Incite (Sphere of Irony 1)

I figure I’ve had plenty of practice faking my way through life, making sure no one saw anything but the happy, popular guy at school when my reality was complete and total bullshit. The only time I was genuine was with my band or with Ellie.

Certainly acting can’t be that different. Although, I haven’t been good at keeping up the façade lately. Even Dax says I’ve been a surly arsehole the last few months. I’m sure it’s the drinking. It makes me leave the good-guy behind. Turns me into a bastard. Fuck, I don’t even know which one is the act anymore, good-guy or bastard. I don’t think I care.

“Let’s go, Adam.” The guy who drove me hands his keys to the valet and steps out of the car. I can’t even remember this guy’s name, just that he works on the crew for this producer’s latest movie.

“Right.” I put on my happy face and stride up the front stairs like I belong here. What a fucking joke. The cockney son of a crack whore and a drunk from the East End of London belonging in a multi-million dollar mansion in Hollywood? I can’t even convince myself of that.

Shit. “I need a drink,” I tell my companion, spotting the bar on the patio out back. “I’ll catch up with you later.” I disappear in the crowd before he can say a word.

“Hey sweetie.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“Looking for fun?”

“Want to dance?”

It takes forever to make my way to the bar with all of the different women stopping me and grabbing at my shirt or my arms. I brush off each one of them with a smile and a promise to be right back, knowing that if I have my way, I’ll be drunk enough to not remember a single one of them in an hour or so.

“Whiskey, neat, and don’t be stingy,” I tell the bartender. He raises an eyebrow at me, but makes my drink and hands it to me without comment. I throw back the double in a few quick gulps and immediately ask for another. My nerves have got to calm down so I can score with this producer. I grab the second drink and sip it slower than the first, glancing around the crowd as I unwind.

Women continue to shark me, coming by and chatting me up, pouting when I kindly rebuff each one of their attempts. As good as a quick fuck would feel right now, I need to focus on finding this Sebastian guy. Problem is, I have no idea what he even looks like.

I finish my whiskey and order a third, ignoring the bartender’s judgmental eye as I snatch my glass from the counter. I need to get away from these women and find someone who can help me meet Sebastian. Scanning the crowd again, I see no trace of the nameless guy that I came with.

Crap.

Irritated, I push my way through the people on the patio, all decked out in their posh designer clothes, putting on their self-important airs, and enter what must be a game room. There’s a

massive red felt pool table and four large flat screens hanging from the walls, each one showing either sports or entertainment news. A foosball table is in one corner and a couple of old school arcade games in another. Not seeing my companion, I continue into the hall.

Fuck. What in the hell am I even doing here? I slug back the rest of the whiskey and leave the empty glass on a small table. Leaning towards the wall I lay my forehead against it and close my eyes as the alcohol takes hold of my senses. The ground is swaying and my head is spinning, even with my eyes shut. The loud sounds of the party merge into a dull roar, fading away to the background. I laugh to myself, apparently even my iron constitution can’t handle three double shots of expensive whiskey in fifteen minutes.

I stumble down the hall towards what I guess is the loo, my feet dragging like cinder blocks. When I turn the handle and duck inside, I realize that it’s just another fancy room. If I squint, I can make out a staircase that must lead to the second floor. Unable to see, I fumble for a light switch, but can’t find one in the dark. The only light is coming from the windows, where the patio is glowing with thousands of fairy lights.

My head is swimming. I’m afraid I might not be able to stay upright. I put my hands out and grope blindly until I hit the edge of a sofa or chair. Thank God! I fall onto it and jump in surprise when someone squeals from under me.

“Bloody hell! You scared me!” I scoot over and see the outline of a girl with long, blonde hair.

“S-s-sorry,” she slurs, shifting some until she’s next to me, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder. “I was just resting, I’m so tired.”

“Me too,” I admit. The sofa is so comfortable, and my arms and legs feel like jelly, so I let my head slump sideways to rest on her small frame.

“Mmmmm,” she moans. “You smell good. Like my favorite drink, Jack and Coke.”

I chuckle, “That’s because I drank some whiskey. A lot, actually.”

“Really?” Her dull eyes brighten a little. “Let me see.” She takes my head in her hands and presses her soft lips to mine, skimming her tongue along the crease. “Yep,” she says, smacking her lips playfully. “You taste just like it.”

I lean back and try my best to focus on her, but it’s so dark, and my head is so fuzzy and heavy. I reach out, putting my hand in her blonde waves, pulling a lock to my face and inhaling deep. Vanilla crashes over me and my heart clenches in a strange combination of hope and agony. “Ellie? You’re here?”

“Mmmmm,” she says, louder this time.

Grasping her behind her neck, I pull her in and kiss her again, more forcefully this time. She winds her arms around me and kisses back, her mouth opening and our tongues tangling together.

“Upstairs,” she whispers.

“I’ve missed you so much, El,” I rasp, my voice almost cracking from the tidal wave of emotions coursing through me.