ONNAXOFF

Chapter 33

Abel

By the time I scribble my name on what must be the 27th personal object I’ve been handed, I start wishing that I never agreed to sing at this party. These people are Jessie’s friends, so I don't wanna be an asshole, but there are only so many more smiles I can fake for their phone cameras.
Even the people who were initially too 'cool' to fall all over themselves for a semi-celebrity, are now sidling up and asking for autographs.
It's just typical that whenever I want to be alone, Cash is constantly hovering, but now that I'm in need of his powerful dismissal powers, he's nowhere to be found.
I try to wave to Jessie in the kitchen but she's too preoccupied with trying to taste the bottom of the vodka bottle in her hand.
I finally manage to escape when a random, fully-tattooed guy walks out of the bathroom.
Seizing the opportunity, I leap up and excuse myself. When I've locked myself into the small room, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I still can't believe she made me sing. No girl's ever done that before. And of all the songs in the world, Rolling fucking Stone. It's been months since I even thought about that record. It feels like I wrote it in another lifetime.

"I'll be different. 
I think I'll be different. 
I hope I'm not different. 
And I hope you'll still listen."

When I wrote those words, I had no idea the song would get this popular, and that so many people would hear them. My entire life changed when I signed a record deal. The lifestyle changes that come with the money are inevitable. Obviously I'm not going to stay living in the decaying house at 65 Spencer Avenue when I can live in a penthouse.

But am I different? I question my reflection. 
Well, my hair is bigger. Other than that, and the fact that my clothes are more expensive, I can't see any real physical differences between Rolling Stone Abel and the Abel currently staring into the mirror.

As for any changes lurking beneath the surface, that requires some deeper thinking. I sit down and contemplate my life more thoroughly than I’ve done for a long time. After comparing several aspects of my existence, I come to a definite conclusion. Despite everything that’s changed, I still have the same friends, the same principles, and the same passion for making music.

People are always accusing me of changing who I am. Before tonight, I had no idea that they had made me doubt myself, but the revelation has lifted an unexpectedly heavy weight off my shoulders. 
No matter what anyone says, I know the truth: I'm not different. Under all the new clothes, I'm still the same hesitant nigga from Queen Street who wrote those words. 
However, the revelation raises another question: Could I still write words like that? 
My alone time is interrupted by a loud knock on the door.
"Come on, man. I need to piss."
I consider ignoring him and finding out where this train of thought was heading, but after another urgent knock, I finally unlock the door. I’ll have to continue this later.

__________

Rather than return to the couch, I duck into the off-limits bedroom. Surprisingly, the room isn’t empty. I find Daniel already settled in, slouching in the beanbag by the far wall. 
"Welcome to the VIP area." He looks up from his iPad as I close the door behind me.
"You're hiding too?"
"Too many people." He explains. "I've got a headache."
I give him a quick nod and take a seat on the bed. 
Despite his friendly greeting, he doesn't seem in the mood for partying. His tired eyes and pale skin signify that he's suffering from a little more than just a headache, so I turn away and let him do his thing.
After a quick notification check, I put my phone away and try to revisit my earlier introspective mood. It doesn't work, reminding me of the importance of location when mulling over decisions. For example, I do some of my best thinking in the shower, whereas in bed, my brain almost stops working entirely, and natural instinct takes over. 
I glance over to where Daniel is coughing in his seat. While he watches his screen, I study him cautiously. I’ve yet to decide if I like him or not, mostly because I can’t seem to figure him out. 
Every time I’ve met him, it’s like he’s a different person. In the bar, he was the fucked-up boyfriend. At the Christmas party, it was the happy-go-lucky, sociable brother. And right now? I have no idea what side this is.