Note: Dear, Readers

I'm so so sorry it took me so long to update. I've been wanting to write like crazy, but life can get hectic. I'm trying to make sure I keep time for what is very important to me, like my writing. It's such a release for me, and it's what I love. Anyway, thank you for your patience, and words of encouragement. It means more than I could say. I hope you're still with me. Now let's get back to it...

One of the worst things Jack ever did to me was the time he invited this horrible woman named Kiara into our lives. He moved her into the mansion in the hills with us out of nowhere. Kiara didn't take to me very well. We hated each other's guts. I found her to be a trashy and desperate opportunist, and she found me to be a relic from Jack's past that she needed to get rid of since she was busy teaching Jack how to be an even bigger lowlife than he already was. Kiara was a total golddigger. She kept trying to start businesses that failed with Jack's money. Stupid shit like this gaudy tasteless fashion line, and these nasty smelling soaps. Jack was all too happy to teach her the business ropes while they sniffed occasional coke together out on the terrace. She'd wave these tacky long acrylic fingernails around, and leave the sink piled high with dishes with her nasty lipstick stuck on them. Kiara was also some kind of aspiring model, and Jack was all too happy to take pictures of her all over the house. He'd snap Kiara laying on top of the grand piano, or out on the terrace wearing one of her loud skanky outfits she considered high fashion. Imagine trying to do your homework while Kiara is squatting her ass out like she was going to the bathroom over on the other side of the room. I hated Kiara and everything she represented. Jack insisted on keeping her around though. She eventually let Jack know in no indiscriminate terms that I was persona non grada in my own house. So they threw me out together. Not that I planned on sticking around with that whore in the picture anyway. It was then, that I moved into the Bel Age.

Jack was all too happy to be alone with Kiara. It wasn't long after that he actually left town with her and took her to Manhattan for a while. He moved her in with him, in the penthouse, he kept in the city, while he left me alone in California. I knew I could never forgive him for this, and I haven't. I hated him more than I had ever hated him, after his complete dismissal of me. It made me sick to my core. I knew after that he had never been the man I thought he was or could be.

While Jack was busy playing house with Kiara, the bottle kept me company. I'd come home and get drunk hating both of them, and everything around me, wondering why this woman who clearly loathed me had such a hold on him. Why did he care about her so much more than me? Sometimes the anger scared me, but writing in my journals, and surfing kept me from falling into a complete black hole.

I remember calling up Jack nice and drunk in the middle of the night and I'd scream, and curse at him about how fucking horrible and low he was to take off with her. Jack claimed he was just helping Kiara get on her feet. She came from a poor family, and had a homeless mother he said. Kiara needed time to be able to get her life together, so that when he did leave she would be alright. I knew it was all bullshit. Jack and his ego liked having this woman dependent on him. He liked keeping me dependent too and messing with my head. He needed people to be at his mercy. It made him feel like some kind of sick twisted hero helping Kiara out in life while she stayed available for sex for him. I found out later though that Kiara's mother had connections in Hollywood, and was never all that homeless. Jack at the time wanted to start getting movies financed. He always claimed there was so much untouched money in Hollywood vs dealing with just rich normal people's money or some shit like that. So much for Jack helping others. He was the one who wanted to be helped. Eventually, he dumped Kiara for a younger bimbo with even better connections as soon as he got the chance. I almost felt sorry for poor Kiara who ended up on a heap of antidepressants after dealing with Jack. Almost.

Now Jack had taken off again and was out of the country. Who knows what he had up his sleeve this time. Was there another Kiara out there, or just more people to rip off. Sometimes I feel so ashamed of him, I want to change my last name.

I twist a fork around in my hand until I start bending it absentmindedly.

"Hey McKay easy on the silver there, that's stuff not plastic, or cheap."

I look up and my buddy Nat- who owns my favorite restaurant in all of LA, the Peach Pit- is looking down at me, as he refills my coffee.

"Oh sorry Nat, I guess that last slice of pie sent me into a daze."

"Yeah will ease up kid, or I'm going to have to start charging you double since you're here so much." Nat laughs at his joke, and I give him my best interpretation of what I remember a smile to be.

Nat's a good dude. Probably the best guy in LA. I've been coming to the Pit since I was a kid. I used to walk here after school since Jack never remembered to pick me up. I'd sit here, and read or do my homework. The food's decent, but the real reason I come is that there's something about this place that's welcoming and warm. Maybe it's the jute box, and pie or Nat himself, but I never get that feeling from anything else in LA except the ocean.

I sip my coffee and then wince since it's too hot as usual.

"Nat what are you trying to burn my tongue off," I call over to him.

"Actually that's what I wouldn't mind doing."

I look up, and hovering over me now is that girl from history class Michelle. I'd forgotten that I even made a date with her, and why I even came here tonight in the first place. She's smiling at me in a sexy naughty way, and wearing a dress so short it practically requires one of those parental advisory sticker warnings over it that are on cd covers.

I give her a grin and forget about my fucking coffee.

#

About an hour later, Michelle and I are curled up on my bed in the suite watching Rebel Without a Cause. It's one of the greatest movies ever in my opinion, and I really relate to James Dean's character Jim Stark. It's like looking in a mirror. There's something about old movies, that I just don't feel from the new shit Hollywood spurns out. The way the old movies were told with a story first, and razzle dazzle second really appeals to me. I guess simplicity is something I find lacking in my own life or something.

I'm so wrapped up in Jim Stark's angst, I don't notice Michelle fiddling with the buttons on my shirt. I look at her, and she's not paying attention to the movie at all.

I give her a smile, and turn the volume down for a minute right at the part where Jim is getting his tires slashed. I'm suddenly feeling very claustrophobic with Michelle all over me.

"I'm going to head to the bathroom, be right back," I tell her scooting away.

"Hurry back," Michelle calls after me oblivious.

I walk into the bathroom and start splashing some water on my face. I thought tonight could be fun, and help me take my mind off things, but all I can see are Jack's empty face, and him walking out of the suite with the door slamming shut behind him. I take a few deep breaths, before turning the knob, and opening the door back up.

What I see next definitely takes my mind off things. Michelle is sitting up on the bed, and she's totally naked now. All she's wearing is a smile.

"Hi, I was getting lonely, while you were gone," she purrs.

I know my mouth is hanging open. I was not expecting this at the moment.

Michelle has a body like a Porsche Speedster. My eyes take in her succulent breasts, and the curve of her hips, and like a knee jerk reflex I'm on top of her, and our mouths are moving together wild, and urgently.

My lips fall down to her chest, and she's all hot skin and panting. I'm still fully clothed with her totally naked underneath me. I feel myself growing more and more excited until I'm suddenly not.

I don't know what it is. It's like this dark rain cloud is in the room, and right over the bed now. All I can see is Jack calling me a piece of shit. I see him smacking and pushing me around. Then there's bottles and bottles of liquor pouring down my throat and smashing against the wall. I can see myself drowning deep into the dark ocean, and then there are quick flashes of that girl from earlier. The one who was on the bench reading. I can see her wisps of dark hair blowing around, but she's replaced with Jack's angry face again. I see everything but doing this with Michelle right now.

I roll off her and sit up on the side of the bed with my elbows on my knees rubbing my face with my hands.

"What's wrong?" Michelle asks

I run my hands through my hair now, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. Michelle is one hot piece, and she's willing and able, and I can't do it. I'm so depressed that sex won't even help me anymore. I've been here before, I've done this with a ton of girls, but eventually, there's nothing else between us, and it's just emptiness again. My whole life is emptiness. I don't know how to explain this to her.

"Maybe we should just finish the movie," I tell her.

"Are you serious?" Michelle asks in disbelief.

I sort of half laugh wondering if I really am serious. I feel like a bitch. Why can't I just give her what she wants? I don't know why. I just know that I don't want to. It's not going to help me anymore.

Michelle starts wrapping the bed comforter around herself. "Wow, I guess I had you pegged wrong." She stands up angrily with the comforter around her practically throwing me off the bed, as she swipes it from underneath me.

"Michelle-" I start.

"What are you some kind of fag?"

I shake my head, disgusted by how nasty she really is.

She's hurriedly putting her stretchy dress back on and grabs her shoes as she heads to the bedroom door of the suite.

"Fuck you Dylan," she says seethingly.

I stare at the drapes in the room, as she closes the door hard behind her, and then I hear the other door in the living room slam shut.

I turn back to the tv screen and Jim is now choking Jack, I mean Frank...

Note to readers: I know this chapter has some harsh language, that I don't condone in any way, but I'm telling a story and I try to keep the characters real in their ugliness.

If you haven't seen Rebel Without a Cause with James Dean you should read the synopsis for it on Wikipedia. It really is a groundbreaking movie way ahead of its time.

With this chapter, I really wanted to show that Dylan is looking for more than just cheap thrills and sex now, but doesn't really know it yet. Stay with me, as he finds her...