It’s surprisingly cold tonight. I suppose part of the temperature’s source can be attributed to the altitude of my balcony above the main road through the CBD of Hamilton City, but there’s a little more to it than that. I spent most of the day lounging about in a wifebeater singlet and just my boxer shorts, because it was really too hot to wear anything else, even with the doors and windows wide open. God damn I can’t wait until my air conditioner gets fixed, what the fuck is taking them so long anyway? It’s the middle of bloody summer, for crying out loud! This is torture! And here I was thinking that getting me some sort of… uh… exercise, I guess you could call it, would take some of the chill out of the air, or at the very least wear me out to the point where I just don’t give a damn anymore. No such luck. Here I am, just like every night, exhausted as a motherfucker (which from what my sources tell me, is very exhausting), and yet still I can’t sleep.

I swirl the glass of whiskey around, the ice cubes in it clattering together and against the glass sides. The wind, which had taken a vacation for the past week or so, blows the scent up to my nostrils. The rhythm of my heart slows to a calmer rate, even though my stomach starts to feel a bit queasy. I take a sip. Like wildfire, the heat sweeps from my mouth down my throat and to my stomach. From there, it emanates to the far corners of my body, every finger; every toe; and of course my brain.

Unfortunately for me, the warmth is not as much of a relief as I had hoped it would be. Focusing on the cool breeze kept me occupied, but just as my body begins to feel warmer and dare I say, comfortable, the reason I’m still awake and have been for what seems like an eternity comes back into my mind with the force of a freight train. It’s been almost two months now, and still the same dream haunts those precious few hours a week that I actually manage to doze off. I see the young girl’s silhouette against the darkness. I see my own, and an unknown ‘partner’, and although I don’t see the atrocities that are to come, it’s not hard to figure it out. This dream is about the loss of innocence, and I’m completely to blame.

Fuck a sip, I’m guzzling the whole bitter glass now. It doesn’t just warm me now, it burns. The ice cubes have barely even melted, and I pour another glass over them, hoping in vain that somehow I can use sheer willpower to speed up the melting process, just so that my drink can have a pleasant taste. It’s not going to happen though, not unless I’ve suddenly become God and am completely oblivious to it.

At various points in my life, I’ve attributed dreams to different levels of implication in my own life. I’ve had my fair share of fucked up ones, believing myself to be Scorpion from Mortal Kombat serves as an example of this. That one seemed to sum up the events going on in my career, and to a small degree my life. I took that as nothing more than harmless wanderings of a younger, more carefree mind. It was a little bit of fun even, despite the fact that I spent the rest of the next day spewing my ring out. On occasion though, I’ve fought battles in my head that I simply can’t toss aside as easily as that. I fought demons years ago that I thought I had conquered. I waged wars in my head against the spitting image of myself, wrapped in every ounce of self-loathing I could summon. But now I see the visage return. I see a version of myself that’s more despicable than anything I ever thought I could possibly see staring back in the mirror at me. This version of my psyche would commit acts that never even seeped into my brain for half a second before being rejected. For all the work I’ve done, for all the progress I’ve made in trying to escape the hectic sea of shit that I’ve been submerged in for so long, with some bastard’s foot on my head, I feel like the real battle has yet to come. I feel like I’m about to brandish my weapons against the very bastard keeping me under. The thing is, that bastard is me. And I’m really fucking terrified at what this war might do to me.

Doctor Connolly says I’m looking too far into this. But as much as I pay him to try and know the inner workings of my mind, he can never understand me to the degree that I understand myself. I know my mind. I know I look too far into everything. I’m far too suspicious, too skeptical, too stubborn. But I also know, more often than not, I’m right. My instincts serve me well. And I’ve got a pretty damn good hunch about this one.

I swig from the bottle, without even shuddering. A small growl comes from the back of my throat. And then I take another swig.

“Jesus”, I hear a weary voice say form my behind me, and I turn back to see a slim, young woman standing in the open doorframe, her blonde hair faintly glowing as the moon hits it. “Are you coming back in or not?”

“Go back to bed Sophie,” I tell her, turning back around once more and leaning on the railing. “Don’t worry about me”.

“I’m Sasha”. Her voice comes alive, the mistaken identity enough to snap her out of her half-awake state and into one fully ready to shove a stiletto in my ass. I can’t imagine any scenario in which that would be a pleasant experience for me.

“Huh?” I try to buy myself some time by feigning ignorance. I turn back round to face her, complete with a make-pretend look of confusion of my face.

“I’m Sasha”, she says with attitude. “You just called me Sophie, but that’s my sister. I’m Sasha”.

“Did I?” I continue my charade. She crosses her arms and nods, waiting for the appropriate time to unleash her anger in the manner that all women know. Not this time though, doll. I’m not going to say a thing until she does, least I dig myself an even larger grave. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long, as Sasha has the one thing in common with all women who have mastered the art of making men feel like shit: she expects the men to grovel. So, as I take a small mouthful of liquor from the bottle, her blood begins to boil. Before I swallow, she takes advantage of the brief moment where I can’t verbally defend myself.

“You know what? Fuck you, Lee! Fuck you!” she screams. “You’re just like all the other bastard men. All you care about is yourself, and you’ll say anything for a girl to play with your junk, and then you kick them to the curb afterwards. You don’t give a shit at all! But guess what? You will not do this to my sister and me! You will not! You hear me?”

A moment of silence passes. She waits for a response from me, but it takes too long to come, so she scoffs and turns, ready to storm off. This is when I do open my mouth.

“Sasha…” I begin quietly. “Look… I’m… I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… I’m so fucking tired, I can’t think straight”.

“Well…” she begins. With the forgiving tone she spoke that one word in, I can safely assume that the crisis has now been averted. “I guess in the dark, it would be pretty hard to differ between us. We are supposedly identical twins, after all”.

“That’s no excuse”, I tell her, playing my role of the asshole jock, an attitude I despise in other people, to the letter. I extend my hand to her, and she moves in closer to grab it. I pull her out into the night air and through her tiny white bra I see her nipples erect in the chill. I wrap her up with my arms, pushing her close to my naked torso. “I could tell the difference between the two of you earlier on, and it was dark then, so I should be able to now as well”.

“It was different then”, she concedes, letting me off the hook completely. “We were naked, and I don’t have a big ugly mole on my ass like she does’.

“What?” I try to stifle back laughter.

“Oh as if you didn’t notice!” She punches me lightly on the shoulder. “I could hardly pull my own eyes away from it!”

“If I’m to be perfectly honest, my eyes were barely ever looking in her direction”, I lie. She blushes as I lean in for a kiss, my hands slipping down past her waist and caressing her ass. My tongue slides into her mouth for just a second before we both slowly pull away.

“What are you doing out here?” she asks, changing the conversation.

“I couldn’t sleep”, I tell her, speaking truthfully now.

“So you decide to start drinking again?” she asks, a little skeptically.

“It’s worked before”, I shrug. “What are you doing up?”

“I noticed you weren’t in bed, so I came to find you”.

“Aw… that’s awfully sweet of you”. My wry smile is met with a beaming grin coming back at me. “I’m fine though”.

“You sure?” she asks, worried.

“I assure you, dear”. I kiss her forehead this time. “Go back and get some rest, you look knackered”.

“Are you going to be coming?” she inquires, wide-eyed.

“In due time, I hope”. I squeeze her tightly against my body. “Go on now”.

“Don’t take too long now”, she orders me, as she runs her finger down my chest and abdomen, taking it off just as she touches my crotch. And then she turns and leaves. I watch her walk for as long as I can before she becomes too engulfed in the darkness inside, mesmerized by her behind. As I hear the door to my bedroom open and then close behind her, I turn back at out to the street below me. I doubt that conversation is going to help me sleep any better, but it’s certainly put me in better spirits.

Speaking of spirits, I pour myself a new glass of whiskey, on top of the tiny shards of ice that are left in there amongst the water they’ve melted into. I swirl it, sniff it, and then drink it. But not all of it this time. Just a sip is sufficient to keep a small grin on my face.

I notice a glow by my feet. I stems from inside, where a light has apparently just been turned on. Taking my glass with me, I head in to investigate.

“Sasha?” I ask, looking into the kitchen, where the source of light is coming from, and seeing the same white panties bent over looking into the fridge. “I thought you went back to bed?”

“She did”, the figure stands up, and before she turns, her panties adjust to reveal a small mole on her left cheek. It’s kind of cute actually. No way near as ugly as Sasha made it out to be.

“Sorry Sophie”, I say quickly, trying to avoid anything like what happened with Sasha.

“No biggie”, she shrugs.

“What are you after?” I ask, moving further into the kitchen and leaning on the counter, as she kicks the fridge door closed and turns to face me.

“I came out for a glass of water, but then I just wondered if you had anything else to drink, so I opened the fridge up”, she replies, quite quickly. Or at least quick enough for me to have to take a second to make sure what she said actually registered in my mind. “That’s when you came out”.

“Anything in particular you’re wanting?” I probe further. “I’m sure I can find something to accommodate your tastes”.

“I’m sure you can”, she says with a wink. She then looks down at my glass on the counter between us. “What’s that?”

“Whiskey”, I simply respond. “You want some?”

“Sure”, she says back, enthusiastically. I flick the side of the glass, and it slides over the countertop to her. She scoops it up and drinks what is left, without so much as a grimace on her face. God damn. Now that’s attractive. Ladies take note, the quickest way to get me wanting to make the beast with two backs is to be able to drink Scotch straight and actually enjoy it. “Any more?”

“Not a lot”, I say, even though I have no idea how much is actually left in the bottle. “Besides, it’s out on the balcony’.

“Ooh… romantic”. She grins, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. Her sister is much easier to read.

“Not really, it’s getting pretty cold out there”, I say without thinking.

“Then what the hell were you doing out there in just your boxers?” she asks, looking at me as if I’m stupid. Maybe I am. I still managed to get her into bed with her sister though, so I can’t be all that dumb.

“That’s a very valid question, and I have no idea what the answer is”, I admit.

“Right…” She continues to look at me in the same way, before shrugging once again. “Got any other liquor?”

“There should be some 42 Below Vodka in the cupboard right behind you. I think it might be kiwifruit flavor”. She turns around, and reaches up on her toes to get to the cupboard. I’d like to say that I was thinking clearly enough to have orchestrated the view I’m getting right now, but really that vodka was the first thing that popped into my head. Regardless, I’m hardly in a position to complain about what I’m seeing. She might complain though, as she pulls the bottle down and blatantly catches me staring. I don’t even try to disguise what I was doing. Thankfully, she doesn’t get annoyed at all. Why should she? It’s a compliment. Plus she’s already done the deed, so it’s not like I’m just a perverted stranger (although I am a bit of a pervert, I’ll admit).

She grins, and walks around the bench, unscrewing the lid to the bottle as she goes. She steps in close to me, side-on, so that her right breast presses into the left side of my body. She holds the bottle up to my mouth, and pours some in. I’m not usually a vodka drinker, but there’s a reason this stuff is in my house at all. It’s not half-bad. She pulls the bottle away and then leans in right away, locking my lips in her own. She tilts my head forward so that most of the vodka passes from my mouth into hers. She swallows it and licks her lips. I can’t help but crack a grin in response. She then begins to move down my body, and reaches for my boxer shorts.

“Fuck”, I say quite loudly, as the phone begins to ring.

“Leave it”, she tells me from below. I’m hardly going to argue with that request. I stand there in the kitchen in quiet joy, trying my best to block out the ringing of the phone. I’m doing a pretty good job too. I’m snapped back into awareness though when the answer phone picks up the call and the message begins to be left.

“Lee? Lee? Are you there? Come on Mr. Lee, its Kelly here! Answer, please answer!” My eyebrows furrow and I look across at the phone. Sophie pulls her head up above my waist.

“Who’s Kelly?” she asks, her eyes seems a bit pissed off.

“My friend’s kid”, I tell her as I brush past her, pulling my boxers up. “I have to take this, sorry. Go see if your sister is still up. We can finish this in the bedroom”.

“Fine”. She doesn’t seem too pleased with it, but surely she can’t get too pissed off at this. Kelly is the daughter of Randy Webber, C.O.O. of my entertainment company (amongst other endeavors) The World’s Greatest Inc., and one of my the few close friends I have left. She slinks off, grumbling to herself as I grab the phone.

“Kelly? Kelly are you still there?” I ask hopefully. ,p>“Lee! You’re home! Oh thank God!” the thirteen year old yells into the phone in relief.

“What’s the problem?” I ask, trying not to sound as tired as I really am.

“I’m in the building”, she tells me, presumably referring to The World’s Greatest Tower that I currently reside at the top of. “Can I come up?”

“Now’s really not a good time”, I say, hinting to come back tomorrow. My mind casts to the two young ladies in my room. Randy would fucking kill me if I was to expose Kelly to the kind of lifestyle I live, and I can’t say I blame him. “Does your dad know that you’re here?”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about!” she yells back. God I wish she wouldn’t do that. I feel like my eardrum is about to explode every time she says anything.

“Look, Kelly, go to Mr. Cameron at the front desk since he knows you, and get him to take you home. You can come see me in the morning. How about ten o’clock?” Still my mind focuses on protecting her from my debauchery, so still I don’t want her to come up. I don’t even think about her being at school at ten tomorrow.

“No! I need to see you now!” she complains. “Dad was right about you, you’re becoming a dickhead”.

“Hold on there Kelly…” She called me a dickhead! A dickhead! That’s the worst word I’ve ever heard her say! And on top of that, apparently Randy is starting to think of me that way too! I’ve got to try to keep calm. Thank God I don’t have the energy to explode like I usually would.

“No! You suck Lee!” And with that she hangs up. I don’t know what just happened. I hang the phone up slowly, and then lean against the counter once again, sighing heavily. I hear giggling coming from the bedroom, and as much as I want to go back in there, I know I can’t. Call it a conscience, call it guilt, I don’t care. If I don’t take care of… whatever the fuck is going on with Kelly, something tells me this is all going to snowball on me, and I’ll seriously regret it lately.

Sorry girls.

I shoot outside to the balcony, quickly grabbing the bottle in and then shutting the doors behind me. I then scoop up jeans and a shirt from the couch in the lounge where the fun began this evening, slip them on and make my way out the door.

I’m sure not getting any sleep will help me out greatly.

Or not.

Of course, I’m not going without my bottle.