I'm Yours (PRN)

iv

Prince stands before himself in the mirror. Tight cramps left his side aching on a new pain scale he's never discovered before. His tiny apartment that he keeps as clean as he possibly can has been split in half. One half has wires everywhere, he is in the process of recording. The other is slightly cluttered because, again, he is in the process of recording. Needing some type of relief, Prince sprawls out down on the old, dingy carpet beneath his feet.

"What are you doing?"

Prince heard Lisa and still does not roll over. Lisa's his new keyboardist and she's kind of in a bit of a funk. She moved out to Minneapolis off of impulse to join his band. Though, Lisa never actually calculated the funds that she'd need to get her own place and after a while she ended up needing a place to lay her head. With Prince being as bighearted and company craving as he was, he welcomed her with open arms. Lisa thanked him with open arms too, as well as an occasional open mouth and legs to accompany her gratitude. It only took two times before they realized how wrong it felt.

They remained friends as Prince questioned every possible reason their intimacy was cut short so quick. The two got on great and had chemistry. Prince couldn't figure it out. That feeling remained until Lisa confessed that they'd never be together. Maybe it had something to do with her girlfriend who still lived in Los Angeles, California? Prince understood. In a way, Lisa's confession brought then even closer.

Prince sits quiet for a moment. Once Lisa feels prompted to repeat herself, he finds himself answering her question. "I think I'm dying," he dramatically confesses.

Lisa's playfully eyes roll. "Cause of death, my dear?"

"A broken heart," He painfully said.

"Over that one little girl? She's just a baby."

The way Lisa spoke as if Monica was not her senior by just as little as twelve lousy months or less irks Prince's nerves. "She isn't a baby, she's my baby," He defensively responds sitting up. His cramps vanished without him taking note of it. 

"How long ago was that because I've been here and the things I've seen don't add up."

"It doesn't matter how long ago, this is now and I want her back."

Lisa's arms cross and she sits down on the dusty, old couch that the furniture store gave Prince in exchange of a gig, with a slight smirk. "Sounds rushed. You haven't thought this through yet have you?"

"What do you mean? I don't need to, I know what I want. Don't be such a buzzkill, Lisa."

"Prince, I—"

He rises to his feet with his hands up. "Lisa, Lisa..." He does not want to hear anything she has to say. She is in absolutely no position to critique in his eyes, especially after deceiving him the way she did. Lisa doesn't know what is going on. She will never understand the way Skipper and Mo worked because she wasn't there. She's only gotten bits and pieces of the story over the years and it's obvious Prince doesn't want to say too much.

Lisa's got all the common questions of course. She often thinks to herself as she wonders if what Prince did was really all that bad? She doesn't know and probably never will, as will the rest of the world outside of a small hand-selected few.

Prince now stands in his bedroom staring himself in the mirror. Is this what he wants to wear? "Hm..." He hums to himself quietly. "Mhmm." He proudly smiles as he picks up a hat to drop on top of his head. For a strange reason, Prince feels compelled to shave his face clean the night before. It really softens his look that's been going strong for him.

He goes down to the rink where he plans to sit and wait for Monica... Twenty minutes early. "I'll take one hot one," he casually says to the girl at the counter without even realizing they've previously had an encounter in life. If she isn't Monica, he does not know her nor does he know of her. Prince can only hope that his tunnel vision will help him get to his goal at a faster rate. A soft humming leaves sound waves near him vibrating as Prince impatiently looks around. His clammy centers of his hands leave the styrofoam cup almost slipping from his grip.