Warning: This story contains graphic sexual content, blood and gore, strong language, drug use and other explicit situations. Please do not read if you don't like adult stories.
Author's Note: I'm going to be posting three chapters at a time since they are shorter. Also, I'm working on getting this published, so any advice/feedback you can give would be both encouraging and beneficial! Thank you and enjoy.

Envy

Chapter 01

I don't think you could ever fully appreciate the world you live in till you've been deprived of it for six years. When you take that first step, back into reality, it's like something just hits you in your face, and you're nostalgic. You remember what it was like to breathe in the clean, spring air. You remember what it was like to have the sun share its warm summer rays with you. You remember the autumn winds blowing the leaves across the sidewalk. And it's so nostalgic.

So as I took those first steps to a yellow taxi that was waiting for me at the end of the walkway, I couldn't help but smile. Remembering.

But now was not the time for remembering. After all, this was a new day. A new, and fresh start to my life. I felt reborn. Or at least, that's what I told my doctors.

It had been six years since I first was admitted, against my will, to the Ashland County Institute and Correctional Facility for the Mentally Unstable. One little tiny step down from an insane asylum, though I can be the first to tell you, there's some pretty fucked up people in that building.

I was put there, for reasons I don't wish to discuss now, in hopes that I'd be 'more suitable to raise a family.' Or so my crackpot mother would have liked. She was nearing sixty and had inherited an immeasurable sum of money from her late and deceased husband, and step father to myself. She was the epitome of a snobbish rich woman, nose stuck up and underneath a pompous hairdo that would give the Queen of England a run for her money. Her disdain for the common folk was only quelled by her hatred for me and what I had chosen to do with my life. After all, modeling was such an unconventional job for her old fashion ideals. "Why not become a doctor," she commented with disgust in her voice as she powdered her nose in front of a solid gold framed mirror. "You'll go to school, gain a wealth of knowledge worthy of the Aldridge name and do your mother proud." Her voice was shrill and obnoxious, fading in and out of a phony british accent. She was clearly not very good at it yet.

I remember, I was sitting on an elegant arm chair that I had turned around backwards, resting my arms on the back and buried my face in them. This was years ago. Before it all went down. I remember the smell. Her old people perfume. Her maid fidgeting with her gown and hair, making everything look perfect. The way she glared at me in the mirror. I had just turned twenty. And I dropped the bomb I was moving to New York. Her initial reaction was disbelief. And then it was loathing. How dare I tarnish the good name of Aldridge, right? "I'll make a few phone calls and see if we can't get you in to some esteemed university."

"I'm not going to a university." I told her. She scoffed. From what I could tell, it wasn't that she didn't want me to leave. In fact she didn't even care that I was possibly going to waste my future on some silly little hopes. She didn't want to look bad in front of her colleagues. Having a pretty boy son becoming a model would never sit well within her social circle. I knew full well that with her connections I could become whatever I wanted. But by doing that, I'd play into her little plan. Her scheme. I'd become her little dancing marionette. And I can't dance very well.

Chapter 02

Now that I was free from that shit hole, with written documentation of my sanity and stability, what was I to do? I could do anything. I could be anything. Whatever it was, I had to think of it soon. If I didn't have a plan, I'd pretty much go insane. And we can't have that. Not after those long miserable years in the nuthouse.

I opened the door to the taxi cab and sat down inside. All of my possessions were given to me in a zip lock bag, which I tucked safely under my arm as I buckled my seatbelt. Safety first.

"Where to?" the driver asked apathetically. I stared at him for a minute, reading his eyes. There was a lot you could tell about a person from what they do with their eyes. To me, this guy read like a washed up has-been. You know, the kinda guy who had it all at some point in his life, and then through some unfortunate yet obligatory circumstance, lost it all. And now here he was. My cab driver. Bless his heart. "Hey buddy," he said again.

"To the Aldridge Estate in the Palisades." I said after I closed his sad little pathetic book of life. He narrowed his eyes at me in his little rear view mirror. I understand his skepticism. I looked like something the cat dragged in. In need of a shave and some hair product.

He mumbled something that I didn't quite catch and pulled out of the driveway. It was nice to say goodbye to that wretched ivory fortress and it's barbed wire fences. Fuck barb wire. Whoever invented that shit needs to be stabbed.

I remember the second week I was there, I tried making a break for it like some idiotic teenager. I had it all planned out. Right as they would ring the bell for everyone to come inside, in the fray of the crowd, I would make a mad dash for the nearest fence and climb over it. I was tough. I could handle a few little prickly barbed wire fences.

No.

The alarms blared as I soared up the chain link fence and wrapped my hand around the first strand of barbed wired. The razors sunk into my hand. Yeah it hurt, but like I said I was tough.

There was a certain point which I clearly didn't fully think through. And that was the point where I got to the top and had to go back down the other side. By now, the wire had wrapped its way around my arms and began tearing the skin from my bones.

Fuck.

Blood dripped down the chain link fence. My options were limited. I could try and swing my leg over, risk getting my balls torn to pieces or I could try and roll over, but chances were I'd miss and just land on top of the fence. Or get caught by the neck and savor the feeling of being hung by a cord of razor wire. Every nerve in my body was pumping. The pain that raked through my body left me feeling nauseous. What made matters worse were the three armed guards that grabbed my by my legs and wrenched me off the fence. Most of me came down. Except for the outer layer of skin on my arms and a few chunks of muscle.

Like I said. Fuck barb wire.

Chapter 03.

It had been ten minutes before I even realized we were already in Ashland City. I guess I had been in a daze. This time, I caught the cab driver staring back at me. As a former model, I could say I'm used to it. But after six years without someone even giving you the time of day, you can't help but wonder why they're looking at you. Think. How did you use to play it cool?

"Stare any harder and you'll probably burn a whole in my face," I said. Classic and clever. The cab driver returned his eyes to the road. Which is where they should be.

"I didn't mean to stare. You just look really familiar." he coughed.

"You familiarize yourself with mental patients often?" The last thing I wanted right now was to talk about what I used to be. And I could tell that's where it was going. Distract him with a joke. Make him feel self conscious. Fuck the limelight.

"More so than the average person," he replied. "I'm the only cab in the city that'll make trips up here." His eyes would every so often meet mine, but they would quickly return to the road. I could see little beads of sweat forming under his eye lids. The tiniest little things. "The curator pays me a shit load to ferry you nut jobs outa there."

"Nut jobs." I repeated with some cynicism. I could feel his hesitation. The tiny movements of his face muscles. His lip twitching. "Well that's not very nice, now is it." The plan. Act like a fucking psycho. Scare him a little.

I remember the long grueling hours after my little attempted escape. I had all sorts of nurses in baggy white jumpsuits crowded around me, poking and prodding at my raw arms and shoulders. They were not helping the undying pain. No matter what I did, it seemed to still be just as unbearable as it had been. They say that after a while your body gets accustomed to the pain and numbs itself. Well my body must be all sorts of fucked up because that bitch hurt. And it didn't stop.

After they were finished with me, I was all bandaged up like a mummy, stiff and sore. My raw muscle beneath the gauze pulsated with anger. They wheeled me into my cell, or excuse me, my room and threw me onto my bed. Which helped. A lot. "Fuck you!" I screamed in pain.

"That's what you get for trying to run," The nurse said in a baby voice. It was annoying. Like I wanted to rip her lips off her face and shove them down her throat. "Now you just lie down and get some rest. The Curator will be by shortly."

"Stop talking to me like a baby you whore," she slammed the cell door shut and walked off in her baggy white jumpsuit. Damn, it felt like my arms were on fire.

A few moments later I could hear the firm clacking of the curator's boots. The pronounced heel gave a low and some what menacing sound. Like everyone got quiet as those boots came nearer. Like the devil was coming closer. "Well, well, well... The resident pretty boy makes a run from it and scars his pretty little body." he said as he stopped in front of my cell. My "room", excuse me.

I said nothing.

"Honestly I did think we'd be having this talk a bit sooner, but you didn't disappoint." the curator was a tall, thin man with the devil's grin. It was a face that looked as though it would charm any lady, and kill any man. I did not enjoy looking at him.

He opened the door to my room and closed it behind him. He stood opposite me and sat down in the little chair across from my bad. He folded his hands, rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, grinning. "You see, I know you... celebrity types. You think the world revolves around you. You're so used to your high rises and your booze and your sluts, you forget that there are rules that one must abide by. In here, pretty boy, there are consequences for your actions. Though," he paused, staring at my bandages. "Considering that you probably just made the biggest mistake of your career, I say that's consequence enough." I narrowed my eyes. I knew what he was getting at. Did that omnipotent little fuck not think that I had thought of this before? "Who's going to hire a model whose entire upper body is scarred and disfigured." He chuckled to himself, clearly pleased at the thought. "Maybe you could stick to feet modeling hmm?"

"Fuck you!"

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