Stop Pretending | Saltburn

Prologue

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A brunette male with salt and pepper streaks that riddled his hair and stubble, a lit cigarette hung between his lips as he fiddled with a silver bracelet with the word 'Start' engraved. A woman cleared her throat causing the male to look at her and his surroundings, a production crew, a camera, a ring light, and a microphone that was above both his and the woman's head. This wasn't like those interviews from years ago when he was young and part of a band that made a shift in alternative music but an interview about his own life, an interview of one cursed place that changed the course of his world and everyone around him.

"When he said he wasn't in love with anyone he meant that."

"What do you mean?"

The brunette looked past the camera and lights to look for approval to continue from a tall caramel-skinned male who was also fiddling with a bracelet with the word 'Abbott' engraved, the man sighed as he looked back at his bracelet and grinned.

"The snake who stole Saltburn. The snake who gave us all fruits to devour. He knew how sinful we all were. We fell for his trap and only two of us survived to tell the tale of the summer of '07." Smoke barrels from his mouth as he burned out his cigarette and looked at the woman. "He's hunting for something more. He loves the hunt."

"What is he hunting for?" The male scoffed and laughed almost too proudly.

"He took the life of the Catton's because he hated his old life beforehand. He devoured them. He consumed them little by little til it was gone. He invited us to have our wedding there because he wanted us. He wanted our happiness. He wanted his life. He wanted my life! He wanted my girls. He is begging for us to return. He wants the last bit of the Catton bloodline. He's a goddamn snake. A vampire. A freak of nature and he has you all fooled.

"Why hasn't anyone done anything?" The man shakes his head in disappointment.

"Because he is flithy rich. You can't even scratch people he pretends to be." He looks at the camera and frowns. "Stop pretending to be something you aren't. Wake the fuck up. The game is over, Mr. Quick."

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There are some nights when the world seems still and straightforward, but others when it spins and blurs with confetti, drugs, and loud noise defined as "music." Some mid-wage people can have parties, but not like the crowd here was filled with rebels, delinquents, and troublemakers with tattoos, piercings, and what the elders call 'bad attitudes,' but how could that be true when everyone seems to be having a great time while being ravaged by coke, heroin, and cheap alcohol.

Despite this, parties like these were frowned upon. The leather jackets, the drunken drummer, the guitarist ready to smash his guitar, and the lead singer, Ronan Abbott. Although he wasn't dirt poor, he grew up in a wealthy environment that kept his parents away for too long. Although he knew how to work, he wasn't like those rich kids who faked it for a connection. The rich kid Ronan hated his lifestyle; he was rebellious and fought constantly... Despite having his short-lived bands, he was a star in an underground world that scared the queen, most likely because he was the very king of this not-so-hidden world.

Their world was so unhidden that the party was ambushed by the police, "Cops! Run!"

The music cut immediately. The crowd began to disperse as fast as they came, similar to rats when exposed to whatever noise scared them, but this crowd was enormous. There was not enough space to run but enough to get trampled and injured. People attacked and stomped on the police simply for being police, which is fair since no one liked the police. Still, in some cases, maybe some people deserved a prison sentence, "Fuck you! Let me go, you pig!" The lead singer and organizer of the party and the protest against anything related to politics. It didn't matter because the lead singer and his band began fighting out of the crowd and away from the police, but only the lead singer was caught while the drummer and guitarist escaped.

Aside from vandalism, alcohol, drugs, and simply passing on private property, the police only wanted him because they wanted him for vandalism, alcohol, drugs, and passing on private property for a future loft for the filthy rich. This area was meant to wipe out people experiencing poverty, and that was their only way of protesting despite their bad choices. There was a sense in which the singer knew he had won somehow. He wasn't a loser... he couldn't lose.

"What's your name, boy?"

"His name is Ronan Abbott." A groan came from the boy as his eyes met with a disappointed woman dressed to get him out free of charge.

"And you are?" The pig grinned as he enjoyed what he liked looking at. They all loved the taste of her.

"Lauren Chase. His mother... can't we figure something out?" as usual, his mother saved him from getting anything on his record, but it made him look like a fool with the others who were cut but didn't dare protest it as they all feared the wraith of Ronan Abbott.

With what a minute could have been, it was the reality that sat in. It was like America all over again. As a 16-year-old in New York City, Ronan followed the punk... an outcast crowd who was not as politically motivated, was hiding until they went. He just knew he hated the police- shit, the hateful people of America for what he witnessed. He lost many friends who were part of the LGBTQ community, some because of AIDS, and others because they were brutally murdered for being themselves and for loving who they loved, which nearly caused his death because he found himself at a small function where transexuals flaunted what they had in ballrooms, it was a popular event, but it collapsed after the police ambushed it and shut everything down... Despite the brutality of the police, he barely survived, but it was the brutality that made him truly angry at the world, if not for his family, then for the cruel world he lived in.

Reflecting on the past, he barely noticed the disheveled officer release him and mumbled something under his breath as he pushed him towards his mother, whose eyes filled with shame and disappointment, "Let's go before your father gets home."

"Whatever..." he shrugged and struggled to walk due to missing a shoe he lost somehow. His feet were hurting, but of course, it was a long and rough night of partying and fighting, "What'd you do to get me free this time?" Ronan knew asking was like stabbing someone in the chest, but it didn't matter.

"We... just talked... Now, why did you have to go on and punch the officers?" Though the answer didn't matter, she knew he was still traumatized by what had happened in New York... she even assumed he saw red simply because he was just scared he didn't want to die. That thought alone was evident.

"They deserved it..." He slumped and sunk into his seat in the car, and she stayed quiet as he drifted off to sleep. She smiled slightly because she knew he had never really changed from when he was a baby; he loved car rides despite falling asleep. It was when he was finally at peace and beautiful like herself, like aged wine.

After all, she knew her son and husband would fight in the morning, but she also knew she had to clean herself up before he came home from work. Since her husband was a heart surgeon, she knew doctors worked long hours, but even he had moments of failure as he tried to save people. She recalled memories of when she was pregnant with their previous children. The daughters that he forced her to abort. Five to be exact, and she wished they had kept at least one, but the man only wanted a son, "Daughters are worthless and do not hold family names, and the worst case scenario, they turn out like bloody whores like you!" He hated where she came from, but he practically begged her to be his housewife because of her beauty. However, he hated sharing what he felt was his, but who was going to say no to a good life promised to them? If you call this a good life, that is.

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Word Count:1458
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