He thinks he should win an award. Some world record. Longest uninterrupted acting performance.
How long has it been, again?
Well, it all started when he was ten years old, when his mother left them. He supposes he was pretty much a normal kid until then.
He was somewhat spoiled due to his status as his mother's favourite, but he was a charming kid. His aunt had much pleasure pinching his cheeks and singing his praises, and he would begrudgingly allow her. In spite of his difficulties reading, he was an average student, very well-behaved and mostly ignored.
Granted, he was held back in Grade 1, when he was seven. He would say it was because of some girl he was sat next to, but in actuality it was due to a slight strabismus on his left eye coupled to some misplaced anger towards his parents and his brother, still a toddler at the time. Normal all the same.
Then, his mother left for Spain. He would like to claim it was sudden, unexpected, but the writing was on the wall ever since he could remember. His parents were not cut to live with each other. In some ways, it was a right blessing, the divorce.
Yet, it was painful nonetheless. He felt left behind, alone, excluded, and he hated it so very much.
So, he tried to make sure he would never feel left behind ever again. He became obsessed with attention and popularity. He became a charismatic brute, what he could not get with charm, he would take by force and intimidation. He became cold and unattached.
Then it came, the beginning of the end. He managed to keep it up for over five years before it all came to a halt.
By then, he did not notice what he was doing. It was almost natural. He was not bored or frustrated, but he was not happy, not in the way he felt he should be.
His father remarried. He noticed with amusement he never really knew his stepmother's maiden name, but by then she was Nora MacDonald, divorcée with two daughters, Lizzie and Casey.
Nora was… okay, Lizzie was… okay. It would be a lie if he said his domestic life would not have changed at all with them there, but it certainly would not be as much as a radical change than it was with Casey.
Casey… was definitively not okay.
She was the epitome of femininity. Pink and purple, prim and proper. She prided herself to be a lady, polite and dedicated to her studies. She was an emotional hecatomb, blowing up regularly for reasons unknown and usually irrelevant.
She was everything he loathed.
For some time, he thought he loathed her, but soon he realized he did not. He loved her.
He could not even say he hated what she was, because he did not. He soon realized he was envious of her. Of what she had and what she was.
Her mother clearly loved her very much, and even her father, work-addicted as he was, loved her too, even if he did not know how. His mother left him without looking back, and his father was usually aggravated. Her sister looked up to her, respected her, his siblings fear him.
Moreover, she was free. Free to be herself. Free to explore her own depth, forge her own relations, her own interests.
All on the while, he was stuck with the shallowest of people, denying himself of his own colourful existence for a monochromatic, beat-by-beat droning through life. Out of reputation.
His little joy was that, when he was angry, he could make her angry, too. When he was glad, he could make her glad too. When he loved her, she loved him too.
He had her, he had sway over her. There was order in his universe.
Time passed them by, and soon they were done with high school. Casey, as was to be expected, was valedictorian. In her speech, she spoke of the promise of a fresh start, of the great unknown, of boundless freedom.
She looked at him as she was speaking, only him. As if they were speaking alone, and they might as well have.
They both went to Queens, her on an academic scholarship and him riding on his hockey abilities. Their parents forced them to share a living space, as in to save money, so they split an apartment on a small building off-campus in Kingston all the way to senior year.
He was glad to go there, even if the freedom promised never came to be. Not because of having to live with Casey, he was actually quite satisfied to have her there. She was good at house management and cooking, and she was safe, warm, accepting. It felt nice.
Yet, as a collegiate hockey player, he had expectations put upon him, and none in any way related to his performance on ice. Predictably, he took the easy way out again and just acted accordingly. He, with secret begrudge, became the big dog on campus again.
In more than one party, most very akin to the one he currently escapes, he would think he would like nothing better than to be on his sleepwear on the couch, after dinner, with Casey. Saturdays be damned.
Then, on a final of U Sports on his senior year, the Gaels against the Redmen, a scout for the NHL saw him and put him on draft. He was up for first pick in the Toronto Maple Leafs.
His talent for the ice and electric charisma made him a fan-favourite with ease, and the communications department put him front and center on their campaign to promote the sport, and the team, with the female audiences.
As it was to be expected, he was summoned to attend all sorts of parties, by his employers and teammates, and women, most the wet dream of most men, also naturally, flocked towards him.
His bank statement showed him more money than he could possibly fathom to spend. He usually points out, with good-naturedly haughtiness, that he, the moronic cad, was infinitely wealthier than Keener Casey, living on a meagre text revisor salary, who would ruff dismissably.
The time goes by, and everything stays the same. He was supposed to feel happy. He was supposed to feel accomplished. He felt sad, he felt trapped, and Casey was still free, and he still was envious of her.
This weekend, he played in Montreal against the Canadiens. He was tired of travelling alone, so he invited Casey along for a change. He missed being with her, since he moved out of their apartment to Toronto. As she remained in Kingston, meeting up was more of an occasion.
They won, naturally, and they went out to celebrate, naturally. They were hosted by some wealthy Montréalais patron of theirs, at their house off the island. He brought Casey along.
It was fun, for a change. Being with her, having fun with her, drinking with her.
Soon enough, he forgot who they were and started treating it like a date. Then, it was not hard for them to be kissing on the couch, and then to take her upstairs to some bedroom.
As he laid on the soft mattress and she sat straight over him, the adrenaline rushed through his veins and he sobered up. The attentive state he was in allowed him to have such a reflection on himself just on the time it took for her to take off her shirt and show him the delectable brassiere holding her generous breasts.
Noticing the foreign look on his face, she laid over him, placed her mouth on his ear and said: "Let it happen."
He obeyed.