Another night, another one of those bloody parties.

If it was up to me, I'd be home 'brooding', as my friends put it. I'd like to think of it as self-realisation.

I drain the glass and get up to grab a refill. At least the wine was good. An advantage of upscale parties.

The disadvantage was the requirement for civil conversation. Less conversation and more action, was what these two faced windbags needed to unwind a little. I mentally snort at the line I spontaneously stole from Elvis. A little fun was not out of context here.

Fun. Yeah, a little of that.

Before I can safely order a drink and drown in it, I feel a tap on my shoulder. Trying not to look peeved, I attempt a smile and turn around to see who it is.

Oh no, not now. Please?

My unspoken prayer is brushed off as the inevitably invitation to dance is thrown at me.

Always perfect, I gracefully accept and mask my irritation and regret in a perfectly coordinated waltz. Hide my reluctance and resignation in cleverly simulated laughter and witty repartee.

Always perfect, always gracious and always so bloody elegant. On the outside.

Thoroughly broken and unstable within.

The waltz is agonizingly slow, and it takes me all of my control not to run screaming from the room.

The smiles and laughter are grating on me.

Finally, oh finally, not a moment too bloody soon, the music fades into nothingness, and my cry of injustice follows it. A lull and the dancers move off the floor, the players take a break and I find the opportunity up for grabs.

Hastily, yet calmly, I weave a believable set of lies before another young one comes up to me. Work, fatigue, schedule; all words to use when you really want to be vague yet convincing.

My partner of fifteen minutes looks disappointed, and I want to laugh. Bloody hell. fifteen minutes and and they think they know someone well enough to miss them. Ignorant imbeciles. Of course, none of this bleeds through the flirty smile pasted on my face.

More excuses and ten minutes later, my chauffeur is called for, my coat is checked out and I am in the receiving hall, sipping on a 'one-for-the-road.'

I do NOT have a drinking problem.

It's raining outside.

I grin, and stamp down the insane urge to get drenched. Moving to the front, near the door, I enjoy as much closeness as I can to the rain, feel the tiny splashes on my face, forming beautiful little crystals adorning my very expensive clothes.

I probably look like a fifties has been with a penchant for shiny things.

It's precious moments to revel in the apparent purity of the rain, before the car comes to a halt before me, and I am ushered to sit inside, among the luxuries I can afford, but care nothing for.

It's all about the outside. All about the money, honey. Sod everything else.

The driver is a good man. Knows precisely how much I loathe these damn gatherings. I can hear the smile in his voice as he wishes me a good evening and raises the barrier between the driver and passenger areas. Good man.

I am now ensconced in dim light, surrounded by one way glass windows and comfortable leather. And of course a well stocked mini bar.

Dully, I watch the city lights blur past and it's a long time before we come to the final stretch of countryside leading to the Manor.

The Manor. Never home. Just the Manor.

Yes, it was where I lived and spent my time when I was not rubbing shoulders with the creme de la creme of society. It was just a fortress. It would never be my home.

Magnificent, luxurious. More space than I would ever need.

Cold, lifeless and more space than I would ever need.

I rest my forehead on the cool glass and am tempted to squash my entire face on it. It feels so damn good. For days, it has been as if a fever has taken hold of me. My body feels so heated from within, and there is nothing to cure it. The water fogged, drenched pane feels wonderful for all that it is worth.

And I intend to enjoy it as long as I can.

I don't know how long it has been, but crunching gravel and the car rolling to a halt signals we have arrived.

Of course the butler and the house keeper are waiting for me. Fully dressed and barely awake.

Master of one, slave to another.

I don't even bother to hide the fact that I have had one too many to drink. They all know anyway. I hate the looks of pity and sympathy they think they hide from me.

Idiots. The lot of them. I'd prefer they look at me like the waste of space I really am.

Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, I wish I was someone else.

If I had a nickel for everytime I said that.

Besides, the whole issue is moot point anyway.

I wave them away with a slurred goodnight. They take my coat and leave me be. Good people.

The study. My study.

My den, my lair. The only place I can find solace.

I let the smell of leather bound books, polished rosewood and brass wash over me. Glorious. Warmth from the fire and the alchohol is burning me up. I need to feel cooler than this. My skin feels like I want to rip it off. I want to claw it off.

Beads of sweat form on my brow, and I don't bother to wipe them off.

My wine awaits me. In crystal glasses. Cost me a fortune, but worth it I suppose.

A good year, great taste. Sipping on the vintage brew, trailing my fingers indulgently on the smooth wood of the banisters, I find my way to the wing that houses my personal chambers.

Impersonal as they can be made.

The bath seems like a great idea. I can wash away the filthy feeling, I hope. I can try to stem the boiling of my insides. Gruesome images of melting interiors do nothing more than make me snort in amusement.

How inelegant. How normal?

Cold water, cool marble and I think I might not go mad yet. Mad as the hatter, ha.

Water sloshes out a little and forms beautiful sparkly spots on the marble. I take a minute to admire them before I use them to draw meaningless designs. I think I catch my reflection in the many mirrors. I look positively like shit. Or mad.

Or both.

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in my throat, and I give in, though not too loudly. We don't want to wake the staff now, do we?

I wonder what makes the staff put up with my churlishness and my bouts of stupidity. Or my weirdness. Love, loyalty or money?

Who am I kidding? It's the money of course! Love and loyalty took the last train to the land of no return.

Did I mention, I have a flair for the dramatic?

It's still raining. I can see from the lovely wide windows away on one wall of the bath.

Water water everywhere...

I am so content at this point. In this moment of time. Could I stay like this till I die?

A clink and crackling, and tiny tinkling noises. The wine is gone.

But one shade of red replaces the other.

Fascinating to watch the crimson pour down my wrist to make art on the white marble. Stark and beautiful.

So beautiful that I want to see more.

A moment of pain, gone too soon to understand, and my wish is fulfilled.

Mingling with the water and the soap suds, crimson, red, maroon and pink. So many shades, so many streams of colour. Idly, I twist and turn to make them mix better. I like that.

So beautiful.

An almost childish giggle escapes me and I think it's alright. Who gives a damn?

I always loved colours. I never wore them, except on rare occasions, so people assumed I didn't like them at all.

Imbeciles. The lot of them.

I can feel the edges of darkness that cloud my vision and the numbness seeping in. I welcome them. It has been far too long.

I can see the drops on the white tiles that are slowly turning a red so dark, it is almost black. I love black too. It is a colour after all.

Too many thoughts, and I quiet them with a shush. Later. I'll think about them later.

Now, sleep calls, and I shall answer. Sleep is good.
I close my eyes, and I want to rest.

I will rest.

The last thought on my mind: I wonder who will find me first, before all goes black.

Blessed peace.