// $ICK //

// ricky //

"all i am, 

is a man.

i want the world

in my hands.

i hate the beach,

but i stand

in california with my toes in the sand."

       - "sweater weather" the neighbourhood

ricky

Ever-so-quietly, Ricky slowly shuts the screen door to the back patio shut, biting hard on his bottom lip, as a string of desperate prayers run through his head. The click of the lock seems to echo through the silent house, causing him to squeeze his light colored eyes shut, wincing in fear. 

Holding his sneakers in his hands, he tip-toes across the marble floors in his socks, still wearing the same outfit he left the house in yesterday. He's not sure how believable it will be to his father, since he was supposed to be helping Mrs. Carrow clean her house. 

Especially since Mrs. Carrow has been in an old folks home for a few months now. 

But Ricky knows damn well that his dad would never let him help his best friend throw a giant party while his parents were out of town. His dad barely allows him stay up past 9pm. Anything that's not beneficial for Ricky becoming the next President, is a waste of time. 

The only time Ricky ever has any sort of freedom is every other weekend, when he's able to stay at his mom's house across town. Divorce would have been the best thing that had ever happened to Ricky, had his father not won custody of him. 

Ricky's mother couldn't handle her husband's ego, which once she was out of the house and his yearly salary continued to grow with one less person to support, his ego grew exponentially. He had to have the biggest house in the neighborhood, even if it meant violating zoning laws and paying off officials to keep hefty fines off his record.

That's exactly why he's so hard on his son. He wants him to follow exactly in his footsteps. It's exactly why he stuck him in an all-boy's school, more expensive than the mansion they lived in alone. He wanted his son to carry on his ego; perhaps it was getting to heavy for him to handle all by himself. 

 Setting his shoes down beside the front door, Ricky hurries up the stairs, padding up the marble staircase in his sock covered feet, barely making a sound. His eyes land on his bedroom door, safety being only a hundred feet away. 

So just as quickly as he had left Ashton's party after realizing it was 4am, he darts into his room, carefully shutting it behind him. Once he's alone in his room, he lets out a great big sigh of relief, running his trembling fingers through his dirty blonde head of hair. 

He staggers a few exhausted steps to his large bed, dropping into it with as little effort as possible. Half of his legs hang off the end as he lies there with his arms spread wide. Sunlight just begins to stream through his large window. Dawn's colorful rays catch on his mirror, reflecting all through his room. 

As Ricky slowly curls his lanky body into a ball, his heavy eyes scan around his room, the monotony of it all causing him to be even more exhausted. 

He was simply tired of it all; tired of the same things over and over again; tired of being seventeen. 

His closet seems to mock him as he stares into it, the polos and khaki pants from his school uniform smirk at him as his eyes ever-so-slowly begin to shut, despite how hard he tries to fight against it. 

For he knows once he goes to bed, nothing will change. That's the hardest part of waking up for him. 

The tabloids preach about how luxurious his life is; how he and his father are a force that can't be swayed, a dynamic duo. They post pictures of their large house, and their nice cars and fancy dinner parties with their celebrity friends. 

'California's Golden Boy'. Anything less would be a disgrace to his father. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

an: this chapter is rather short, but i didn't want to reveal too much of his character so soon. ricky is played by garrett hedlund [swoon] and i just have to thank @penguinperks for letting me have him for my story!