Your Friend, Alex

Your Friend, Alex: Part 6

January 15th, 2028. I walked to the elevator. It was 4:27 am. After a shower and a nice cup of City Grind Coffee, my favorite, and a line of coke I'm ready for my day. I was wearing my favorite shirt today, a black t-shirt with the Truman Show tagline in white text sprawled across it. For those of you who've never seen the movie, it's the very last scene when Jim Carey's character says his famous catchphrase from the film, "Good morning, and in case I don't see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!" I hit the button for the ground floor and waited, clutching the pack of Leaf Lines in my pocket, my lighter in the other. Truth is I'd been up for hours and had forgotten to smoke my morning cigarette. Crazy how an addict could forget his vice of choice but I was a bit busy last night. Last night I completed the first ritual of my contract. It had actually been pretty easy. Ever since my first film, "Beneath The Surface", a comedy I'd written in film school came out, I've had plenty of people to choose from. I have no shortage of friends. Let's rewind a bit. After the events at Julia's, life went back to normal for a while. Same film lectures at NYU, same lonely nights bringing comedies to feel something, same empty feelings. I sent the script for, "Beneath The Surface", to Warner Brothers but hadn't heard back in months. To be honest I almost forgot about the entire conversation with Satanas. I only remembered the massacre. I never called the police. I'm not even sure what happened with the fire. I never looked back. I did however speak to my therapist about the ordeal. Under doctor-patient confidentiality clauses, she was unable to say anything to anyone about my situation so long as no one was hurt and I wasn't a danger to myself. Needless to say, I gave her the edited version of the story, simply telling her that Julia cheated on me with Leon, I confronted them, and that I was met with a traumatizing conversation, never seeing them again. She said that it was good that I had realized Julia's infidelity now, or I might have wasted my life chasing a woman that never loved me. At the time, I wasn't interested in relationship advice. I had asked for help dealing with the trauma I had faced during our confrontation, stating that Julia said that she never loved me, never found me attractive, and never would. I guess that much was true. After all, it was Leon she was fucking, not me. Eventually, Dr. Maroney told me to embrace the trauma and to learn from it, telling me that it was the only way I could heal. I took that to heart. If I really was to move on from the ordeal, I needed to replay those moments over and over in my mind. What I discovered was rather unsettling at first, but felt right after much thought. I liked killing. I liked killing almost as much as I like film, in fact, a feat hard to achieve. I replayed the moment the knife first went into Leon's neck in my mind, over and over again. The fear in his eyes, the blood on my hands, and the control I felt holding his life in my palms. I had never had that kind of control over anything before, and Ativan was the only thing that could force me to maintain control over myself. Speaking of which, I should probably take that. I reached into my pocket for my prescription, opened the white plastic top, and swallowed a pill. I need to be on my game today. After my revelation with therapy, I was elated to finally cease the nightmares I had every night since the event, in which Satanas snapped his fingers and ripped my organs from my body, and replaced these with fantasies of murder, where I had all the control. However I started to worry. I worried that Satanas was a figment of my traumatized imagination, and that our deal had never actually happened. This would give me no opportunity to kill again, a thought that saddened me to my core. Until March 19, 2026. I received a letter in the mail, unmarked, simply addressed to Alexander Potanis. I opened the letter and was met with the Warner Brothers studios logo printed at the top. My heart pounded. The letter read as follows: "Dear Alexander, Upon reading your screenplay, 'Beneath The Surface', we knew right away that we had to shoot this film. The nuance of your characters, hilarity of your dialogue, and complexity of the film's premise dazzled even our most seasoned of producers, as no one has heard of a writer penning a script this incredible on their first outing. We would like to offer you a buyout for the rights to the screenplay, and to make your movie. To talk offers and negotiations, please contact me at your earliest convenience at his number, 323-527-9746. We look forward to doing business with you. Sincerely, Augustus Sheeran." I couldn't believe my eyes. My childhood dream was coming true. Maybe Satanas was real after all. I urgently called Augustus and set up a meeting for the following week. Originally, Warner wanted to buy my script and hire a more seasoned director to work on the project, with talks of James Cameron and Christopher Nolan being interested. However, I wanted this badly. I offered to work for a minimal salary and practically begged to direct the film, retaining 50% of the rights to the story, as I had a vision and wouldn't settle for my work being butchered. No offense Christopher. They agreed. Just like that I had Steve Carell and Reese Witherspoon attached to star. It was happening. If this wasn't incredible enough, the day before we began shooting I woke up to a shocking discovery. I went to the bathroom to begin my morning and stopped as I looked in the mirror. Washboard fucking abs. I had not been working out, nor had I stopped eating Pepperoni Pockets, I could never, yet somehow I was in the best shape of my life. Not a juiced out musclehead but perfectly toned and chiseled just like Leon. I remembered Satanas. Two down, one to go. The movie was shot over the course of 8 months, and was finally released in quarter four of 2027. It was a box-office smash. The studio made 5 billion dollars off "Beneath The Surface", and due to my negotiation, I went from a shitty one room apartment in Staten Island to a penthouse in Soto, pocketing 2 and a half billion dollars. Three out of three. Stanas had fulfilled my every wish that much was certain to me now. This was no coincidence. So last night, I finally held up my end of the bargain, and indulged in my new found love for violence. Thomas, a grip I had hired to help shoot, "Beyond The Surface", had a lovely girlfriend named Rosaline Baxter. She was small, about 4' 11" at most, with long red hair that stopped just above her waist. Her freckled face was sweet but seductive, and she was a 24 year old film student at NYU, having started classes just after I quit my job. We met at a cast and crew party to celebrate the making of the film before we began shooting, and hit it off instantly. After speaking with Thomas and getting his permission, I proceeded to invite Rosaline to my penthouse twice a week to help her with her research paper for the semester, and in depth analysis of the film Jackie Brown by Quentin Tarantino. At first that's really what I was doing. We would watch a scene, pause the film, and break down themes and character motivations, pointing out how Quentin's use of dialogue and knowledge of each character's backstory really drove the film. I'd say about sixty percent of her research paper was spoken out of my own mouth. However, it wasn't long before I started having other ideas. Rosaline and I started having much longer study sessions, and soon enough we weren't studying film, but anatomy. I must have fucked her on every piece of furniture in my apartment, including the 9th floor balcony that overlooked a busy 14th street. All the while I would go to work, smile at Thomas, and make my film. Rosaline would even visit the set sometimes, say hello to Thomas, then blow me in my office on lunch breaks for cast. Our relationship began to foray into more taboo territory. We even tried roleplay, her playing a helpless lost schoolgirl hitchhiking after being abandoned by her friends, and a man who had picked her up to have my way with her. This is where I was first introduced to cocaine. Originally I was quite skeptical, hearing how addictive this shit was. I mean I can't even put down a cigarette. I knew if I tried it, it was over. However, when a 24 year old redhead film student tells you to do a line off her ass, you're not gonna think twice. Trust me, I didn't. At first I would do blow every few days, only when Rosaline would come for a session, but slowly and surely it became an everyday habit, and by the end of shooting my film, I was coked up while directing every scene. After the film premiered, Rosaline and I continued to see each other, with her even bringing her friend Mandy Barnes over to my place for frequent threesomes. Mandy, a blonde coming in at 5'4" was a sassy little number with bouncy curls, giant tits, and an attitude. She became a regular part of our sessions. Finally, we got to last night. Now, all good things must come to an end, and Rosaline was getting a bit too attached for my tastes. It began with, "How are you?", texts or the occasional, "Need some blow?", but slowly evolved into more. It was clear she had feelings for me, even going so far as to leave drunk voicemails screaming at me when she saw photos of me with other women in public. We were never exclusive, but it's clear she was trapped in a relationship with a man she did not love, and wanted more for herself. A shame. As January came I figured that I ought to get my end of the deal with Satanas out of the way quickly, as production for my Second film, "Crash Out", was about to begin, and I would have no time in the coming months. Who better to use for the ritual than Rosaline and Mandy? Rosaline had been a thorn in my side for quite some time now, and Mandy? Well she just happened to meet the wrong man at the wrong time. I texted Rosaline, and asked her to bring Mandy along for our session tonight as I had just bought a pound of coke and would need help finishing it, to which she replied with glee telling me they would both be there. The girls arrived at my apartment, Rosaline in a little black dress that stopped just below her ass, and Mandy wearing a silver sequin crop top with a black miniskirt. We sat on the couch. "Ladies first.", I said, handing Mandy a one hundred dollar bill. Mandy smiled, leaned over and did as big of a line as she could. She came up snorting, rubbing her nose with her left hand, handing me the dollar with her right. "God that's some good fucking shit!", exclaimed excitedly. "I know.", I said flatly, ready to get on with the night's festivities. "Undress and wait in the bedroom, we will meet you shortly." Mandy rose from the couch and began walking to the bedroom which was directly behind the living room, throwing her close across the floor as she went. "Hurry up Mr. Potanis, don't keep a girl waiting.", she moaned on her way out. I turned to Rosaline, removing a small box from my shirt pocket. "Now Rosaline, I don't have to tell you that you're my favorite, do I baby?" I whispered, giving her the box. "No sir.", she replied smiling, "I already know." I smiled back at her. "Good girl. Smart girl. So this I got just for you. Mandy can have that regular bolivian shit but this is all for you darling." She opened the box, revealing a brown, thick powder. "Straight Afghanian brown.", I said proudly, "Made from the finest plants and shipped to yours truly. Now don't tell anyone about this shit. This is my private stock. I'll only share it with my favorite woman, understand?" She nodded, eyes wide, looking honored that I would share this with her. "Thank you Alexander, I can't believe you trust me so much! I won't say anything I promise." She bent down to do a line when we heard shouting from the other room. "Alex, I'm waiting!" Mandy yelled from the bedroom. I looked back at Rosaline. "Finish your line and meet us in the bedroom sweetie.", I said with a smile as I strolled into the bedroom.