I've given all I can
It's not enough
And for a moment there, I lost myself.
"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" I pulsed to my unnerving veil of a friend, the only one I have, that is. Better be half way decent to Emmet today or else I'm really fucked.
"To keep them interested, Edward," he spat, noticeably annoyed with my lack of commitment to "preserving my 'mystique' amidst an unending supply of fresh, literary meat," or so he said about every other day when I began questioning what it really was that I was after anyway.
Emmet was always sensitive to my sporadic, yet consistently frequent, outbursts; but being my best friend/only friend/agent, it was in his best interest to keep me focused yet feisty. He said it made for better "material." Yeah, whatever.
"So I'm there for twenty minutes, make the rounds, then…" I huffed. Parties weren't my thing. Ever since…yeah, another story for another time.
"Let's multiply that by three. Shelton will be there and you'd better make good with him if you want any prospects in the next year or two. He's like top now; nothing gets through without his approval."
Shelton was the biggest dick face I had ever seen. Another "insta-author" that made it big selling rehashed shit a toddler with a mild processing deficiency could have stamped out on his speak-n-spell. I'm dating myself here, iPad? Fuck technology.
"Ok, I'll give it 40 minutes, tops, then I'm leaving. I'm not pushing my trip back again. I need it to help research my next…"
"Research my ass, Eddie. What the fuck can possibly be researched more in that god-forsaken log ditch of a town you grew up in that hasn't been done already, huh?"
He had a point, as much as I didn't want to admit it. That's why I had labeled my trip back home as a research project, simply because it got him off my back for a few days longer. I hadn't been back to Forks in 6 years, since graduating high school a year early at 17 and immediately accepting a ridiculously over-played scholarship to Columbia. They would've gotten me to commit with a box of Hot Pockets and promise of top-bunk privileges for the first two semesters. A full ride was, well, overkill, but shit, I wasn't about to pass out on perhaps my only ticket out and away from a place about as uninspiring as a box of tissues.
Forks would always be home to me. It was where my family had been rooted down for nearly our entire known ancestry, and the place my parents and siblings still called home. I'd been back occasionally, for Christmas every year, but by the second chorus of "Jingle Bells" I'd be high-tailing it back to Chicago, missing my oversized bed and slurpy mut of a best friend, Bear. My parents understood this need to be with myself, however, and simply squeezed me a bit tighter each time I left their warm embraces to head back to my "real life," or whatever this series of events that is my life had become.
"I'll do an hour, ok? Then…" I huffed.
"I'll have a car brought to the front of The Drake at half past nine. Call Jeremy if you don't see him waiting."
"Thanks Em. And don't forget to enjoy a few days yourself. You know, go to LakeShore and let off some steam. Maybe even go on a date or something," I instructed.
"Let's not get our hopes up. But thanks, man. Safe trip!"
With a resolute nod, Emmet headed down the stairs, leaving me with my thoughts and one hell of a migraine. Publishing House parties "aka House Parties" always put me on edge. Tonight would be no different.