I'm $*&%#@!. And my life is perfect.
The suit I'm wearing cost me $ 30000. Custom made. Rare fabric. Pinstriped.
Expensive? Not for me, baby. Not for me.
The party I'm going to attend is gonna be filled with fucks: drunks, whose children are junkies. Cuckolds. The daughter is getting laid with her driver, the son, busted by the cops for snorting coke.
Shit, man. These people are eternally fucked.
They're drowning in an ocean of filth and they don't even know that. What would they have done differently had they known that? Probably nothing.
I'm not exaggerating when I say that my life is perfect. It just is.
Oh. The hosts have got a Jazz band playing some Miles Davis covers. Soothing.
I can see so many raising glasses for toasts, the smiles, hear those mumbling conversations, occassionally sprinkled with laughter that sometimes go overboard: I hate these people.
Pretense. Lies. Delusion. The people here are filled with pretense, lies and deluding and coercing themselves to be happy. Or be seen happy. And this is when the reality blurs: Am I really happy or am I wearing the cloak of happiness covering the sad, ugly and dark skin of sorrow?
I'm the youngest one in my family. The five of us: My parents, an eldest brother and an elder sister. Their life is as perfect and happy as mine. Its because of our happiness that almost seems to last for eternity makes us the object of envy of most people. This I'm not simply saying. Its the truth.
My parents are the ideal couple- the couple everyone wants to be, desperately tries to, but fails pathetically. Their marriage was definitely made in heaven. On the financial end, the businesses have been picking up.They were down for the last year. Things are definitely improving.
My siblings are the best. All the three of us have degrees from Ivys. Well educated obedient children are the envy of most people right? See, I'm not lying.
This party is pivotal for me. I'd been abroad for the last couple of months. Travelling, reading, doing things that I love. It was a revelatory experience. Getting myself rid of the poison that had consumed me and living life to the fullest. Its in this party that I re-establish myself. Regain the lost connections: friendships, clientele and forge new ones.
'Hi Miss %^&@#$! How are you?'
'I'm perfectly fine, dear. How are you? Where had you been? Haven't seen you around in the past couple of months or so'
'That's correct. I'd been travelling. Desperately needed a vacation of sorts.'
That 'Oh' coupled with the expression on her face- an amalgamation of condescension and pity-really rattled me up.
What is she thinking? Does she know? I guess not. I hope not.
I stayed silent. I stared at her. She stared back at me. Her eyes told me that she knows everything. Whatever there was to know, she knew it.
I couldn't bear to look at her eyes. She could kill me with her powerful eyes.Those are the eyes that know the truth.
Those eyes could send me back to depression. I hated that. That's why I wasn't around the last couple of months. Rehab. I hated that word. It was torturing: exercises, shitty self-help lectures.Torturous counselling sessions. It was hell. I couldn't bear it. I faked my happiness and endured the torture. They thought I was all right and let me go.
These drugs, they fuck you up, man. They really do. This is coming from a person who used to do 10ml of heroin everyday.
Whenever I saw myself in the mirror, I was frightened. I couldn't see my eyes. I was unhappy and suicidal. Father couldn't even see me. And that's why he sent me to rehab. I had limited options: Rehab or jail. I chose the former. Now when I look back at those gruelling sessions, I think I miss them. I hate to admit this. I shouldn't have ran away half cured.
Her eyes are shining with the truth. In contrast, mine are fearing and searching for shelter. They could really send me back to depression.
She knows everything. Let's continue with the, 'I know you know the truth, but let's keep lying to each other' thing.
'Are you all right?'
' Yes, yes. I am all right.' Fuck you, I'm not.
'How are your parents doing?'
'They're doing extremely well. Thank you.' Pre-nupital. Dad's losing half of his already sinking fortune.
'What's your brother doing?'
'He's been made the Joint Vice President of the Consulting Company.'
'What's your sister doing?'
Her 10th boyfriend. And a shit load of marijuana.
'She's the other Vice President.'
'Very good, very good!'
'And you, my dear young man, what are your plans?'
Kill you. And your whole family.
'Daddy hasn't delegated responsibility to me but I'm waiting with bated breath to prove myself.'
'I'm sure you will be a worthy successor.'
'Thanks for your kind words.'
'Oh, no! Don't thank me.'
And just like that, she vanished into the crowd, bringing in me emotions I had suppressed in myself for a really long time.
Did she really know the truth?
Just when I was freed from one prick, another came, and I could see that he basks in the glory of making others feel terrible.
His name was $$*&%#@!!. An extra $ and !. Still, people tend to mix up both our names. He's the biggest piece of scum I'd ever seen.
'Hey, man! What's up? How's life?'
'Really good. Yours?'
I was not surprised.
His life was really terrific. He had earned his doctorate from the same university that my siblings and I had supposedly graduated from. Smart.
My sister really liked him. He was my brother's batchmate. They were engaged. He broke off the engagement due to my sister's anger problems. He'd tried his best, though. I would never blame him.
Once he left her,my sister, the bitch, took the path that suited herself the best- the downward spiral.
I saw Miss &*^%#@@. Father's personal secretary. And the reason for him losing half his money and his reputation in its entirety. That would happen soon. I must endure that.
All I wanted to do was take the sharpest object available and stab her.
Everybody was asking for my brother. What was I supposed to tell them?
That he's been arrested by the DEA for 'posession of cocaine, heroin and other illicit substances?' Father had given up any hint of hope he had on him. My brother wouldn't save himself. He was just another junkie.
Another question sprang to my mind: Where does my father have the money to pay my mother? Almost every company was closing down or being sold which was just enough for us to stay neck above water.
My mother's boyfriend had also come. He was a handsome man, Married thrice. Divorced thrice. Filthy rich. I can only wish him the best.
I better leave this place now and ask $^%#!@$ to get me 20 ml for tonight.
I'm Dr. $$*&%#@!!. And my life is perfect.