by Semirhage
Rating: R for SLASH!! ^.^ (Like that's a bad thing! ::winks::) And, err, cussing.
Chapter One
Self-Portrait, by A. T. Wilson
Preface
Every morning I wake up, throw my covers off, and trudge into the bathroom. I then turn the shower on cold, unclothe, and hop under the steady fall of freezing water. Although I insist that I can stand that pressure in the mornings, I always quickly turn the knob for hot water until the small room becomes so steamy that seeing anything through the mirrors is impossible. After finishing my shower (which usually takes about thirty minutes because I enjoy the feeling of the heat surrounding my body), I brush my teeth, wash my face, and dry my hair. Then I wrap a towel around my waist and return to my room to garb myself in the outfit I chose the previous night. Of course, sometimes I do not like what I had chosen, so I throw everything back in my closet and find myself a new ensemble - one that fits my mood for the moment.
I can not help but think I should pack my entire wardrobe so that I can change whenever I feel the need, which is often. Very often. Some people say I have wacky mood swings, but I call it an artist's temperment.
Why, you may wonder, am I throwing together this book of my life? Maybe because I am getting tired of hearing the same old questions - and, yes, they are getting very old. Maybe I figure that I can get rid of those questions and at the same time make lots of money because everyone wants to know about ME! (Yes, that was sarcasm, folks.) What is right? Well, maybe by the end of this book you will know the answer for yourself.
What does everyone know? My name is Adrian Thomas Wilson. My dad died in a fire while trying to save orphan children. I was just five then though I can still remember his smiling face. The pictures that decorate my mom's house help. My mom...an artist, just like me. We share a love of many things not limited to art. However, our tastes in that sometimes differ dramatically. While I insist that the most beautiful subjects are human, Mom enjoys nature and the wild outdoors. Neither of us like inanimate objects or, sorry Picasso, refiguring people. Both of us like feelings and emotions.
Has your opinion of me changed yet? You have not even begun to hear my story! Of course, if you dislike me now, you should probably lay the book down because I promise you that your opinion probably will not change. Unless you are one of those scary, strange people who just love to hate. Yes, I have known some of them. Odd, odd people. My childhood best friend's parents were the embodiment of those words. Self righteous, discriminative people. Called themselves 'Christians'. What is that supposed to mean?
At one period, when I was younger, I thought of Christianity as a way to help others - everyone at my church was one big family. Yes, I was naive - and I learned that childhood conceptions change drastically with the course of time and the inevitable discoveries of life. So many things that I had believed in I realised were mere fabrications of my mind - all my childish views of the Bible and reality.
Yes, I used to be a Christian. Now I can not say that I practise any religion, although I still believe there is a higher power. So you could call me an agnostic, if you wanted to put a religious term to me.
I am positive that you can not have just read that without your view of me changing at least a little. Have I offended you? Honestly, I am sorry if my remarks have put you on the defensive.
Many times, I find myself wandering how others see me. I can not appear the same to them as I do to myself, or I would have never ended up in the top 50 best looking guys in America. Me? I have plain, short black hair that is not glossy, bluish, or anything remotely cool. My eyes are plain, dark blue - some people have told me they are "midnight blue" but I do not see anything midnight about them. Midnight makes me think of starry skies, and my eyes have nothing in common with stars or skies. I am a little on the short side of average height, and am terribly skinny; and there is no way I could be called gorgeous, handsome, or even beautiful. Not like superstars who deserve to be in a list of the best looking guys, like, well, names you would recognise such as Orlando and Ewan. You know who I am talking about, right?
What more can I tell you about myself?
You know my father's dead, I have no siblings, most of my relatives on my father's side are dead, and I never knew anyone from my mother's family. The knowledge that I am an artist is pretty common, however despite the fact that I have written this book, I am not much of a writer. You can credit the ability of this book to make sense to my trustworthy friends, my awesome editor, and my brilliant agent.
Since I am sure you are pretty anxious to finish this note and get to the actual story, I will finish this with one last paragraph.
For the longest time, I was what everyone had expected and wanted. I dated sensible girls, followed my best friend like a little puppy, and conformed to the rules of our small town's society. However, that all changed when the new guy arrived in town. His name was Gavin Mark Lawson, he was the hurricane that rushed into my life and left little unchanged.
||Prolouge||Chapter Two||
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