
I know what’s going to happen. You know what’s going to happen. This is what happened.
“But innywas, I’ve been thinkin’ and since you don’t drink alcohol you should jon all keda. Aaa wait, I know what you thinking. You’re thinking they’re a bad group a people. But wait, umm, they have these outfits called saris I believe. What you do is you wrap it ‘round your entire body from head to your ankle. You can wear it in lots of colors, although I’d advise a simple black, and they’re very lightweight. They can even bear the desert sands. You have very pretty eyes… so I would think to wear sunglasses or contacts or something like that…”
I get another long island iced tea. I believe this is an alcoholic drink.
“Ya know. I really don’t like ‘cohol. I drink it out of necessity. This is alright ‘cuz I can’t tas’e it.”
“You ass,” I say.
“Well, least I’m no’ a slut.”
I’m looking for a match. But it would be rude to remind me that he is during a business meeting.
Artie hurriedly orders coffee.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
“Yup.”
“M proud of it too,” Andy says, “naked as he is, it’s most of the time too. EVERY DAY I have to deal with this sh-stuff. Half of the time he’s offered a puff, and then he’s offered a dick up his… never mind, you get my drift.”
I’m not a slut and I’m sure as hell not naked… okay, so maybe a little bit. It hasn’t hurt me yet has it? I am wearing light blue jeans as I always do, but these are holier, and holier in interesting places. It’s shredded in the front from halfway between my ankle and my knee to my belt on both legs. Both back pockets are gone and the left one has a barely hanging on strip that’s about two and a half inches from belt to bottom hem. Then I have the pearl mesh long sleeved shirt that I got from my stepmom and the matching pearl studded belt. I’m also wearing a simple gold chain that Andrew got me along with the ring he gave me. What threw it off is when Andy wouldn’t let me wear my machoesque Birkenstocks and said I had to put on white flip-flops instead. It’s cute enough for me to shamelessly like it. It’s hot, a little too much maybe. And not even in the hippie way that keeps most people at a distance.
Andrew gets his coffee at last.
“Alex, you seem to have a thing for quiet. A very calm head. Ever considered being a manager?” Artie inquires.
“Erm, no.”
“It’s a good field to be in. My lover here is my manager and I find that it is a wonderful arrangement. Sometimes it amazes me how capable he is of balancing a checkbook and dealing with lawsuits and stuff. Ditzy as he is.”
I smile while he laughs. Million-dollar lawsuit hahaha. A monkey could do it.
“If you dare touch him, I swear I’ll let them have you. Hahahahahaha” Vale smirks, “come on Alex, let’s go.”
Vale pulls me off, letting the football freaks go at it in one way or the other. He holds my sleeve to take out of the hotel’s club. We walked through the pillars on the outskirts of the main room and we went into the elevator. He’s not saying anything and looks glum.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
He shifts his eyes over in my direction. I guess I must sound like a toddler; I do that sometimes with unhappy or crying children.
“You can’t even get a mustache can you?”
“No,” he’s an ass too. I want to make him cry. “You love him don’t you? I bet he flirts with other guys all the time.”
“Lek nevera.” (Like never) ha, he’s avoiding my look.
“Don’t lie sweetie. I’m not as dumb as you think. Just how you’re not as dumb as you want me to think you are.”
“You’re scary.”
“Like any Stanford Neurosurgery student who knows fifteen languages and how to write them should be.”
“Oh… damn… Yeah…”
“Tell me please.”
“It’s nothing. It’s just that I need to end my career soon.”
“No more managing.”
“Yeah, that and I need to stop going out with rich guys. I’ve been slowing down anyways. Been with this guy for five years. I’ve been here so long I fell in love, which is a big no-no.”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“Oh… I think I’ll settle down. Get my own house. An apprentice or two maybe. Start a law firm. The simple stuff. I may get a nice boyfriend too. The life partner type. Maybe he’ll be a lawyer.”
He sounds so hopeful. Like someone trying to get out of a trailer park. Planning to get their g.e.d. and what not. I sympathize with him all the same so I stop trying to see him cry.
We stop at a very daunting door. Caesar’s palace is already on the strange side with its marble floors and tall Romanesque pillars. The creepy possibly “gate of the underworld” door isn’t helping me. I know this can’t possibly be his room or anything because in the elevator it takes up the entire space on this floor titled “left of the elevator”
“Where are we going?”
“Right here.”
That makes me happy. It’s good to know I’m in the company of someone who avoids giving useful information just to see a truly shocked expression.
“Stop glaring at me,” it makes him think I’m thinking, a phenomenon that’s thoroughly unsettling.
Vale walks through the door without further ado and waits for me on the other side.
“Looka, yew ned ta hurriy.” (Look, you need to hurry)
The Valley Girl accent’s starting to irk me some. It takes a moment for me to comprehend and a few more to make a decision if I should run or not.
“Come in, I’m not going to hurt you.” He says this in normal, serene middle-aged voice.
Normal Vale I trust. I trust him as I trust my own mother. Which, from what I remember of her, is enough not to permanently harm me… much. Vale pulls me into the room while I still have that thinking look on my face. It’s actually alright. Not gunshots or anything really. It didn’t have any men either, but that’s alright I suppose, because I’m not single anymore.
“I planned a day at the spa with Artie. He has started to look unkempt. But now that he's doing the dirty with your boyfriend… Well, I’ll have fun anyways.”
“Why can’t you go to the spa by yourself?”
Vale gives me a look of unchecked aversion.
“Do I look like I need to be kept?!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen an old man so livid. Even after a while of silence, he doesn’t realize his mistake, I do realize I’m thinking the exact thing as him.
“If you’re so offended of the notion of needing to be tidied up then why shouldn’t I be also?”
“Because you do need it!”
I give him a look that I’ve mastered called reproachful. My train of thought seems to dawn on him as he gives me a light smirk.
“I’m not saying you’re not clean. Just that you’re not properly highlighted and your hair looks like it was done by a toddler.”
I hold onto my shoulder length, straight, dishwasher blonde hair. So what if it’s a little uneven? Xavier tried very hard. He had hit the hammer on the nail and I stopped my arguing for the moment, but a moment’s all he really needed. I could not even pull in air before my head was submerged in water.
“Help me.”
“Ignore him. I’m the one who’s paying you.”
This calmed me down some, but not much. I hope he gives me a Mohawk, I’ve always wanted one but Xavier said that I couldn’t.
“I’m sure your hair was done by a barber in the past, but that doesn’t make sense. You’re hair’s too long for that to really work… Give him something layered and highlight the ends…”
Vale continued to give demands to the beautician. She towel dries my hair and sticks foil in it. She then picks up an unmarked, clear bottle.
“What the hell are you doing!? No, you can’t do this…” Vale points to a young woman with impeccable hair. “YOU can fix this. It needs something layered and slightly highlighted.”
Am I the only sound person here? I’m sure that when I find my mister right I’ll find someone that’s sane. Or I’ll go for the hot one, whichever comes first because I’m not that picky. How could I be? My hair cut looks like it was done by a three year old. But wait, isn’t that getting fixed? Ooh, now I can probably get both. But then there’s the money… two out of three. I’m looking for two out of three. Woohoo! Yes, I can! Any more than that is impossible. Hell, I’ve only two points. That and the richness that comes with me is more like a negative point.
“Hello my name’s Allison, so who was your hairdresser last time?”
“Xavier,” I say with lots of phlegm and a French accent. “His looks are new and innovative.”
“Oooh, really?” her eyes lit up.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s from Nevada.”
Allison mouthed “o”.
Everyone’s against me! I liked my hair.
My eyes focus on the view outside of the salon. Cars are moving by on the strip. I’m sure it’s beautiful at night when I can’t see all this cement behind the bright lights. I expect I’ll be amazed and captivated by all the colors and if I’m not I’ll be disappointed. But sometimes things don’t turn out as they should be. Sometimes I’m told of something beautiful and it turns out to be average. Bright lights don’t amaze me and acclamations mean even less. I am guided by my own person and nothing else.
“I need to get rid of Andrew. Do you know anyone who can do it for free?”
“Yes, but… he can play some ball…”
“You too!” Whatever happened to the stereotype?! I’ve just made another enemy.
“Yup, I’m a cheerleader,” Vale tweets, “but it’s not like I really care for football, but I do respect it.”
But it’s just a game… How do you respect a game when it’s so much more enjoyable not to?
“So I won’t help you remove him, but I still don’t think you should separate from him anyways. He can give you everything you want.”
“I don’t want to be given anything. I want to make my own money.”
“Destitute as you are? You need to find someone who can provide for you. Trust me. You will end up working for it. Just keeping him at your mercy will take a lot of exploitation. Besides, from what I hear he’s steroid free, you may have some fun.” Vale smirks.
“He has no experience in dealing with guys. I don’t even think he’s ever had sex with one. He came at me with no preparation, as if I was a woman!”
“Do it for him then. But he’ll be alright once he gets started. You need to make money and he will help you do this. He obviously knows about your ties to your family and that you support them. Andy must have considered this when he asked you to be in a relationship.”
“Yeah…” gawd, he’s so right. He’s absolutely right and I have really no clue as to why he knows more about me than I do.
The hairdresser walks back and rinses my hair. She then puts her fingers through it and cuts it to Vale’s approval.
“I like doing this,” Vale says, “and I’m good at what I do. Trust me when I say that you need to do this.”
“I know I do, but…”
“Unless you don’t want to, of course. In that case you should go back home until you save up enough money.”
“I have a scholarship so I can’t do that. Besides, I’m running on a schedule.”
We both sigh, which is a particularly depressing way to finish a conversation, but our melodramatic input is cut off halfway by a black hairdryer.
This brings a smile to Vale’s face and all of his anxiety is drawn into me. I’m most likely going to end up looking like Vale. Very conservative, very sheik. Not my thing.
“I like it. It looks like you’ve spent some time in the sun.” Vale chirps.
“Why the hell would I want to do that?” I drawl back.
“So you don’t look dead and colorless of course.”
“I do not! You--”
“Just kidding babe, you’re cute… You’re ‘perty’ in other words. Is that what you’re used to hearing?” Vale mocks in that same shallow voice.
“Andrew’s not that bad. He’s actually somewhat smart. Second in his class.”
“Then why exactly do you dislike him so much? Artie’s stupidity is the only reason I’m breaking with him.”
Vale’s implausible outlooks are amok in my mind. They’re true and truly impossible. Although these are the rules of love, or are there none? But falling in love is a very conscious thing, yet not constructible. I am not in love with Andrew and I never will be. This is why I don’t want to make love with him. I want to fall in love. It’s never happened to me before.
“Andy’s not stupid, but then again he is. He likes to act so… perfect… in the eyes of the world and not my own. He doesn’t love me, and I don’t want him to. I would have to change too much for him to love me since we can’t see eye to eye. We don’t even love the same things. He doesn’t like children for crying out loud! I love kids.”
“You won’t have any.”
“I can adopt when I’m ready. Only when I’m ready… It was my mother’s wish. Even when I warned her I was gay, her only thought was of her grandchild.”
She wanted something to spoil since she couldn’t do that with me. Then there was too much of a chance of me becoming an independent bomber or some type of mass murderer. I needed strong morals and a sense of order. My mom believed that although my child and I would share the same fiery gene, by the time it got old enough to do damage she would have lived enough of her life.
Gentle hands were pushing me to another soft leather chair. This time Vale plopped down next to me with a grin on his face.
“This is the best part! Your hair’s done and your nails can be fixed.”
My nails aren’t really that bad. I do clean then and snip them at a comfortable length. They’re not jagged at all. They’re actually quite smooth and healthy. But these are professionals. They can always find something to charge for.
“Open your mouth and you’ll get a frozen grape.” said gorgeous guy in white pants and black muscle shirt.
As soon as I saw him, my mouth opened and I received a frozen grape. He had black curly hair and rich brown eyes, a look that I’ve always gone for along with dimples, which I’m not sure he has.
My mouth is still open so he stuffs in two more grapes with a smile on his face. I can tell he doesn’t want me to close my mouth as he picks up an entire bowl of grapes. He’s having fun and I smirk at him. He shoves in twenty more grapes and still hasn’t said another word.
“Carmen poner fin! Not any more grapes. Go downstairs. I’ll meet you there,” a woman, who may be his mother, says. So I assume Carmen doesn’t work here. I finally close my mouth and swallow the seven grapes that I didn’t have to gulp down. Carmen gives me a piece of paper with his name and number on it, which I’d pocket if I had one, so I tuck it in my pants. Carmen kisses both of my cheeks and hesitates a second before a brief and very surprising kiss on the mouth. He smiles and I smile back.
I can definitely sense that Vale is bursting to say something, but waits almost patiently until Carmen leaves.
“You are the worst flirt I’ve ever seen.”
“That wasn’t flirting.” I frown “that was just being friendly and amusing.”
“No, what you did was synonymous with promising a blowjob. As if you can really deliver.”
“I’m really good at those actually. They’re easy. It’s all in the—“
“I don’t want to know. You are the sluttiest virgin I’ve ever met.”
We are left in silence. Suddenly it starts to rain outside. Hard, quick and unexpected. People walking the strip rush indoors and in a few minutes the sidewalk is almost deserted.
“It’s in your nature strangely enough. Some people are dealt different cards. Yours are as a genius and a good lay.”
I’m glad that he’s finally seen it my way. My head falls back and I stay still as I can while women finish painting my nails. My stomach is chilled from the grapes. They close my eyes and put cucumbers over them. The rest of my face is covered in a towel. Someone massages my neck for about ten seconds before I fall asleep.
hr I’m nervous and the only thing I really know is that I don’t want to make love with Andrew. I’m scared that he’s going to leave me once he gets what he wants. Even though that would make things easier and it’s what I need him to do, I don’t want to be treated like that by my lover.
“I’ve already taken a bath, you can take one now. Me and Arnie have a private meeting during dinner. I’m sure you will be able to find something to do. After that we can have sex.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t act so victimized. This is just business.”
“Yes, I know that.”
Andrew stops buttoning his shirt and walks over to where I’m balled up on the bed, direly failing trying to keep my hostility a secret.
“Valerie, I know you’re mad, but I don’t know why. You should tell me.”
That name, Valerie, it’s so annoying. I now see how it could have led her to suicide.
Andrew pulled my hands from behind my knees and held them.
“Please, Valerie, whatever did I do to make you so darned upset?”
I stare up into his face, knit eyebrows and all. My eyes can’t help but get round and the air starts to burn it some. I grimace, knowing I need to tell him, simply because I can’t help it anymore.
“You fucking annoy the hell out of me. You’re not acknowledging my penis, and that pisses me off. And you don’t know shit about gay sex.”
Andrew gets this strange wide-eyed look. I love it.
“You’re also selfish and an all around horrible person. I think you should go in the corner and fuck yourself.”
He still isn’t saying anything. It’s moments like this that I remember what I like about him.
“Not that we can’t do…it.”
He collapses on the bed.
“Whoo, I was scared for a second there. Thought you were breaking up with me Val.”
“I’m just doing it in advance.”
“You can’t really think that Alex. I may not know shit about gay sex, but I do know you. I know your type.”
“You don’t know squat about me.” If he couldn’t pick up my name, how much could he have figured out?
“Yes, yes I do know your type. You have your life planned out for you. You have planned to go to high school and be the best. Then you’ll go to college and be the best. You will even date the best. He will be the first person you have sex with and the last. It’s the fairy tale of your life. I know you’re not going to go against it just because you’re a guy. You won’t be able to.”
“What the hell makes you think you’re the best?”
“Popular vote.”
Andy puts both hands on my cheeks and gently pulls me to his lips for a kiss. I could kill myself for closing my eyes, but I can barely move as it is. I feel too warm. Andrew makes me feel warm and comforted to the point of discomfort, like the warmth of hell and being guarded by the devil. He moves away and finishes buttoning his shirt.
I can’t speak and that’s scaring me.
“Now I need to go to my meeting and when I come back we can make our union complete. Bye now, I’m sure you’ll find dinner without me.” He smirks.
It’s a bitch how when you think someone’s a ‘simple’ idiot they turn out to be ‘complex’. But maybe his sudden insightfulness is because absolutely anyone who can manage such an extreme personality type has to be a genius at what that involves. His includes placing everyone’s heart on a chart and then manipulating them with it.
I watch him leave me alone with my heart in a cage with a rusty lock. I can’t get anything to eat because I didn’t bring enough money. He knows that. I don’t think he expects me to go hungry. He just wants me to depend on him more for money, if nothing else. But I can’t have him push me around, yet. It just doesn’t make sense to me. I need to get out of this room. It is too big and I don’t like what will go on here.
I walk out of the door. As it turns out this suite is called Heaven. The name does explain all the white and gold because in that room I will find heaven. It is expensive and unthreatening. Even the guy that it comes with is perfectly masculine, and he will give me whatever I want. But I don’t just want normal, even with this paramount radiance. I still don’t want to have what’s predictable. I want to live a life. Albeit, a life with everything going my way. Yup, I essentially want an Andy who doesn’t know me so well.
Coffee. Coffee’s what I need. It’s a grown up drink. It’ll give that humble college student atmosphere. Scraping and striving, with nothing to eat but peanut butter on moldy bread and cup of coffee. Coffee can be expensive though, I may just get bottled water and I’m worried about the caffeine in coffee. What if Andrew falls asleep before I’m even close to tired yet? I’ve heard college students talking about a place called Pure
I remember what Vale said. It is all too depressing. I don’t think I have the ability to be so critical with lovemaking. It seems more likely that my lover will leave me when he’s had what he wanted.
Pure is oddly loud though when I get there and the name sort of implies that they don’t even serve coffee. I stand outside of the door, which is guarded by a really big man with a walkie-talkie and a suit. There’s even a crowd and a line outside. The giant’s not letting anyone in. I’ll just walk to the next coffee shop.
“You, come in. Now.”
Tbc…
Sorry I took so long, but I had to get all of this stuff out. As it turns out this story was originally about
I won’t let Alex and Andrew have sex even if I have to kill one. The next chapter is better if you know who you’re rooting for, and you should because there are signs (in italics).
I can hardly wait until the next chapter. Imagine this story without Alex. That is how this story is to me without Alex’s destined lover, since he is the more interesting of the two, though they are equally complicated. You’ll have to pick your favorite.
The name “Vale” is an adaptation of “Vail” which keeps your face hidden. If this were a better story, I’d make him a figment of Alex’s imagination, but he’s not the type to have figments.
Acting isn’t about what looks good and what looks bad. An actor needs to shed his face and his personality to become who he’s pretending to be.
REVIEW! PLEASE. I feel so... uninspired...
