The Billionaire Darkness

Chapter Forty Five

The darkest nights led to the brightest days. That's what all of us were essentially told through fictitious literature and movies, I had yet to see my brightest day, only a darkening night.

When the doors to One57 opened I began to jog my hood up and music playing to distract myself from the world around me. To distract myself from the reality that was my life and how nothing ever seemed to be right or okay no matter how hard I tried.

It was a familiar circle I would find myself in, nightmares, waking, eating, showering, going to school, come home, drink if it had been one of those days, then repeat. It was a circle I wished to be free from. I wanted to be free of my sadness, and my habit of drinking, I didn't want this anymore. Hell half the fucking time I wished I had died, wished I'd put a knife in myself when I was a kid with no one to tell me no, to stop, no one to save me.

My mind enjoyed reminding me of this, my parents were dead, and my sister was across the country. I wouldn't even let the boys in because I was supposed to be strong, and smart, and not feel a fucking thing. It was a deprivation that I was too welcoming of, of being alone.

No introvert feels welcomed into society we're too isolated, too emotionally mature, too capable of knowing things about people that they don't want us too. There isn't a single extroverted billionaire, not one. Solitude is success, and at the same time can easily become a curse. No one understood me, I was looked at with pity, called an orphan.

I was shamed for it. Poor Adrian Winters billionaire orphan who shouldn't have a single problem in the whole damn world, but I had dozens, I made friends with my demons, they were the only ones to accept me.

So here I stayed swirling in my own mind trapped in the cycle of living, but not escaping the black and white bubble I lived in.

I wanted someone to tear me free of it all, to let me escape from all my pain and sadness, I wanted someone to fill me with light, and show me all the good that the world had to offer; instead I was living in the sadness with no one to counter it.

Getting to the end of West 57th Street I headed down towards the Brooklyn Bridge determined to make it that far. There was something enjoyable about the burning limits about my body, the sensation of knowing I was alive through the pain I put myself through.

Technically I was committing self harm by bringing my lungs to the point that I felt like I was burning, to the point that my legs felt numb, that my vision was blurry from exerting so much energy but I didn't care. I was free.

The cool air rushed past me with every long stride, and ever step I took echoed slightly along the sidewalk as I ran.

For many this was probably weird to see someone out at this hour running through Manhattan, where people were supposed to be civilized though this city in the day was angry with honks and horns, people racing to make money.

The world was bigger then that, that's what I wanted from this, that was what I wished to gain from my runs, from donating to others who needed money more then I did.

To the general population of New York I was the cold billionaire orphan of the two wealthiest people this city had ever seen, to my friends I was their protective close friend who would fight a war for each of them, but to myself I was still the same kid I was two years ago, I was scared and alone, and angry at everything, wishing for something to be different.

I had thought like this before, wishing to not actually be here as a billionaire, I wished I was normal, I wished I could go to school like most kids and try in school which many didn't but I know I would, I wish I could come home and spend time with my sister, and friends. Then hours later have my parents come home, and have a family dinner with them. But that isn't how my life turned out, I tried to give all of it away once but that didn't work. So here I was trapped being Adrian Winters the Devil of New York City.