by Alexis Angel
Jessica was a pain in the ass on a good day. What would I do if every woman were like that? If that were the case, I'd rather be single for the rest of my life. I can't imagine sleeping with only one woman for the rest of my life, anyway. I'd be bored to death. My cock might actually shrivel up and die if I was stuck with one woman.
I'm a man, and I use my God-given talents to get what I want. I want women. A lot of them. I'm good at seducing them. I'm happy with who I am now. I don't want to have to give everything up.
Getting rid of someone like Jessica is the only benefit to taking my place as king. Commoners like her would never be allowed to even look at me, never mind speak to me.
But the price is too high. Freedom from a few complicated entanglements in exchange for eternal bondage? I can't do it. I'd rather deal with a hundred Jessica’s but still have my freedom, than give it all up and rule a country I’d never been able to relate to.
I can't count the number of women I’ve been with. I pick up a new one every weekend. I only go back to the same woman now and then, when they're particularly fun. But that doesn't happen very often.
And if Jessica was the result of going back, I'm not going to do that again any time soon.
No. I don't want to be a crown prince who's pure and innocent and put his country before himself. I want to be selfish and perverted. I'm good at it. Eventually, they would force me to take my place. I can only escape my fate for so long. But until then, I'm going to drink and fuck as much as I can.
If my life is ending soon, I want to make sure I really live. An image of Nicole drifts into my mind, with her dark hair and pale eyes. I want her to be part of my last hurrah.
Nicole
I meet Lucy at Solas Bar a couple of blocks away from my apartment and NYU. It's a narrow bar, with a lounge feel to it, sandwiched between a small restaurant and an apartment. The vibe is always good and no one bothers us when we just want a drink-and-catch-up session.
"I like your hair like that," I say when we sit down at the bar. The bartender slides two Mojitos in our direction, and I sip my drink.
Lisa had cut her blond hair into a long bob, and it's wavy at the edges when she doesn't straighten it. After Graham dumped her, she stopped trying to doll herself up. Raw, natural beauty shines through, now. I personally consider it an improvement.
She shrugs. "Thanks. Everyone says that. I don’t miss my long hair."
"How are you doing?" I ask.
She dated Graham for almost a year. It had been serious, at least for her. He’d told her he was serious, too. He’d been serious until the very moment he left her, telling her that he didn’t want what she wanted.
It's been brutal.
"I’m fine," she says. "As well as I can be. I don’t miss him or anything, if that’s what you’re asking."
I shake my head, sipping through the straw. "That’s not what I'm asking," I say after I swallow. "I just want to make sure you’re okay."
I feel for Lisa. I’ve never had a relationship that long or that serious, but I’ve seen how much she cared for him. In her opinion, he’d been the one. She’d known it right after their first date, when they’d slept together. I don't understand the logic behind giving it all away if you don't even know the person. I'm probably the only twenty-one-year-old virgin in New York City, but I don't want to just give it to anyone. I want to love, first. I want to know that it's all for something bigger than just … getting off.
"I’ll be fine," she says. Her drink level is sinking rapidly. She drinks fast. At this rate, I'll have to carry her home.
"You’re better off if he wasn’t that serious," I say. "You deserve someone who will put as much into the relationship as you do."
Lisa nods. "Damn right, I do. I just wish he would've told me earlier, you know? I wouldn’t have been upset if he’d told me, at any point in our relationship, that he wasn’t serious about me."
"I know what you mean," I sympathize, even though I don't really. I can imagine it, though.
"I mean, sure, it would've hurt. But not like this."
She waves at the bartender and orders shots. Tequila. She's planning on getting drunk.
"I met someone," I say. I glance up at her, waiting for a reaction. She blinks at me.
"Really? Where?" She stirs the last bit of her drink with a straw. When the tequila comes, she throws it back without the salt-and-lemon routine. She moves the other one across the bar to me.
I shake my head.
Lisa shrugs and drinks that one, too.
"Slow it down a bit," I say. She pulls a face at me. "And I met him at Starbucks."
Lisa snorts. "That’s romantic."
I shke my head. "It didn’t have to be. It’s not like anything happened. He’s a bit of an ass. He thinks a lot of himself."
"So, a real man, then?"
I shake my head, smiling. Lisa's bitter. Graham left only two weeks ago. I explain to her how it happened, and how he’d joined me without invitation.
"Is he hot?" Lisa asks.
"Oh, my God. He’s gorgeous. Blond hair. Dark eyes. Like an actor."
"Oh, that’s a good one."
I nod. "Same kind of fluid confidence."
Lisa grins. "Sounds like the kind of guy I would take to bed."
I shake my head, irritated. "I’m not going to sleep with him. I hardly know him."
"So?" Lisa asks, finishing her drink and waving for another. I'm barely halfway through my first one. "If that’s all you’re going to get from them, might as well enjoy it."
"You know how I feel about that," I say. "That’s not what this is about."
Lisa shrugs. "I know," she says. "I know how you see it. I don’t get it, but I know. You’re not doomed, though. You can still get out there and have fun. Forget about love. It’s overrated. Trust me. Just do what feels natural."
"Like sex?" I ask.
Lisa nods and grins at me. "Trust me, you’re missing out."
I drink more, refusing to address her statement. I don't think I'm missing out. If I'm missing out on anything, it's love. I want to guard my heart and save myself for the right person when he comes along. It's not even about saving it for marriage. I just respect myself, and I want whoever I end up giving it to, to respect me, too.
Thomas is not that guy.
"You should just go out with the guy. Did you give him your number?"
I nod. "He asked for it. He was so arrogant and full of himself, I should've said no. But there was something about him that made me say yes."
Lisa chuckles. "You see? That’s how it works. Just go with it. When he asks for more, just keep saying yes."
I roll my eyes.
"What were you talking about with him?" she asks.
I shrug. "Freedom. Freud."
Lisa groans. "God, Nicky. You talked psychology to the guy? You might not have to worry about casual sex, after all. If you keep doing that."
It's true. I speak to people about what interests me. Not everyone wants to hear about the makeup of our subconscious mind.
"He started it, though," I say. "It wasn’t me this time."
Lisa shakes her head. "You’re the corniest person I know."
I laugh. Maybe I am, but better that, than be pretentious and lose who I am. I look at Lisa. She'd sleep with Thomas in a heartbeat. He's hot and funny and clever, and she would jump his bones without thinking twice. I can't do that. I’ve never been able to just go with the flow. Who I am on the inside matters more than what I can offer with my body.
Lisa receives her next drink and sucks on the straw. She glances at me with big blue eyes.
"How do you do it?" I ask. "How do you just sleep with someone?"
Lisa shakes her head. "You don’t get it," she says. "You’re not supposed to think about it. You’re not even supposed to ask me that. Sex isn’t nearly that complicated. You just … do it."
It sounds a lot more complicated than that. Sex is vulnerable. Sex is naked. Sex is showing everything of myself t
o someone, whether I like it or not. At least, that's what I can deduce from seeing my friends do it. I can't do that. I don't love myself enough to be that comfortable with strangers.
I don't think Thomas would ever have that kind of problem.
"It’s really not that big a deal," Lisa says. "Once you do it, it’s easy to do it again. And once you get into your own rhythm, you don’t care about whom you’re doing it with. You’re doing it for you."
I frown. That doesn't make sense to me. It seems selfish. Selfish and out there and hard.
"I still think it should be built on love," I say. "I know you don’t agree."
I finally finish my first drink and push the glass in the bartender’s direction.
"Another one?" he asks.
I shake my head. I'm not here to get wasted.
"What are you going to do when he calls?" Lisa asks.
"I don’t know. Go out on a date, I guess, if that’s what he offers."
"And if he offers sex, not love?"
I raise my eyebrows at her.
"Okay, okay," she says. "I know. You believe in waiting for love. I think it’s silly. I don’t understand it, but I hear what you’re saying. I won’t keep making fun of you."
"I don’t want to get serious about someone only to have them leave and take that part that I gave them away with them. You know?"
Lisa nods. "I hear you on that one," she says. "It’s bad enough for him to take your heart, never mind your virginity. If he has both, though, and then he leaves? That’s going to be rough."
I nod and stare at the dark mint leaves at the bottom of my glass. That's true. There's always a chance of failure. If it doesn't work out, then my attempts to guard my heart will turn around and bite me in the ass.
I can't do that, though. I have to stay positive and believe that the choices I make are the right ones for me.
I watch Lisa drinking. She's a mess. She’s lost a lot of weight, and even though she's beautiful without makeup, her cheeks are sunken, and her smile doesn't always reach her eyes.
This is life, though. We love and we lose, right? She'll get over it. And if it turns out that I make a wrong decision, I'll be faced with the same thing.
By the time we finish at Solas, Lisa's plastered. She can't string two sentences together, and she keeps saying that we should charge the bill to Graham because it's his fault that she drank so much. I help her get home. She throws up in the taxi on the way to her apartment, and we have to walk the last couple of blocks.
"I need to apologize to the driver," she says, her arm over my shoulder. My hand is wrapped around her waist. The other holds her wrist on my shoulder.
"You already did that," I say.
"I’m sorry," she says to me, instead.
"Don’t be," I say. "You missed my shoes so I’m grateful about that."
We finally reach her building, and I help her up three flights of stairs.
"Do yourself a favor," Lisa says when I tuck her into bed. "Don’t fall in love. Just sleep with them. It’s so much better."
She closes her eyes, and I tuck the blankets under her chin. I leave her apartment and make my way home.
Is Lisa right? Is it really that simple? Maybe I have to lose my virginity and get it over with. Maybe I have to get rid of the one thing that I've been clinging onto and just do it.
When I unlock my own door and lock it again behind me, I know I'm not going to do that. It isn't who I am. I've believed in true love since I was young. Even when my degree taught me that love could just be an illusion. Even when everyone who knew my convictions told me that I was just being silly. I believe what I believe, and I'm not going to give that up.
Not because my best friend is hurting, and I fear getting hurt, too. Not because I'm in the minority, being a virgin at my age. And not because good-looking men offer to make one night the best night of my life.
Thomas had talked about freedom earlier today. Holding onto something that's mine, refusing to give it up no matter what, until I'm ready, is my own kind of freedom.
No one can tell me differently.
Thomas
I wake up to my phone vibrating on the bedside table.
"Yeah?" I answer.
"You’re asleep," my father says, sounding irritated.
"I’m seven hours behind you."
I can imagine him shrugging.
"I’m also done with my studies."
"Yes, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about," he says. I grope around on the nightstand for my earphones. When I can't find them, I sigh and roll onto my back, pressing the phone against my ear. "Now that you’re done, you need to come back. You have duties, and Elanda expects it of you to fulfill them."
I close my eyes. "Elanda doesn’t care what I do," I say. "You’re the one that expects it."
"I don’t need to define responsibility for you, Thomas." He pronounces my name with emphasis on the "a," not the "o" like everyone else. "I didn’t spend so much money on a quality education for you to shirk your duties as future king."
"I don’t know when I’m even going to be king. You’re still kicking, right?"
"Don’t mock me. I sent you to America to study. Instead, you learned attitude."
I push myself up. "I learned other things, too," I say.
"Yes. Women. I am under no illusion that you use your stature to your advantage. Your uncle was the same."
I don't argue with him. It grates me when he thinks so little of me, but arguing with him is pointless. He won't listen.
"You need to come back to Elanda and get involved as the prince of the kingdom. Our subjects look up to us. You haven’t come out in public here yet. The people need to know that they have a stable future."
"Do they really care that much?" I ask.
"They care more than you do, a balance that is already heartbreaking."
I rub my fingers over my forehead.
"I expect you to return immediately," my father says.
"I can’t."
"Why not?"
"I have a function. At the university." I'm lying like a child. I just don't want to go back to Elanda. I don't want to learn how to run the country. I don't want to get involved in parliament.
My father sighs. "You gave me a date when your course would finish. This was not accurate?"
"I’m not on the board that organizes the functions. I don’t know when they are until we get the invites."
More lies. Mixers and events are planned well in advance.
"When can we expect you to return, then?" my father asks. "Give me a date."
I don't want to give him a date. I don't want to go home. I want to switch off my phone and roll over for another hour’s sleep. I want to forget that Elanda exists. What would my life be like if I got a job with my MBA, right here, in Manhattan? What would my life be like if I could create my own destiny, make my own money? Live my own life?
"You must come home. This is not a request."
"It’s an order," I say with a sigh. "I know."
"Your mother misses you, too," my father adds.
Right. I had been taken to my parents one hour a day for viewing since I could remember. When I was older, I was homeschooled and sometimes my father would sit in the classes to ensure that the tutor was teaching me the right things. When I was fourteen, I was shipped off to study abroad, and I’ve been here ever since, studying as many broads as possible. The only time I go back home is for Christmas or national festivals.
That is the extent of the relationship with my parents.
Why do I have to care about a country when the country probably doesn't care about me? I'm just another face, another name. Why would I respect my parents when they don't invest time in me, only money?
"Why are you so against being king?" my father asks.
"Because I don’t want to be paraded around without a choice."
"Son, listen to me, now. This is your divine right. You have been born into a royal bloodline so you may lead El
anda into a bright and glorious future. It's a privilege, as much as it is a burden. You can’t refuse something that is yours by birth."
"What if I want to abdicate my throne?" I ask. "Do you know how many countries are democracies now? A hundred and twenty-three. Out of almost two hundred. Why are we still stuck in the past?"
My dad clears his throat. He's upset. He can be intimidating when he's upset, but I don't have to face him. Over the phone there is nothing he can do to me.
"Don’t you toy with me," he says. "I don’t have to argue with you to get you to do something. You are to come home immediately and take your place as the rightful future king. You'll reign as I have taught you, and you'll be happy with your fate."
I take a deep breath and keep everything I want to say to that inside. It isn't worth the fight.
"What if I don’t come back?" I ask. "What if I decide that it’s not what I’m interested in? What if I don’t want to be the prince anymore? I want to abdicate."
"That’s not an option."
I shake my head. "You can’t make me come back."
"You’re right," my father says and for a moment the fight leaves me. Is he agreeing?
"But I can freeze your accounts and remove all your privileges. I can make life very hard for you."
This is true. Dreaming about earning my own money one day is one thing, but losing it all, now? My apartment alone costs more than the average person’s salary.
He isn't going to let me get away with this. I don't have any choice. This is my life, and no matter what I do, I won't be able to escape it.
I take a deep breath.
"Give me thirty days," I say. "I want one month to say goodbye and finalize everything here."
"You’ll come back, then? After thirty days, without argument?"
"I will."
Thirty days isn't much time, but it's better than having to leave tomorrow.
"Thirty days, then," my father says. "One month, and then I’m sending your plane for you."