Taking Jack back to his house wasn’t something that Ezra would normally suggest, he wasn’t one to just bring people home unless they happened to be girls. See, Ezra came from money, he didn’t talk aboiut it and pretended not to care, pretending more that he was the lad from Camden, Camden born and raised. Well, he was, just not the Camden most people thought about, his parents didn’t own stalls in the market, they owned part of the Lock that it was built around. They made their money from rentals of everyday tradesmen and women and that was how they lived. Ezra’s dad had his own little empire, it streteched out from Camden all the way down to Picadilly. It wasn’t as though he had walked about claiming that he was the king of Camden, prancing around telling everyone that he owned the very ground they were walking on, instead Ezra had pretended to be someone else, claiming he didn’t have enough cash to drink in the bars, enough cash to go to the clubs. Ezra was good at pretending about things, he had done so since he was a young boy. Yet for some reason in this coke-addled state, he wanted to show Jack his pad. He wanted to soothe Jack and not have him panicking about anything that was going through his mind like a freight train.
Ignoring the comment about leaving the broken door to Jack, Ezra shook his head, dark sweeping black hair covering his barely-blue eyes, “Nah fuck it mate, we’ll get someone to clean it or something.” Ezra didn’t know how the school worked, just yet, but he knew that a smashed up studio would definitely be something that wasn’t exactly meant to happen. Leaving it wasn’t the best option, but now that he had decided to take Jack back to his, it had become an obsessive need, he needed to get out of the studio, a bit of fresh air would do him good, it’d let the sweat that had been clinging to his skin fade away into something a bit more likeable, like early morning dew, or something more pathetically descriptive. Ezra just needed to get out.
He was starting to feel like a caged animal in this studio. And when he felt caged he tended to get destructive. It wasn’t like he had any reason to feel so pent up he just did, it was something like a trapped bird. Your heart was going so fast that your brain couldn’t catch up with it and you just needed to be outside. Laughing slightly at Jack’s statement about seeing his parents at it, Ezra winked at him, “Hey if they didn’t then this fabulous being wouldn’t be standing in front of you.” Following jack’s lead he ventured into a whole new territory he’d never visited before, he wasn’t used to creeping out the back way of school, but then he wasn’t used to snorting cocaine off of desks in the studio.
Wishing he’d had sunglasses to put on, Ezra squinted his eyes against the sun, that was the problem with enlarged pupils, you just soaked everything right up, he could see all sorts of detail. Snorting lightly at the question, he shook his head. “Nah mate, there was a girl, but like all french she gave up to invasion.” Ezra didn’t want to talk about Cassandra, she had just vanished and Ezra didn’t want to think about her. It was unfair of her to do that to him, perhaps because they shared mutual feelings it was too much for either of them, so like Ezra she had bolted before getting any more serious. Chewing on his lip, he thought about who would be at his house, he didn’t have any siblings, his parents had both thought that Ezra was perfection incarnate so had decided against having any more children, something he was sure his father regretted as soon as Ezra had developed the ability to voice his own opinion. “Shouldn’t be anybody there, single kid and all that shit.”
Taking the lead from Jack, Ezra led the pair of them up streets that clearly screamed money and power and tried to ignore the embarrassment that was building in his chest, it wasn’t his fault that he came from money, that was his parents. Reaching his home, he grinned at Jack, “Welcome to chateau Caldwell.” It wasn’t a castle, hell it was a converted studio apartment, they lived over a garage, which if opened was going to eventually sell high priced cars. Opening the door and stepping into the old fashioned service lift, EZra pulled the metal frame closed. One floor, two floors, then finally on the fifth floor the lift stopped. Pulling up the metal that blocked off their house from everyone else. Ezra gestured to the place. All open plan and high priced furniture, the only places you couldn’t see were the bedrooms and bathroom, all carefully hidden at the far end of the building. Ezra didn’t know how many square feet the place was. He just remembered running about it as a child and throwing parties in it as a teenager. Grimacing at all the photographs of his face that covered some of the walls, his mother, her obsession with capturing how attractive her family was was evident everywhere. Moving onto the leather corner sofa, Ezra sat down, reaching into the cabinet next to him for alcoholic sustenance, he needed it. Hands gripping a bottle of vodka, he took a swig and grinned at Jack, it wasn’t a happy smile, it was more of a ‘this is where i live, feel free to judge me’. “Help yourself to anything you want.”
“Okay good, just us occupying then.” Following Ezra, Jack half wondered if he was being taken to a squat or something, Ezra having broken into an abandoned mansion-like place and camping out there. This end of town was affluent, expensive and rich in the way that people with ‘old’ money were, understated. There was no huge Rolls Royce but there were Mercedes aplenty. Who needed a car in London anyway though? “Chateau Caldwell indeed,” He whistled long and low. “You must be fucking minted mate.” Jack hadn’t grown up in poverty, far from it but comparing their houses sure made it feel like it.
Between middle and working class, Jack lived in a loud, fairly central terraced house. Their neighbourhood was fairly nice, the occasional mugging but that was nothing compared to other areas of London. Dad, Mum, Steven and Jack all fit nicely into their three bedroom, one bathroom affair. He’d imagined Ezra to have a somewhat similar lifestyle… not this. ”It’s a nice place.” Stepping into the lift, Jack was still trying to comprehend this new information to have a proper conversation. Stumbling into the open plan room, Jack’s eyes locked with a picture of a little, dorky Ezra, the youngster’s eyes seeming infinitely blue, cocaine still taking effect.
Jack raised an eyebrow, turning a way from a photo of Ezra’s parents. “Anything I want? I’ll take that vodka you’ve got there and a few million sovs.” Collapsing on the sofa, Jack pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from the same cabinet Ezra had pulled his own potion and threw the top onto the table, taking a gulp as the buzz in his head died down to the burn in his chest. “I wish I’d had somewhere like this to when I was growing up,” House, yes. Family, no. As perfect as Ezra’s homelife seemed, Jack wouldn’t have traded his family for anything. “You’ve got it pretty sweet. Nice family, nice house, rich and you’ve got the fortune of slightly resembling me.” Already feeling drunker than he should’ve, Jack allowed himself to be free and slightly over the line with his questions. “You mentioned summat about your dad before..? I don’t wanna pry or anything but y’know. My dad was always good to me so I dunno what’s that’s like. I mean we’re not poor or anything but definitely not this.” Cocaine babbling again.
Ezra hated his place. It was too big, too open and not like a home at all. He had wanted to grow up somewhere where he had felt loved and wanted, his grandparents coming along every weekend and having dinner with them. Not this, his mother was part slavic or something and so her family lived away from London, his dad’s family wanted nothing more to do with them after the ruckus that his dad had made at their wedding. Apparently something along the lines of “thank god I’m now free of my controlling parents” doesn’t go down well in a speech directed at your entire family. It would at least explain where Ezra got his stubbornness and freewill. His parents had never tried to deny that they were self-sufficient and they expected their child to have the same ability to be independent and stong without any loving. It was a sham though, a fake life, painted onto the walls almost as thickly as the paint was in his bedroom. Covering up years of torment and hatred. His mother spent hours locked away with all of her affluent friends, struggling whenever she came home and having to actually spend time with people that weren’t continually drunk, the idea of a sober conversation was inexcusable to Dana Caldwell, she that drank bloody mary’s with breakfast, moved onto lunch time cocktails and had a large glass of wine with every meal. It was strange then, that Ezra had grown up to abuse the devils liquid himself. Normally children were repelled by what their parents did and set fast in their lives to avoid it.
It was why he had initially started smoking. Dana with her blood thinner than alcohol attitude was repelled by the mere idea of nicotine, his father Jasper smoked celebratory cuban’s. His mothers nose wrinkling attractively whenever he did so. The frustration both parents felt when Ezra had made no attempt to hide his nicotine stained fingers, his rancid breath was a beautiful creation. The first time he’d brought drugs home, he’d made no issue with rolling a set up on the dining table, the traces of crisp green marijuana littering the glass table top. His father had of course, reacted in the normal way. His mother on the other hand, flat out refused to speak to Ezra. Dana had a strange relationship with her son, she thought he was perfect and whenever the two of them were in the same place they enjoyed their mutual company. Insert Ezra’s dad to the equation and everything just changed. Slugging back on the vodka, Ezra felt the alcohol soothe his stomach and slow down his heart rate. It was something needed. It just felt natural to do it. Drinking and smoking and taking drugs came far too easily to Ezra. He was on his own little self-destructive spiral and had been since birth. Well, perhaps not quite birth.
Sniffing, mucus still streaming out of his nose, he threw his grey hoodie onto the floor, kicked his feet up until they were resting on the coffee table. “It’s an alright place.” Glancing around and not enjoying all of the images of himself looking back at him, he instead focussed on Jack, “Yeah, mate, the parties in here are ridiculous.” Laughing, he motioned at the room, “Just don’t break any of the art work, dahling.” Affecting a hideous posh accent, he stood up, standing on the table. “Take anything you want, Jackie dear, just avoid the van Gogh in the bathroom, it’s a fake.” Kicking the trinkets off the table that his mother had oh so loved to collect he felt a strange urge of satisfaction surging through his veins. He hated this place with all it’s pretentious ways, he had no idea why he had brought Jack here. He could just blame it on the drugs.
“You want my life?” Ezra practically snarled at Jack, “You can have it. Take the abusive father an’ all.” Feeling his hands clench into fists at his side, he inhaled through his nose. Jumping off the table and landing with a large crash on the floor, he picked up another bottle of liquor from the cabinet, he didn’t care what it was, had no interest in it other than the percentage volume. Removing the lid, he took a deep swallow and grimaced, “Fucking gin.” Sitting next to Jack on the sofa, he lit a cigarette, his hands shaking furiously. “Sorry mate.” Of course Jack hadn’t wanted to hear it, hell Ezra hadn’t wanted to tell anybody it at all. But it was out there now and he was out of his mind on drugs and reaching the pleasant haze that alcohol lended you when you needed it. All he wanted to do right now was to break more of his parent’s things and drink more alcohol. Sucking on the cigarette he felt it fill his lungs. It was a life saver to him. Throwing the packet onto the table, he lent back in the sofa and exhaled.
Awright Lucky. What brings you to my hometown?
Acting, I’m an actress, you’re a musician I presume? So you’re a native then? I’m Australian, if you couldn’t tell from the accent.
Aw a little Koala bear.
An actress eh? I am a musician, and just generally fabulous geezer. Yup, native for as long as I stay here at least, I guess that makes you a foreigner, or something like that. Aussie’s are just pretend English anyways. We used to own your land!
Been spending waay too much time in the studio.
I feel as if I need to socialise and what not.
I’m Ezra Caldwell and you’ll be exceedingly lucky to make my acquaintance.
Well call me exceedingly lucky then, or just Gwen. Nice to meet you.
Awright Lucky. What brings you to my hometown?
Everybody had their own escapism, for some, the majority of which were musicians, it tended to be drugs or something of the life. Even creating music was a drug, you wanted to create it every day, everything you heard could be turned into a piece. It was why Ezra was a drummer, some might call it OCD, but Ezra could feel the rhythm of daily life, could pick up on the song that the city sang to him, could see the patterns that it created. Well, perhaps not seeing the patterns, that might have been the drugs. But the idea was the same, you needed the music as much as you needed the blood in your veins. Ezra was of the proud opinion that what made you up wasn’t the bones and blood and sinew, it was the fabric of your mind, the fractions of ideas that circulated your body. Call it a soul, call it whatever the hell you want, but don’t ever deny that it didn’t shape you. Ezra was proof of that, the idea that Jack throwing a jacket over his drum kit, his pathway to creation was physically repulsive, it had caused this whole strange whirlwind to occur. Prophetic or something, right?
The buzz from the drugs had began to fade away, he no longer felt like he was touching the sky, instead he was circling the stratosphere, not quite touching down and crashing on earth, but no longer the spiritual being that he likened himself to. Ezra was focusing now, the nicotine from the cigarettes swirling into his system, causing his already sped up heart rate to jack-knife in his chest. It was what he needed though, his mind wasn’t as clouded with ideas, whizzing past his open eyes like cars on the streets. He needed to proved some sort of steadying calm to Jack, especially after that episode. Jack had almost ruined his guitar, something that he was sure as hell to regret in the morning. Sucking on the cigarette, Ezra blew smoke out of his nose, surveying the room from under the glaze of cocaine eyes he laughed quietly, “It’ll be fun explainin’ this shit to the teach.” Not that they were planning on changing anything that they had done in that evening. The little snitch that had come creeping about was either going to tell on them, or piss right back to whatever rock he had crawled out of.
Shaking hands, well, that was just what you needed, next it would be the twitching eyes and all the shakes that came with your nervous system going into over-drive. Nicotine and cocaine battling in his system, Ezra half-listened to what Jack was saying, mumbling ever so slightly, he commented, “Just as long as you ain’t hitting your kids.” Something Ezra would never have been able to stand for, it came just a little too close to home for him. Too close to home, yeah that’s about right. Home. This was home. The studio where he played and created. That was a home to him. Sniffing as mucus ran from his nose, his body still trying to expel the drugs, he patted Jack’s shoulder. It wasn’t meant to be patronising, it was meant to be comforting, “Hell, if it ain’t your kid, then don’t worry about it, right?” It was just words though, Ezra was pretty sure that Jack had already considered whether or not it was his kid and the boy had decided what he was going to do. If he truly hadn’t of wanted a child, Ezra was pretty sure abortion would’ve came up.
Watching Jack scrabble for the remnants of the coke, Ezra nodded. They needed to scarper and fast, pretty soon someone would end up coming along, telling them to get the fuck out of the studio and with Jack being banged up they’d jump to the wrong conclusions. Swirling his house keys on his long fingers, Ezra racked his brain, he knew that he had something at home, probably more drugs and if not drugs then he 100% had alcohol. His mother sought refuge in the bottle and his father was a big fan of Mr.Daniels. Grinning like a demon at Jack, Ezra tilted his head to the door, “Come to mine. It’s within walking distance and I’m pretty sure my parents are busy shagging in the dominican republic or some bollocks like that.”
Warm blood had cooled and clotted on his fingers, ragged nails been ripped from their beds, rust red painted across his cheeks in a crude war paint. In short, he looked a state. Couple that with dilated pupils and a an expression that crossed between euphoria and feverish worry and you had yourself what looked like a loony, especially due to the sweatiness of him. Despite being the older of the two, Jack was certainly the least sensible. Ezra certainly had a pretty wild side to him, but even a cocaine-addled Jack could recognise he was trying to get control of the situation, for both their’s sake. Violently sniffing again, Jack surveyed the desk. Clean and innocent, only a couple minuscule grains that could be salt or sugar left.
Snorting cocaine in school had been a bad idea, let alone getting anyone else involved. Pushing all these thoughts from his mind, Jack still rode the high, but it’d lost it’s heavenly buzz of before and had taken a darker, more neurotic edge. “You’re gonna leave that up to me I s’pose, since it’s my mess?” Jack asked. Their music teacher was a pretty cool guy, but it probably wasn’t acceptable to smash doors (his knuckles still throbbed) or other people’s instruments. The rest of their adventure seemed set on a destructive path, leering through the streets of London with danger and anarchy on the teenager’s minds, testosterone visible to passers by who’d perhaps even lower their gaze as they shuffled past.
Coked up as he was, eyes casually rolling back in his sockets occasionally as gored fingers tapped upon the tables obsessively, Jack still looked up a little surprised. Of course he wasn’t going to hit his kid, what kind of a person did that…? Ezra’s dad apparently. Trying to wipe the shock off his face, he settled on the mucus from his nose. Cocaine wasn’t particularly the glamourous drug it was made out to be, what with all the snot trying to escape from your nose. As pushy as his parents had been, they weren’t like that, at all. In fact they were the closest you could get from violent parents. Giving him a new insight into the fellow Londoner, Jack could only assume this would probably explain a lot about him, when they got to know each other.
Perhaps if it’d been anyone else, Jack would’ve shrugged off the pat and spouted some flirtatious or slightly patronising line, depending on the gender. Ezra though? Well fuck it if it sounded stupid, they were kindred spirits, whatever the hell that meant. Jack thought so anyway, that could have been the drugs though. Headrush took over almost immediately. Jack nodded, a brilliant grin overcoming him again as he stubbed and ground the cigarette upon on a shelf, leaving a nice fresh burn mark there.
“Lets get the fuck out of here then. And your parents going at it was really not a mental image I ever needed.” Though he normally carried his guitar to and from school, there was no point trying in this condition, so he left it, bolting out the door with a cheerfully manic grin resembling Road Runner from the old cartoons he’d watched while young. “Anyone else going to be about at yours?” Jack asked, hoping not, though he knew it was almost a likely possibility that there was some sibling hanging around or a girl waiting to be charmed out of her knickers. In a parent-free empty house, adolescents ran wild, anything could be waiting if any of Ezra’s mates got wind of the fact. They could walk into a party and Jack wouldn’t bat an eyelid.
Jack wove his way through the school, taking back exits and deserted corridors to keep them away from prying eyes, walking beside Ezra and wishing they had hats, sunglasses and suits to resemble to The Blues Brothers. “Who’re you seeing at the minute, any girl caught your eye?” Frivolous topics of conversation were needed, he couldn’t tolerate anything harder and the walls pulsated in front of him. Too much coke maybe? “Or should I ask, how many?” If Ezra was anything like him, he’d be knee deep in them.
Taking Jack back to his house wasn’t something that Ezra would normally suggest, he wasn’t one to just bring people home unless they happened to be girls. See, Ezra came from money, he didn’t talk aboiut it and pretended not to care, pretending more that he was the lad from Camden, Camden born and raised. Well, he was, just not the Camden most people thought about, his parents didn’t own stalls in the market, they owned part of the Lock that it was built around. They made their money from rentals of everyday tradesmen and women and that was how they lived. Ezra’s dad had his own little empire, it streteched out from Camden all the way down to Picadilly. It wasn’t as though he had walked about claiming that he was the king of Camden, prancing around telling everyone that he owned the very ground they were walking on, instead Ezra had pretended to be someone else, claiming he didn’t have enough cash to drink in the bars, enough cash to go to the clubs. Ezra was good at pretending about things, he had done so since he was a young boy. Yet for some reason in this coke-addled state, he wanted to show Jack his pad. He wanted to soothe Jack and not have him panicking about anything that was going through his mind like a freight train.
Ignoring the comment about leaving the broken door to Jack, Ezra shook his head, dark sweeping black hair covering his barely-blue eyes, “Nah fuck it mate, we’ll get someone to clean it or something.” Ezra didn’t know how the school worked, just yet, but he knew that a smashed up studio would definitely be something that wasn’t exactly meant to happen. Leaving it wasn’t the best option, but now that he had decided to take Jack back to his, it had become an obsessive need, he needed to get out of the studio, a bit of fresh air would do him good, it’d let the sweat that had been clinging to his skin fade away into something a bit more likeable, like early morning dew, or something more pathetically descriptive. Ezra just needed to get out.
He was starting to feel like a caged animal in this studio. And when he felt caged he tended to get destructive. It wasn’t like he had any reason to feel so pent up he just did, it was something like a trapped bird. Your heart was going so fast that your brain couldn’t catch up with it and you just needed to be outside. Laughing slightly at Jack’s statement about seeing his parents at it, Ezra winked at him, “Hey if they didn’t then this fabulous being wouldn’t be standing in front of you.” Following jack’s lead he ventured into a whole new territory he’d never visited before, he wasn’t used to creeping out the back way of school, but then he wasn’t used to snorting cocaine off of desks in the studio.
Wishing he’d had sunglasses to put on, Ezra squinted his eyes against the sun, that was the problem with enlarged pupils, you just soaked everything right up, he could see all sorts of detail. Snorting lightly at the question, he shook his head. “Nah mate, there was a girl, but like all french she gave up to invasion.” Ezra didn’t want to talk about Cassandra, she had just vanished and Ezra didn’t want to think about her. It was unfair of her to do that to him, perhaps because they shared mutual feelings it was too much for either of them, so like Ezra she had bolted before getting any more serious. Chewing on his lip, he thought about who would be at his house, he didn’t have any siblings, his parents had both thought that Ezra was perfection incarnate so had decided against having any more children, something he was sure his father regretted as soon as Ezra had developed the ability to voice his own opinion. “Shouldn’t be anybody there, single kid and all that shit.”
Taking the lead from Jack, Ezra led the pair of them up streets that clearly screamed money and power and tried to ignore the embarrassment that was building in his chest, it wasn’t his fault that he came from money, that was his parents. Reaching his home, he grinned at Jack, “Welcome to chateau Caldwell.” It wasn’t a castle, hell it was a converted studio apartment, they lived over a garage, which if opened was going to eventually sell high priced cars. Opening the door and stepping into the old fashioned service lift, EZra pulled the metal frame closed. One floor, two floors, then finally on the fifth floor the lift stopped. Pulling up the metal that blocked off their house from everyone else. Ezra gestured to the place. All open plan and high priced furniture, the only places you couldn’t see were the bedrooms and bathroom, all carefully hidden at the far end of the building. Ezra didn’t know how many square feet the place was. He just remembered running about it as a child and throwing parties in it as a teenager. Grimacing at all the photographs of his face that covered some of the walls, his mother, her obsession with capturing how attractive her family was was evident everywhere. Moving onto the leather corner sofa, Ezra sat down, reaching into the cabinet next to him for alcoholic sustenance, he needed it. Hands gripping a bottle of vodka, he took a swig and grinned at Jack, it wasn’t a happy smile, it was more of a ‘this is where i live, feel free to judge me’. “Help yourself to anything you want.”
Lolita May… Pretty name for a pretty gal.I believe I can be of assistance. Local ya see. Names Ezra and depending on the certain legality of your buzz I’m pretty sure I’ve got someone to sort you out.anyone know where i can get a decent buzz in this place?
how about some…
a boy who values manners, i’m surprised. i’m lolita, lolita may.
I’m Ezra Caldwell but play your cards right and I might be your ticket to somewhere a little more exciting tonight.
I believe I can be of great help with that. Ain’t all that difficult to come by, but I do believe you’ve been rather rude sweetness. Not even offering your name while I’ve been offering the world.I believe I can be of assistance. Local ya see. Names Ezra and depending on the certain legality of your buzz I’m pretty sure I’ve got someone to sort you out.anyone know where i can get a decent buzz in this place?
how about some weed, ezra? unless you’ve got something a bit stronger.
rememberthename-phoenixmerritt:
rememberthename-phoenixmerritt:
Perhaps there ain’t one under those floppy blonde curls. Ever thought of that mate?
Hey! I have a brain I just don’t use it that much
Just an idea mind, but maybe you should start using it?
Who knows you’ll maybe get somewhere?
I believe I can be of assistance. Local ya see. Names Ezra and depending on the certain legality of your buzz I’m pretty sure I’ve got someone to sort you out.anyone know where i can get a decent buzz in this place?
