#fame is hell

~

Douglas leaned back in his chair and took another drink. His cards were fine, but nothing to write home about. David across from his raised an eyebrow a minute amount, but Douglass had played poker with him long enough to know it was a fake tell.

Mark sat at the table with them but didn’t play. He chatted with the other guys or scrolled on his phone, paying attention absently. Just there.

In the end, Phil won and they called it a night. When everyone was still milling around and finishing up their drinks, Douglass pulled his old friend aside.

“Hey David, you remember that idea I had early last year?”  David gave an amused yet exasperated sigh.

“Oh, come on Doug, you can’t expect me to remember all your hair-brained plots. Just fill me in.”

The other man didn’t answer, arching his brows and grinning like a cheshire cat.

David ran his tongue across his teeth and tried to remember which one of the plots would impress itself so hard into his friend’s memory when the others hadn’t. He groaned.

“The WRU one? Doug, there’s no way-“

Douglas put a finger up to stop him and turned his head.

“Mark? Show some respect.”

Mark had been standing off to the side, chatting with Phil. At the command, a thud rang through the room and Mark was on his knees, forehead pressed against the floor. Phil took a step back, surprised and muttering curses under his breath.

David’s jaw hung open, and Douglass relished in the responses.

“Holy shit! I didn’t notice anything! Damn, WRU can really do anything can’t they?” David mussed as he walked over. He snapped his fingers a few times to get Mark’s attention. “Position two.”

Mark sat up on his knees, chin level with the floor and eyes straight ahead. David took his chin and tilted the boy’s head to take a better look.

The boy he had been chatting and laughing with not ten minutes before.

Mark didn’t react, didn’t pull away or flinch. His eyes were different now, distant and softer. His body language was tense and stiff. Breathing shallow.

“This is crazy impressive. I think if I had mine try and act like a real person, you’d be able to see whatever’s left of her brain dripping out her ears. She’d last less than a minute before breaking out in tears.”

The man studied Mark’s blank expression for another moment before a slight look of confused amusement came over his face.

“Position 6.”

Mark brought his arms out, wrists up, and the man pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. Then his left.

“No barcode? How’d you get away with that? I thought that was some kind of requirement or something.” Douglass grinned and pulled a small black flashlight out of his pocket.

David nearly laughed at how well planned out this was. The meeting, the big reveal, everything.

He clicks it on and shines it on the skin of the boy’s right wrist, lighting up a previously hidden tattoo. Under the light, his barcode and the numbers are easily read.

“Ooh, very nice. But what if he gets lost?” Douglas turned off the light and put it back in his pocket with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, this kid’s going to be a superstar. Won’t be able to get five feet from me or a bodyguard, hell even the paparazzi. He’s not going anywhere.”

He reaches down and tugs at the boy’s hair playfully. His hands are still out in front of him, waiting for further instruction.

“Besides, he’s still chipped so you’re really not going anywhere are you, Mark?”

“No, Sir.” His voice is different now, soft and docile. David shakes his head in amazement.

“This is just crazy, man. Mark, what’s your designation?”

“Platonic, Sir.” His manager arched an eyebrow and grabbed the boy’s bun, pulling his head backwards.

“And?”

Mark swallowed as he leaned back to try and get enough slack to breath properly. He nearly jerked his arms back for balance, but he knew Sir would want him to be perfect for his friend. Perfect for the crowds and the pictures and the crew and for him. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Never a detail overlooked or glance in the wrong direction for too long.

He had just wanted to sing. He had just wanted to be an artist.

You signed up for this.

“Platonic w-with secondary ro-mantic training, Sir,” he squeaked out. His hair was released, and he fell forward slightly as he took a deep breath. He fought a shiver as David laughed. Whenever possible, Mark skirted around his saying romantic training. It was okay, he could be good, but wasn’t made for it. He was made for Sir, and Sir didn’t want him for that.

He’s supposed to, though. He’s supposed to want me but he doesn’t. The handlers told me that my owner would want me but he doesn’t. He doesn’t and he never will. People say I’m supposed to love him but they never taught me to do that and he doesn’t want me like that. 

“How does that work? Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron or something?” asked Phil, stepping forward and eyeing Mark with a different kind of look.

That was the other reason he didn’t want to mention his secondary training. Mark like to imagine that he shied away, but in reality, he stayed perfectly still. He could only pretend, only imagine leaning away from the hands that would come and touch and touch and touch.

“Oh he’s a platonic for me and a romantic for anyone who wants to sleep with a superstar.”

Mark swallowed again, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. He didn’t love Sir, but he didn’t hate him. He was trained for him and he cared about him, but he knew it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t even; Sir was still his owner and Mark was his pet. His pet that he could make do whatever he wanted.

The handlers told me collars are safe and my owner wants me, but I don’t get to wear mine most of time and he doesn’t want me. Mine doesn’t he want me. I must have done something wrong or misunderstood or something because something is missing and he doesn’t want me. But he gives me away to other people and I don’t understand. 

Why did he let them train me for him and then not want me? 

No, no no no bad. 

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.  

Phil used his foot to push down Mark’s shaking arms. He crouched down and lifted the boy’s chin with a smile.

“God, why didn’t we think of this years ago? Could have saved Hollywood quite a bit of trouble and maybe even a few scandals.”