The hotel suite was dark. The only light came from the tv that was blasting out stranger voices. Eric didn't care to know what they were talking about. He had turned the volume up, and stood watching as the tv screen pixilated in to pictures of a car bomb.
Behind the curtains there was a beautiful view over the city, every light in the tall buildings reflecting a life somewhere. The sky wasn't dark, it was never dark in new York city, all the fog and gas leftovers from the cars and traisn hanging over the city like a bulletproof window between new York and the real world. Nothing could bring new York down. Not even mother nature.
Eric liked to pretend he didn't care. Like anyone else. An uncapped bottle of vodka was standing on the kitchen counter, he had tried to chase his demons away with alcohol. Somehow, that didn't quite work as well for him as for his mother and serena, though.
Not really drunk, he allowed himself to drop down into the couch and lit up one of serena's cigarettes. He might as well try to get lost. The nicotine was rough and annoying to his lungs, scratching a bit, and he had to cough.
He flipped to one of the porn channels. It was late enough. A guy moaned loudly, as the girl on top of him levered herself down onto him. She threw her head back, and her long blonde hair fell down her back as she groaned. The guy, who had longish light brown hair and huge muscles, felt up her breasts and Eric flipped the channels until he reached a cartoon channel. Sponge Bob.
He picked up his phone, while taking another sip of his vodka glass. The cigarette had burned itself up while he was watching and he tapped the ashes off on the ashtray, before dropping the thing. hearing the familiar beep of his phone, he dropped all plans of calling someone. It was a text, clearly sent to the wrong person. B, get here. We're having so much fun. Love, Serena.
Eric let the phone fall to the floor as an incredible rage filled him. He resisted the urge to throw the glass against the wall, it would only leave a mess for the maid to clean up. He was so tired and he couldn't get the picture of the moaning man out of his head. His trousers tightened.
Frustrated out of his mind, eric stood up and felt the familiar tightening in his chest. His so-called family was out with lips everywhere and drinks in their stomachs and he was here, in that hotel suite his mother had decided that they should stay in this month. To be closer to her newfound millionaire boyfriend.
Eric stumbled to the bathroom, where a left over razorblade from the time his mother's previous boyfriend spend the night here. Razorblade in hand, he slumps to the floor. He tells himself not to cry, he's already enough of a freak.
Two straight lines were all it took. He heard somewhere, once, how you should always cut downwards and not across the wrist and so he does. So much red is running out of his veins. He doesn't regret opening them, just sits and watch as the world grow darker and his head get heavier.