Different Worlds

The first of the last two stories from Book 1, ending on a subtle cliffhanger whose significance will soon be revealed.

Story 13 – Rowan stumbles across a familiar face, finding himself hopelessly sucked in by her beauty

All stories, in order, here

…

Rowan wove his way through the unfamiliar streets, navigating the crowds with joyful ease. The bustling city couldn’t bother him today, not with his new headphones. The irritating din around him melted away, leaving only the unusual counterpoints of the Arabic track he was listening to. He’d picked it up at the music store back home. The owner there always had something set aside for him to sample. Things that couldn’t easily be found on the internet. Most of the time he ended up buying the album. The guy knew his eclectic taste better than he did. 

Lost in the strange melody, he almost missed her, sitting there on the hotel patio. He was about to pass right by her when recognition wormed its way into his mind. There was something familiar about her. He kept going, despite the nagging feeling in his mind. He was sure that he knew her but for the life of him couldn’t figure out from where. He stopped and pulled off his headphones, turning around to get a better look. She was looking right back at him.

“Rowan?” she exclaimed.

Oh, he knew her. Every inch of her, in fact. God knows his hands and lips had sampled every part. Only, he didn’t know her real name. Nor had he ever seen her fully clothed.

“Pr-“ he began, then slapped his fingertips to his mouth, his eyes opened wide. He couldn’t possibly say the name he knew her by out loud. He slowly removed the digits and approached, marvelling at the sight of her. 

“Princess?” he whispered, wary of nearby ears.

“Sit down before someone hears you!” she hissed, stifling a giggle.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of her as he took a seat. She was as beautiful as ever, though not quite as he remembered. Her silky long hair was tied back in a bun instead of free flowing, and her body, that perfect body was almost entirely hidden by a grey pinstriped suit. Only her legs, elegantly crossed, were recognizable – as they should have been. When he hadn’t been gently caressing them, he’d been gazing at them from afar. 

He’d only ever known her as Princess. The prized ponygirl Stefan had acquired to torment his rival into blue-balled agony. Joke was on him. She turned on her master and chose the man now sitting before her. 

The two enjoyed a whirlwind fling after that, stealing what moments they could to fool around right under Stefan’s nose. It irritated him to no end, but he had to catch them in the act. They didn’t make it easy. After a month or so, however, she simply disappeared. Whether she grew bored of her role or moved on to greater things, he never knew. The smirking little twerp of a dom never said.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with awestruck wonder. What were the odds of them crossing paths? Both his home and Stefan’s manor were nearly a day’s drive away. 

“I’d ask you the same thing!”

“My troupe is performing nearby. I’m parked a few streets up,” indicating the direction in a daze with his thumb.

“You’re an actor?”

“Right, yeah. I never really said anything about myself.” Actually, they’d hardly spoken at all, unless you counted whispered flirtations and wordless utterances.

“I think we were a bit preoccupied,” she laughed. A melodic sound to his ears that made her solid ten out of ten on appeal inch it’s way closer to an eleven.

“I’m a knife thrower, actually. Ex circus performer. I tour with a little sideshow that appeals to a twisted sort of mind.”

She furrowed her brow, scanning him with amusement. “I guess that would explain the bizarre clothes.”

He looked down at his own get up, a bit amused himself. “Is this not what you expected?” He was actually dressed quite sharply that day, with a tight black turtleneck and equally black cargo shorts. The fishnet stockings however could be seen as a bit unconventional.

“I just imagined something different.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t look like someone Stefan would allow on the premises!” 

He laughed heartedly at that. “I kind of made myself at home against his will. What about you? What are you doing here?” he asked, eager to shift the conversation. It would be far too easy to end up chatting about the little bastard for hours, but he wanted to know about her.

“Work.”

“You’re….” he said, uncertain how to finish that thought. Not in public that is. 

Realizing his thinking, she laughed. “Oh God no, I’m not playing her anymore. I‘m in advertising. That whole side thing was just for fun.”

“You were really good. The best actually.” It was the only thing on his mind now. That vision of her, towering above him with those hooflike boots and the magnificent red feathered plume. The perfectly toned body, that mind. 

“And I’m even better at what I do now.”

He had no doubt. She was clearly strong-willed, a master manipulator and by no means a shrinking violet. She knew what she wanted. She also had the predatory drive needed to get it every time. The bane of every arrogant, swaggering would-be master that tried to tame her.

She sipped the last of her tea, thoughtfully eyeing the now empty cup. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Uh, sure. Coffee would be good.’

She called over to a waitress, directing her to bring out another tea along with a coffee for him. 

“I’m sorry to have to ask,” he said looking a bit embarrassed. “But what IS your name?”

She giggled again before answering. “My name’s Emily. Though, I suppose your mind was on other things back then, huh?”

His cheeks turned decidedly pink. “Can you blame me?” he asked, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“No, not really,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “That’s what I was being paid for.” Though, he’d never paid a cent for her. It had always been her choice.

“What made you quit?”

She shrugged. “Work took over. Didn’t have the time.”

He spoke more quietly, looking mildly hurt. “You left without saying a word.” 

She seemed surprised at that. “I didn’t think you were that serious.”

He hadn’t been, really. It had been nothing more than an infatuation. A physical thing, made so much more enticing by its secretive nature. Not that it was a well-kept secret. Stefan had eyes everywhere. So long as it didn’t interfere with the business, he couldn’t do much about it but fume, thanks to her contract. She, unlike most others, had a choice in who she bedded.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he sighed.

Before she could reply, the waitress came by, setting their drinks on the table.

“Is there anything else ma’am?”

She gently waved the woman away with a bright expression. “No, that’s fine.” She then turned back to Rowan, assessing him with hungry eyes.

“You know,” she said, picking up a packet of sweetener. “I’m staying upstairs.”

It was the quickest coffee he’d ever had. 

She was every bit the woman he remembered. An unmatched beauty that commanded the eye. Every curve, every muscle still perfectly toned, her legs still perfectly poised with the finely honed skills of a dancer. Even the raw scent of her was the same, intoxicating, and fragrant. She was a woman you would fall at the feet of like a whimpering dog, desperate for a hint of approval. One that could so easily wrap you around her little finger with her domineering stance or a flash of her thigh. She knew she was beautiful, never passing up a chance to use it to the fullest. 

She’d been Stefan’s most valuable asset for more than her beauty. She was proud, a master of her craft and a prize to be won, not one to be taken. Men would so eagerly empty their wallets for a chance at trotting her around, hoping to be one of the lucky ones that made it to her bed. Many did get that far, but only Rowan had been welcome whenever he wished. His reverence for her never failed to give her a thrill. Today was no different. 

When their most desperate needs had been sated, they slipped between the sheets to rediscover each other at a pace that had never been permitted before. Every moment was spent seeking new parts of each other to revere with all the senses. 

It couldn’t last forever though. As much as she would have liked to remain with him here, her day didn’t end when five o’clock came around. She was expected to attend dinner with a client that night. Regretfully clothed again, Rowan lay on the bed, propped up by his elbows, watching her get ready. Every movement she made fanned his desire. He longed to spend the night, if not the whole week.

“Can’t you go back on Sunday instead?” Rowan asked, disheartened that her flight was on Friday. Whilst that would only give them one more night together, it was better than nothing. 

“Don’t you have to perform on Friday and Saturday?”

“It’s only for a couple of hours. Plus, we pack up on Sunday, but that shouldn’t take long.”

“So, when exactly do you leave?”

“At the latest? Monday.”

She considered it for a moment then said with some hesitation. “I could change my flight…”

She might as well have told a four-year-old that Santa was coming to visit, for the look on his face. It made it so much harder to follow it with the bad news.

“I still have to work tomorrow.”        

A bit of a loss, but three nights was better than none.

“And tomorrow night is out too,” she said, wincing at the look of devastation on his face. “I have a charity event to go to, so I won’t be around.”

“Can’t I come with you?” he asked hopefully.

“Not looking like that you can’t!” she laughed

“What’s wrong with the way I look?” he asked, looking down at his shirt. Still black, no fading at all. The cargo shorts were brand new and of good quality. The fishnets, well, he could always remove them. 

He looked back up at her cheekily, trying to elicit a giggle or playful retort. “All fresh from the washing machine!”

“It’s black tie, you goofball.”

Unwilling to give up, he gave her a challenging look, full of confidence. “You saying I can’t clean up nice?”

“Now that, I’d like to see!” she chuckled but the smile soon faded, her amusement replaced by a moment of thought.

“How well do you clean up? I need a date.”

****

Pretty woman… Rowan sang to himself with glee, bouncing along with a spring in his step. The rental company had been eager to accommodate on short notice once Emily began doling out the charm. He couldn’t help feeling so lucky. He carried her credit card in one pocket, a freshly fitted tux over his shoulder, designer shoes in a bag and a red rose he’d bought off a street vendor with his own meagre means. Like the famed prostitute of film, he quite enjoyed his little rags to riches adventure, especially the looks he got when he first walked into the door. He nearly got marched right back out. All was good though. He’d worn enough costumes in his lifetime to know how to play a role, and this was no different. Just a little higher class than his usual looks.

“Oh. My. Lord!” she gasped, covering her mouth with one hand in utter shock. Precisely the reaction he had hoped for. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said he cleaned up well. The tux suited him like he’d been born to it, aided by his perfect posture, his elegant poise. Both remnants of half a lifetime as an acrobat. 

He waited for her at the limo, which she’d insisted on renting. Anything less wouldn’t make the impression she craved. Although poised and prepared to be her dashing accompaniment, he nearly lost his composure when he saw her. She was without a doubt, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

She glided over the pavement in her floor length red sequined dress. One that hugged every curve, catching the light at every angle. Not one to shy away from revealing garments, she’d made every effort to ensure her full breasts were well on show. How she kept the cloth from simply letting them tumble out was beyond him. The temptation to reach under the scant fabric to discover her secrets was hard to contain. 

That long, flowing hair he had brushed a hundred times was pinned up in a mass of curls, with just enough down to perfectly frame her face. He was so taken by her he’d nearly forgotten his own part.

“I’d almost think you were a gentleman,” she said in her silky voice, accepting the rose from his outstretched hand.

“Heaven forbid,” he replied, taking her hand to help her into the car.

Borrowing a few personality traits from his stage persona, he proved to be irresistibly charming. It wasn’t only her that drew admiring eyes when they walked into the lavish hall. His stature and long perfected skill at creating a presence complimented her to perfection. He was well-read enough to fake his way through the conversations, even helping her to remain the centre of attention. The ideal companion for a strong-willed, motivated woman who was striving to get even further ahead.

He’d proven his worth, above and beyond her wildest expectations. The limo could hardly get them back to privacy quick enough. Neither could wait. They had all but started undressing in the back when she broke the passionate embrace to catch her breath.

“YOU. WERE. INCREDIBLE TONIGHT!” she gasped.

He slid a hand up her leg, grasping her upper thigh. “Didn’t think I could pull it off, did you?” he grinned, squeezing the flesh with evident hunger.

“I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this!”

He buried himself in her neck once more, taking ravenous mouthfuls as she cried out her yearning. “Oh God! Oh, Rowan! I am devastated. We have to return that tux tomorrow!”

“I’ll have one of my friends make me a new one!” he shouted, eager to end the conversation in favour of something more physical. He tugged at the front of her dress, uncovering a proud, delicately tanned breast. As his hand wrapped around its perfect curves, his lips sought her sensitive nipple, unwilling to wait through further foreplay. He greedily lapped it up, growling out his desire.

“Fuck me NOW!” she cried, tearing at her dress to reveal the other breast. A whimper escaped Rowan’s lips at the sight. She was so beautiful, the very picture of perfection. Every inch of her was flawless, so firm, yet so yielding. He was the luckiest man alive to be the one now running his tongue across her quivering skin, drawing it into his mouth. He was the one, the only one to be hearing her rising moans.

            He released her to bolt upright, removing his jacket at a frantic pace. “God! I want every part of you!” he exclaimed, his voice fraught with need. She arched her back in response, giving him a view of the ample underside of her breasts. He felt a powerful ache that made him weep inside. How could a woman be so perfect?

            His hands trembled as she whimpered for his attention, drawing the hem of her dress up one long, well-toned leg. Rowan felt himself losing what little control he had left. He’d spent hours in the past just gazing at them. Each time they’d make love, his hands caressed them, his mouth sampling every inch.

            She drew the dress high enough for him to know that she’d worn nothing beneath, taking away all notion of restraint. He slipped from the seat, lifting the bared leg over his shoulder, seeking the soft, delicate mounds and folds that awaited him. Even here she was perfect too. She was as full, as delicately coloured as a young teen. The scent of her, an erotic blend of pure womanhood, threatened to drive him mad. He couldn’t help but take her all at once with his mouth.

            She cried out again at his eager touch, gripping the seat as he focused his efforts, letting his desire be the force that guided him to find every charged nerve ending. She ran her fingers through his hair, gripping it hard when his nimble fingers joined his tongue and lips. Overwhelmed exclamations filled the small space of the limo, her climax imminent. What fortune to have found a man with such talents as his!

            When she could not hold back any longer, he felt a quaking within her and a wetness he could no longer resist. He needed her, now. Rowan undid, then discarded his pants, mounting then penetrating her with a want that burned through him. Soon both were crying out their euphoria, hands frozen on each other’s bodies, devoting all of their attention to the sensations within.

            Whether the world heard their climax or saw the car rock, mattered not. They should all envy his position, every thrust he made. For she was the embodiment of perfection and he, her devotee, was lost in a world of impossible beauty.

            There seemed to be no end to their convulsive release, or the exhilarated sounds that accompanied it. Wracked by powerful shocks, both collapsed into a sweaty heap. Yet, he still could not accept an end to it all, seeking her lips with a quiver.

“Rowan,” she gasped. “Dear, I think the car’s stopped.”

“I don’t care!” he replied, but did acquiesce in response to her guiding hand. With one last shudder, he reluctantly withdrew from the heat of her.

She rifled through her purse, extracting a few bills. Handing them to him she said “Tip the driver dear, before he can voice his objection.” Rowan let out a gleeful laugh in response. 

2 Weeks

Two weeks had passed since they’d found each other again. Nine days since she’d kissed him goodbye on the way to the airport. The five days they’d spent together had hardly been enough. Stolen moments at the manor had become hours of varied pleasures. Neither was ready to see it end. 

Before leaving, she booked him a flight to come see her. Fifteen days after they’d said their reluctant farewells, he found himself standing in her spacious, modern apartment, uncertain what to think of the predominantly white, understated décor. He nervously backed off the gleaming rug, worried that his boots or suitcase might not be as clean as he once thought. How could a person live like this? In constant fear of a stain?

She picked up on his concerns almost immediately and laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. My cleaner is brilliant. Would you believe I once dumped an entire bottle of red wine there?”

“It’s just that, uh, your place is a bit nicer than what I’m used to,’” he admitted.

“You mean that godawful trailer of yours?” she snorted, approaching him. 

“Hey! I did all the work on that myself!” he cried, stunned by the comment.

“Dear,” she began, giving him a peck on the cheek. “What I mean is that it’s just not suitable for two! The cot fits one and a quarter!”

“Keeps the guests from overstaying their welcome,” he smirked, placing his hands around her hips.

She playfully squirmed out of his grasp, flicking him on the nose. “And keeps this one away entirely!”

What followed was fairly predictable.

********

“Something’s come up darling,” she called from the other room, coming his way. “I have to meet a client for dinner. You’re welcome to join us but-“

She stopped mid-sentence looking mildly alarmed. “Don’t you have anything nicer to wear?” Nothing had changed from the airport to this room. It was the same style she’d always seen him in.

“What’s wrong with my look this time?” he replied, gritting his teeth. 

“Dress code! No shorts, no sleeveless shirts!”

He relaxed a touch. Not a stab, merely a miscommunication. Had she mentioned it before he could have brought something else. Tank tops and shorts weren’t the only things in his wardrobe. Still, he felt a touch of irritation. This was now the third time she’d referred to his appearance with a negative undertone. It had seemed in jest before, but he was beginning to sense an undercurrent of disapproval.

“You know, there are a lot of places that don’t have a dress code,” he said with a strained smile.

Her eyes widened in horror. “Not ones I’d want to take a client to!”

“Everything I brought looks like this,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

She tapped an impatient foot on the lush carpet, eyeing him critically. A more appropriate shirt and pants wouldn’t cost that much. The shoes on the other hand could be pricey. The foot tapping stopped as she crossed her arms over her prominent chest. “If I buy you some clothes, what do I get in return?” 

He tilted his head with a questioning smile. “What must I do, oh mistress?” 

“On your knees, boy, and beg!” she growled.

Rowan was happy to obey.

4 weeks

Rowan exited the baggage claim for the second time that month, sporting a slim fit black jacket with a trim swallowtail. A masterful creation from a local designer that owed him a favour, carefully designed to take his body, his style and his personality into account.

His black shirt beneath, unbuttoned nearly to his sternum, displayed an oversized collar straight out of the seventies. It shouldn’t have worked but he pulled it off well, defying current popular styles whilst simultaneously challenging them to catch up.

His shorts and nylons had been traded in for some slender trousers, his boots for a classier pair with a bit of a heel. Rowan knew he looked good, walking with long, effortless strides, shoulders back and head held high. Good enough to draw some admiring eyes. He revelled in the attention. A passing traveller took more than a sidelong glance which he responded to with a flirty wink. 

As he spotted Emily’s slack jawed face, he came to a stop halfway across the room. With a cocky grin, he tossed his hair, leaning casually against his suitcase. He tipped his non-existent hat, then waited for the reaction to his new look. Squealing wildly, she ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck, kissinghim long and hard. She took a step back to admire the view.

“You look incredible!” she exclaimed, completely blown away. “Where did you get all of this?”

“Scrounged together a few pennies,” he grinned, taking her around the waist and pulling her against him. The jacket may have been free, but he didn’t want her to know. Best she think he’d emptied his bank account just for her. Not that the rest was cheap. He’d be living on instant noodles for a while. 

“I trust you like it?” 

“Like it?” she exclaimed loudly. “I can’t decide whether to show you off or tear it right off of you!”

“Well, I’ve got a whole week with you this time. Think you can last that long without ruining my investment?”

“I can’t promise anything!” she laughed then dragged him away, eager to parade him in front of her sure to be jealous friends.

6 Weeks

“A little feminine, isn’t it?” he asked, holding the delicate gold chain to catch the light. 

“That’s the whole point. All the girls are doing it.”

“Doing what exactly?” he asked, examining the pendant. A rearing stallion.

“Marking their territory!”

“And the men just happily wear these? Just because their girlfriend says so?”

“Men will do whatever beautiful women tell them to do,” she responded, leaning in with a silky purr. 

“That is so true,” he moaned, letting her take it from his hands. “A stallion, huh?” he lightly growled, taking her by the hips, pressing himself against her. When she playfully batted him away, he chuckled, allowing her to place the golden charm around his neck. She then lifted an identical chain out of the box, adorned with a prancing mare.

“Now everyone will know that you’re mine.”

7 weeks

“Rowan!?” Perky gasped wide-eyed. “Wow you look good!”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Rasputin snorted in his usual dour mocking way.

Jeff laughed hysterically. “Are you wearing slacks!?”

Gideon, as agreeable as always, smiled and simply said, “I like it!”

Rowan hadn’t a doubt that his new look would make an impression. He’d already decided to ignore any taunts. The jacket he’d impressed Emily with had quickly become his personal favourite, the pants and classy dress boots, a striking match. The dress shirt was new and had been another gift from her. A wondrously soft silken item he’d balked at, at first, but quickly grew to love. Having it dry cleaned would be a burden, but it seemed worth it for the look of enthrallment on her face. 

Let the men mock. 

Daryl approached him with a sour look, getting a closer look at the necklace. “Who’s the girl?” he stated bluntly.

Caught off guard, Rowan looked down at the four-foot-two man. “What?”

“Who’s the girl!” his employer reiterated, more fiercely this time.

“What makes you think?”

“The chain dickweed!”

Rowan grasped it self-consciously, shooting him a wry look. “Dickweed? What are you, twelve?”

Daryl just rolled his eyes before wandering off. “And – you’re late!” he cried from over his shoulder.

9 weeks

He was bored of the conversation, the endless posturing. He couldn’t remember the last time he looked, or even felt like himself. Every word out of his mouth was carefully constructed to make her look good. Nothing these people spoke about interested him in the least. Business dealings, stock markets, who had what, how much it had cost. Stefan’s table seemed increasingly more attractive than one minute more of this.

And her – it was always about her. Every damned thing they did was about her. He was beginning to feel like an automaton with only one program installed. Please her at any cost. The person he was started to feel so far away.

He found an iota of solace in the cool air on the balcony, leaning on the railing, looking at the city lights below. Why was he still in this farce of a relationship? 

He heard her stiletto heels well before she made her presence known with a hand around his waist. He chose not to acknowledge her by turning.

“I’ve got a little surprise for you,” she whispered in his ear, eliciting only the mildest of interest. “Sir Forester is here.” 

The name evoking a notable response in the performer. He rose to his full height, suddenly very interested. Sir Forester was Princess’ master before Stefan.

Playing with his tie, she gave him a wicked smile. “He’s letting us use his facility for a bit of play time.” 

For that, he could suffer another hour or two here. 

10 weeks

He looked at himself in the mirror, horrified by the reflection. There was nothing left. How had this all happened? This transformation hadn’t been overnight. It had been a slow, more insidious chipping away of his self to smooth the rough edges she’d identified to reform them into something more acceptable.

 The shorts and leggings had been the first to go. Too irresponsible, too garish. “It’s time to grow up,” she’d said. He’d put away his Docs with great hesitation but had to admit at the time they didn’t really suit the new clothes. 

Even his hair, the one thing he’d managed to keep was unrecognizable. In the ten weeks they’d been together, it had grown enough to reform into a trendy man bun. She’d been pushing him to shave the sides. He’d refused. That was the only time he’d gotten away with doing so. 

His hands left his partially buttoned shirt mid-task, dropping to his side. She wanted him to start wearing colours, but did it have to be blue? It was one of his least favourites. A rich burgundy or royal purple would have suited him better, but it wasn’t fall yet. That’s when gothic colours are more fashionable, she’d said.

The pants he could live with, they did look good, but he longed for the tighter fit he preferred. He’d been blessed with the legs of a runway model and liked to show them off. Why hide them under all this fabric?

Black was permitted, even encouraged. At least he had that. Nearly everything he owned was black. It had also made it easier to like the new look at first.

Around his neck lay the chain she had gifted him, their private little joke. It felt more like a branding now. He was prize winning livestock, groomed, out on display. 

She walked into the room wearing a short lavender dress that accentuated her figure, like always. Just one of the many tricks she employed to get what she wanted.

“Edgar is meeting us at six,” she said, clipping on a simple gold earring. He turned to watch her clip on the other, feeling nothing. The shroud of infatuation had lifted, the rose-coloured glasses removed. All he saw was a self-centred bitch that had sucked the life right out of him. She had no real interest in him. She didn’t even know who he was. 

“I’m not going,” he quietly said.

“What?” she said, with a warning in her eyes. “You have to go. They’re expecting you!”

“They’re expecting you! I’m just your arm candy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. “You make valuable contributions!”

“To YOUR career, YOUR standing.”

“And yours! People are interested in you! You have the skills and brain to really be someone!”

“I already AM someone!” he asserted.

“To who? Those pathetic girls that hang out by the stage door?”

“To everyone but you, apparently!”

“How dare you!” she gasped, appalled. “After everything I’ve done for you!”

“For me? What part of this,” he said, gesturing to himself, “is me?”

“All I did is make some improvements!”

“Is that really how you see me? Something that needs fixing?”

She rolled her eyes. “Refining, dear.”

“You’ve stripped me of everything that made me who I am. You’ve reformed me into this fucking joke!”

“A joke? You WERE a joke!” she hissed. “Some overgrown teenage rebel with a joke of a job, living in a run-down trailer for God’s sake!”

“When we met you were nothing but a high-classed whore!” 

She curled her lip, stepping towards him. “We all get our kicks our own way, but at the end of the day my fun was just that, a bit of fun, not a career!”

“What’s my favourite food?” he shouted.

Confused by the question, she stammered. “What? I don’t know.”

“Why would you? We only ever go to places YOU like!” He narrowed his eyes. “What book am I reading?” Her furtive glance towards the bedstand told him everything he needed to know. He stepped in front of her, bristling with anger. “You have no idea, do you?”

“What difference does it make?”

“What kind of music do I listen to? Who is my stage partner? NAME ONE OF MY PASSIONS!!” 

She was cornered and she knew it. “Everything is about you,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m just some shell you’ve scooped out and filled with things that suit you better.” He started angrily unbuttoning the offending blue shirt. “I’m done with you.”

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You were becoming a burden anyway.”

He paused mid-task. He wanted to be surprised at her callousness but wasn’t. As she left the room he wondered if she was already deciding who might be a better suitor and how best to use him. He rid himself of every sign of her, leaving the clothes and chain on the floor. Gritting his teeth, he dug out his familiar favourites from his suitcase. He’d sometimes slip into them when she wasn’t around. Once more comfortably dressed, he packed his book, and nothing else. He wanted no reminders of her.

She never bothered to return to the room while he changed, nor did she acknowledge him when he made for the door. She was preoccupied on the phone, chatting with a friend. He looked at her but felt no disbelief. Nothing about her attitude or actions surprised him. She was as she’d been when they’d first met. A long-legged siren hired to tempt wealthy clients into emptying their pockets. She craved the pedestal they’d put her on, rewarding the ones she deemed worthy only to discard them when they displeased her. She was better dressed now, but not much else had changed. He saw himself out, his only regret being that he’d not seen this sooner. 

11 weeks

After the show he didn’t much feel like socializing. His colleague’s jokes and good-natured ribbing threatened his misery. When Perky, with her grating manic energy tried cheering him up it was time to leave. 

He threw open the stage door, nearly running right into a young woman with bright green hair. “Sorry,” he stammered, catching her eye. She was cute, a bit small and holding one of those souvenir posters they sold after the show. One that featured him alone.

He paused as she gathered her courage. He knew at once what she wanted. He hadn’t planned on mingling with fans, but it was bad manners to deny her the signature she sought. On any other night he would have approached her with his better-known personality well on show, but tonight he refused. He’d had enough of being asked to be someone else.

He gave her a gentle smile in place of the hungry one he’d normally sport.

“Were you waiting for me?”

Her brief shock melted away at his attention. “Could I have your autograph?” she managed to sputter out.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, pulling the slim marker he always carried from his pocket.

“Is this your first time seeing the show?” he asked with an encouraging look as he signed her prize.

“Oh no, I saw you last year! Loved it!” Squirming, she bit her lip, excited by the conversation. She’d thought he’d just sign it and leave. “You’re really good!” 

He returned the poster to her, determined to enjoy the social side of the job for once. She seemed genuine enough, what harm was there in just talking, as himself? 

“‘Thanks. I work pretty hard at it.”

“Have you ever missed?”

“Me? No. The show’s very carefully choreographed!” A mistake to say that perhaps, but he was tired of the lies. The other side of him wouldn’t have hesitated to make up some story. 

“You threw one at that loudmouth tonight. That was all a setup?”

“No, no!” he laughed. “That’s all real! I’m just really careful and I practice.” 

“You seemed so reckless on stage.” 

“I practice that too! You ought to see some of the things we come up with to keep me on my toes.” 

She seemed a bit disappointed by that. “I admit, it’s a bit more fun to think, well, you know. That you’re just so wild,” she stated, having difficulty seeing the resemblance between the man on stage and the one before her.

“Don’t look behind the curtain, huh?” he said wistfully.

“You’re not what I expected.”

Rowans’ face clouded. Here it comes. 

“What were you expecting?” he asked with some trepidation.

“Well, you know, on stage…you’re so…” she quietly stammered.

“Charming?”

“Not really the word I was looking for.”

“Then what IS the word you were thinking of?” he said with a hint of anger. He wanted her to say it out loud – that man on stage was everything that the man before her was not. Better, sexier, bolder, and more daring. He could wrap an onlooker around his little finger with effortless charm, pulling them in, helpless to his desires. This one standing before her? A quiet impostor, a disappointment.

Just another person that wants me to be something else, he thought. 

Alerted to his growing irritation, she backed off, confused.

“This is who I actually am!” he said with a raised voice. “That other guy? He’s just a character I play!”

Eyes wide, she quickened her retreat. “Look, I caught you at a bad time.”

At that moment Gideon emerged, arm in arm with a man from the audience, mouth aghast at the site of his enraged friend advancing towards the poor girl, shouting.

“Rowan!” he cried, taking him by the shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Leave me alone!” his long-time friend bellowed, tearing away the well-meaning hand.

“Rowan!?”

He reached down to grab his satchel, furious. “I’m going home!”

“Home?” Gideon squeaked in alarm. Surely, he didn’t mean to leave?

“HOME! HOME HOME! I’M GETTING IN MY FUCKING JEEP AND I’M GOING HOME!”

“You can’t! There’s another show tomorrow!”

Storming away. Rowan lifted his free arm and screamed, “I’M NOT PLAYING THAT GUY ANYMORE!”

Gideon gave his companion an apologetic look, gently directing him back through the door. Filled with concern, he then trotted after Rowan, cautiously entered the small space of the trailer, trying to ascertain the state of his friend.

“Oh please leave me alone!” Rowan moaned. He looked strained.

Closing the door behind him, his partner pleaded, “Everyone is counting on you!”

Rowan collapsed on the cot with his head in his hands. “I’m tired of everyone wanting me to be someone else!”

“Who’s saying that?”

Rowan just glared at him. He knew damn well what he was talking about. The fans, Emily.

Gideon smiled in his gentle reassuring way. “The people that matter love you the way you are! You know that! Besides,” he said, stifling an inappropriate giggle. “Not everyone likes your stage character.”

“Name one!” Rowan shot back, but his voice was softening. His friend was uniquely talented in being a calming influence. Like a cuddly stuffed bear that never failed to be comforting.

“Daryl can’t stand that guy.”

Rowan coughed out an involuntary laugh.

“Can you hold out for two more weeks? Then we’re done.”

Rowan softened once more, shaking off the last of his anger. Gideon had once again pulled him back from the brink. “I’ll do it just to piss that little purple-haired banshee off!”

13 weeks

He’d pack up the trailer some other time. Right now, he was just glad to be home. He tossed his essentials off to the side then lay down in the middle of the room, not bothering to take off his boots. He just wanted a moment’s peace first in the comforting silence. Little by little the thoughts and memories of the past couple of months left his attention, replaced by the soothing privacy of the only habitable room in this industrial area. Nothing could touch him here, not unwanted guests or unwanted thoughts. As accustomed he was to months on the road, exhaustion soon crept in. It had been a long tour this time, with the past fourteen days seeming longer still. As his body relaxed, his eyes refused to stay open. Minutes later, he was asleep. 

Morning brought with it a sense of rejuvenation. A long shower helped even more. He was eager to get out. Moreso, he needed to. There was little food in the cupboards and none in the fridge.

He went upstairs for a moment to check the weather. His windowless room offered no clues. The sky was thick with charcoal grey clouds and filled with the smell of imminent rain. No matter. He was eager to get back to his quiet, everyday life.

He fetched his long raincoat and large umbrella and headed out to a nearby bus stop, wondering what new offerings he’d find at the bookstore.