The Princess Pages: A Girl Like Cinderella

Song Nine

HIS PAIN. HIS PROBLEMS.HIS FRIENDS.

Somewhere in California, at Morgan Enterprises..

"D-a-a-a-m-n, she didn't spare your cheek any mercy, did she, man?"

The obnoxious remark came from Bradford Fields, 'Brad' for short, one of Trent Morgan's closest guy friends, not that he had a lot of real friends, but Trent was the type of person who needed to stay guarded, emotionally, and physically. 

Brad was, what most people call, a conceited ape, or a sexist pig. These titles were bestowed upon him by the many girls he'd played with and or cheated on since he was fourteen. It wasn't a mystery why he could get any girl he wanted. With his tall, muscular frame, bad-boy black hair, sultry brown eyes, and chiseled features, flings were child's play to him.

"Ignore him," Lawrence 'Lens' Lawson advised flatly, watching Trent Morgan press an ice-pack to his reddened left cheek while sitting behind his desk.

If it were possible for a cool nerd to exist, Lawrence Lawson was your guy. His dirty blond hair, which seemed yellowish brown, was short and brushed back to reveal his fine, regal face. His dark gray eyes were concealed by a thin pair of oval glasses, which looked white when hit by the sunlight. His figure was lean and though he was the shortest of the trio, standing at six feet, his nerdy clothes--Checkered polo and pants--emphasized his intellectual appeal.

"That bitch was hot, but she had some nerve touching your sacred skin," Brad went on, flipping another page of one of his porn magazines, sitting more comfortably on the black velvet couch.

Silently, Trent spun in his swivel chair, gazing out of the wall-to-ceiling glass window of his office, overlooking the city streets of California down below.

"You okay, bro?" Lens asked, his expression that of concern, standing next to Trent's desk.

Even Brad was taken aback by Trent's sullen quietness. Usually, whenever Trent dumped another one of his girlfriends, he would be turning his office upside down, or snapping at his employees, or drowning himself in alcohol at a very public nightclub, which, more often than not, sullied his father's name in the tabloids the next day.

Still, this was THE Trent Morgan, most famous singer in America and Europe. Girls adored him. Men envied him. Millions of fans worshiped the ground he walked on.

He had everything money could buy: Mansions, Chalets, vintage and modern cars, the most expensive clothes created by his father's designers, VIP entry to any place,anywhere. There was nothing he couldn't do or have.

Except Love.

"I'm fine," the handsome American-French-British model muttered, wincing as the cold ice seared through the cloth, making contact with his slapped cheek.

"None of your teeth were damaged, right?" Lens inquired, snapping his book shut.

"I said, I'M FINE," Trent irately repeated, wincing again when he gritted his teeth.

Brad stood up to approach his friend, but Lawrence grabbed his arm, halting him. 

Lens whispered to Brad, "He needs to be alone. Let's go," before they both exited the spacious office located on the very top floor.

Once they were gone, Trent exhaled loudly, pulling the iced cloth from his cheek. It still stung, that slap from Movie starlet Madison Thorn, but it wasn't the first, nor the fifth violent breakup he'd had in his life.

Girls were all the same, Trent thought, getting up from his swivel chair and admiring the starry sky that Thursday night. 

Stargazing calmed him down, but at the same time, filled him with an aching sense of loneliness.