The Punk and the Non-Profit Prostitute

C36: The Punk and the Non-Profit Prostitute (Reprised)

<returned to Julian's POV>

I was tired. I had met up with my publisher to celebrate the soon-to-be release of my novel 'Believing In Perfection'. I thought it would be just the two of us, I brought a bottle of champagne and didn't bother to tidy myself up. He surprised me, a whole party had been arranged. When the lights turned on as I entered his apartment, people jumped out in front of me with smiles on their faces and hats on strings clasped to their heads. I almost had a heart attack as they chanted 'surprise' and my publisher firmly embraced me and whispered 'congratulations'. The party wore on for longer than I wanted to be there, midday became afternoon and afternoon became evening. I pretended to be happy and thankful about the event although non of my real friends attended.

When you crave freedom you forget it's definition. The truth was I had been tired since arriving home to England not two days ago. I didn't sleep, I couldn't sleep. I thought being free would open up a new page in the story of my life but all it did was end the book completely. I was stuck in the same routine, in the same tedious life I had left behind when I went to LA. I saw the same faces, places, ate the same food, wrote the same stories all whilst having lost the sense of adventure and the rush only he could produce from me. The tiredness consumed me when I thought freedom was going to and it irritated me.

This was my choice. This was what I wanted. I wanted a normal life free of the dramas and pain he brought upon me. I guess I forgot that those dramas concurred with an equal amount of excitement which gave me a sense of purpose, he gave me a sense of purpose. I guess I would just have to get over it and wait for that new chapter to begin no matter how long it took in this London life.

I deserved better than him anyway, didn't I?

I hazily drove back to the motel after the party. It was a cold evening, the sun still peeked from behind the greying clouds that would surely bring a storm but it did no justice against the harsh winds whistling outside the car window.

As I pulled up on the familiar street I noticed a swarm of cars at the motel parking lot, this was odd. It was regularly quiet, due to their unreasonable prices people tended to steer away from it. As I drew closer I realised the crowd of people were all huddling around something, someone. They had cameras high above their heads, snapping photographs with their blinding flash on.

I pulled up in my regular stop and parked the car. The crowd noticed me, whipping their heads around to see who I was. Suddenly there was a shift and they bolted to my door. I was terrified as the photographers in beanies and jumpers were swarming around my car and slightly rocking it. I panicked, feeling claustrophobic so I opened the door. I hopped out and pushed against the crowd despite their cameras in my face. They were screeching things, trying to talk to me, interrogate me. Most of it was inaudible.

I had no idea what they wanted. I had never had so much paparazzi surround me in my life even after becoming a renowned author. It was crazy.

I tried to find where their main focus was and what it was until eventually I saw him. He was chattering his teeth from the cold, hands deep into his zebra skinned coat pockets and his hair crisp with hairspray. He leant against a car, Tom's car, Tom who he was enemies with. I thought they were enemies but I saw Tom sitting in the car with the door swung open, blowing on his hands to keep warm. They couldn't hate each-other if he was so calmly with him now, with his car, with the paps surrounding them.

What confused me more than their obvious reconciliation was what the fuck Noel was doing here, in London, at my motel.

His eyes had found me despite the crowd and I gulped hard. He looked mad, he always looked mad. I was prepared for an argument, to apologise for something I had done, I was always at fault for something. It started to lightly rain as he made his way over to me.