#martyturner

When he had requested company the least he had expected was to receive it. Stripped of the limousines and the video shoots he was a surprisingly lonely man, evident in how atrocious his apartment was, in appearance and smell. Parties were all that happened here. Parties and sex were what Harrison Hailey was known for, and one of the things he was good at other than music and scoring free drugs. The life of a rock star was too fast to keep up with without such drastic means of entertainment, but the boy was far from caring. My my, how proud would his mother be?

Harry would've made an effort to clean up but, after everything, why should he? Alive but only living, a shell of the boy he used to be, what people thought of him had slipped off the radar of 'important things' to the boy now. Tabloids covered stories about him every day, from his order at Starbucks to how many grams he'd scored at the weeks end, but there was only so much you could get offended by before becoming immune to ridicule and criticism. Critics would always hate him for being successful, attractive, and rich; better make the most of it, to live fast and die pretty. 

Then that knock on the door came. He dragged himself out of bed, that poor broken shell of a poor broken boy, trudging to the entrance of his dank apartment slowly on giddy legs. Marty had seen him in worse states and wearing a lot less clothing than his current fluffy coat and boxer short combo so it didn't matter to him what he looked like. Without so much of a hesitation he tugged open the door and spun before the girl could even get a good look at that rugged, neglected, blotched and dark face that was classed as one of the most 'handsome' stars of their time.

              "Thanks for comin' over, love.