My family didn't have much money growing up. We weren't poor, but I remember my dad complaining a lot about it. I never went hungry or did without, as a kid I could have cared less about money. Now it seems like it's the only thing I can think about. Money is a necessity in life for me. I need it. I want it.

My dad used to tell me every night how I had to get into a good college and make myself in money for my life. My mother would roll her eyes and tell me that I should do whatever made me happy. My dad would then tell me that my mother was a crazy bitch. Her family didn't mind being poor. He would complain about how he worked so hard, but life looked down on him. It was up to me to bring honor to the family name.

I was an only child. I always longed for a brother or a sister. I was really happy when I first met Mark because he introduced me to a wonderful group of people and I suddenly wasn't lonely anymore. When I was younger I used to make up imaginary friends and talk to them for hours and hours. I created a little world for myself to escape into.

I wanted to be a guidance counselor. Believe it or not, I love kids. I used to watch my parents argue every night. Sometimes my dad would hit her; those were the nights where he would sit in front of the television and drink every amount of alcohol we had in the house. I could never do anything about it. So I figured maybe I could help other kids that had those problems. I was never very good at dealing with mine.

My life changed when I was eighteen. I had been accepted into Brown and my parents couldn't have been happier.

"My son is going to make it big," my dad grinned, patting me on the back.

"What are you going to study, honey?" my mom asked, trying to get me to eat more cake.

"He's going to study business and make lots of money!" my dad exclaimed.

"I think he should study English, Benny would be a great writer," she said.

My mom was always saying that. I won a writing contest in the fourth grade, since then my mom thinks that I'm the next Salinger or something.

"He's not going to be some starving writer," my dad scoffed.

"Maybe that's what he wants to do!"

"No he doesn't!"

I tried to tune them out like I always did, but when I watched my dad slap my mother across the face, something inside me snapped. I didn't even realize what I had done until my dad was on the floor clutching his bleeding nose.

"Get out of my house," he growled.

I haven't been back home since. Luckily, I met Mark and Roger and found a place to stay while I was studying at Brown. I met Collins and Maureen later. I tried to make a few passes at Maureen, but she would brush me off. I used to love talking with Collins until the early moments of dawn. These were my friends.

I remember we had New Years Party and there were tons of people in the loft. I met this girl there, Joanne. Her skin was so soft, so brown, and so sweet. She tasted like cinnamon and had a fantastic body. We were both so drunk that I'm not sure if either one remembers what actually happen. I didn't realize until later that this was the same Joanne that ended up with Maureen.

I met Alison in a coffee shop one day. She was so pretty with bright blue eyes and soft white skin. Her family was rich and I remember they welcomed me in. I grew accustomed to their lift style and soon money became my focus in life. I bought Alison a ring from Tiffany's and before I knew it I was part of the most prestigious family in New York.

My friends didn't understand why I was marrying her.

"You used to have principles Benny! You wanted to help kids who came from a broken home like you did! Now you're selling your soul for the almighty dollar!" Maureen screamed at me.

"You sold out man," Roger growled through his high.

Mark just nodded at everything Maureen said and Collins was silent. He was the only one who came to the wedding. It meant a lot to me that he did. My dad was so proud that I was marrying a rich girl. I guess I had done what he always wanted to do. I still feel bad about betraying my friends, but they just don't understand.

I don't care if they think I'm an asshole anymore. Maybe I am. Maybe they shouldn't be so quick to judge me. They didn't even give me a second chance. Some friends.