Rose 2.49: What people think

     I am not the same man I once was.
     After I told Mama about the note Willow left me, she tried to comfort me, but I wouldn't let her. I should've seen that coming. It was what my dreams have always tried to tell me. First I dreamed Willow was in trouble and I couldn't help her. That was true. Willow needed help. What I didn't realize was that Willow needed help from herself. She chose to go back to her husband, leaving behind our precious daughter. My other dreams tried to warn me that Willow would leave me, but my stubborn heart refused to listen.
     I do not choose to chase after her. My love for her was a fledgling at best, and with her leaving me, it died. I'd like to think I hate her, but the truth is I feel nothing, empty.

     Once again, I move into the little house. I spend my days off sleeping, my dreams turning to nightmares as I'm plagued by cameras in my face. The picture that contributed to ruin my life looms ever in the background.
     On my nightstand, I set up a small memorial to Tiffany. We had some flowers in the family inventory that I liked. I treat the picture and the flowers like a gravemarker for her. This way, I sleep next to her every night.

     I still have not put in a kitchen in the little house. I don't like going into the main house to get food. I may not have food in my little house, but I have plenty of nectar from my honeymoon.

     Mama cares for my children. I feel guilty, but she assures me that I need to take this time to heal. If only I could heal. At any rate, it is difficult for me to look at them. Lorenzo looks like Tiffany, and Camilla looks more and more like Willow every time I do see her.

     "...a passionate nature and charm that women can't resist," echoes in my head. I have since memorized Willow's letter. Well, I can think of two women that could resist, I argue silently.
     My mind drifts to Shauna.

     Three. I add Shauna to the list, closing my eyes as I remember her sweet smile. And I thought she'd loved me. I was so sure of it that it scared me at the time.
     I think back to when I'd decided I needed to end things with her. I'd called her on the phone, cowardly not wanting to have to see the look on her face. Then, she turned it around on me and had me suddenly panting to see her again, my original intention for the phone call completely forgotten. It was only after I hung up and got a clearer head that I remembered why I'd called her in the first place.
     I chuckle into my glass, the first semi-laugh I've done in a while. She got me!

     Then, she ended things with me, and I was shocked at how badly it hurt. She said she'd found someone that wanted to be serious. I remember somewhat asking her if she loved him, but she didn't give me a straight answer.
      I hope everything turned out well for her.
     "...find the right woman for you, someone that can match your passion," replays in my thoughts.
     That is what I need to do. I will not make things better by sitting around and crying all day.

     I get dressed and go to the park. Behind me, I can feel the animosity from Glen Romano. I try to tell myself it's because he's upset that I'm famous and still have plenty of hair, unlike him. Yes, my fame isn't the kind that people would want, but I decide to make it work for me.

      I meet a woman. She isn't terribly attractive, but we stand around and talk. I compliment her on her shirt. Then she tells me her husband likes it too.
      We don't speak for much longer.

     I meet two other ladies who are also in relationships already.
     (stupid sunken sims!)
     By the time nightfall arrives, I have 'struck out' around five times. Is this what I get for trying? What am I doing wrong? Have I lost my touch?

     While Tiffany was still pregnant, a new bar was built on the hill across the river. I haven't been to it yet, so I decide to give it a try, not wanting my usual haunt tonight.
     As I take a seat at the bar, I decide that if the bartenders here are always as beautiful as the one in front of me, I may have a new favorite bar.
     "What is your name?" I ask her, trying to only sound polite.
     "Shayna," she answers in a bored voice.
     "That's a very pretty name," I tell her and smile. Only one letter difference. I wonder if Shauna really is happy wherever she is. Maybe I should try to find her, just to make sure.
     "Thanks," she replies dully. She doesn't ask for mine.

     I cannot help but feel she looks depressed, so I try a few things to brighten up her mood. I don't think they work because she merely stares off into space.
     "So, what drink would you recommend?" I ask, giving up on my stories that were meant to entertain her.

     She finally looks at me and answers with a smirk, "For you? A corkscrew turner."
     I smile brightly back at her. "Well then, put one right here." I point to the surface directly in front of me, lightly tapping the bar top.
     "Sure thing, Don Quixote," she replies with that same smirk.
     I laugh. "My name is actually Donovan." She must've thought my stories sounded crazy.
     "Well, that figures," she says cryptically, not explaining herself.

     I let her finish making the drink, which she lights on fire, before I ask, "Why do you say that?"
     She sighs. "My first husband was named Donald."
     "Well, that is not Donovan. I think Donovan is the better name, don't you?" I ask, implying that I'm also the better man. If only I could get and keep eye contact!
     "I think any name is the better name, actually."
     "But then, why say 'that figures' if you were not comparing him to me?" I raise my eyebrows and blow out the flames, wishing she would look at me. I take a sip of the lime-aid concoction and twist my face up into a scowl. Of course, she looks at me as I do this.
     She laughs. "Wasn't what you expected?"
     "Not exactly, but life is like that, is it not? Things, sometimes people, are not always as you expect them to be." I smile now, happy to be holding her eyes. They're blue, my weakness.

     The dullness returns to her voice. "Sure thing, Don Quixote." She returns to her spot, and I finish my drink before deciding to see what's upstairs. I know Shayna won't be leaving until the bar closes. I'll speak with her again later.

     I decide to order a pizza, and I sit down next to a lady. I try to strike up a conversation, but she almost ignores me, offering one word replies to everything I say. Why go to a bar if not to talk to people?
     "Hey! I know you!" the lady tending the bar up here says. "You're Donovan Robles."
     I smile at her. She is a plump woman wearing a silly cowboy hat. She has a pretty face. "Yes, that's me."
     "So, what is it about you that would make one woman go die in a plane crash and the other one leave you?" she asks in a crass manner.
      My face falls. There it is, the reason. Is this what people think? Is this what everyone thinks, yet only this bar tender has the guts to say it?
     I set my slice of pizza on the counter. The woman sitting next to me watches me as I do it, obviously curious about my answer to the impertinent question. I look at the bar tender's honestly-curious expression and reply in a careful voice, "I guess because I am unlucky. I had hoped to change that." I slowly stand up and turn to walk down the stairs.

     Shayna grabs my attention when I reach the bottom. "Donovan! You're Donovan Robles?"
     Worried now but deciding to take whatever comes at me, I answer, "Yes?"
     "I'm sorry. I'd heard the Robles family lived here. I think I met one of your brothers. Skye?" she asks, and I nod before she continues. "Ignore Stephanie upstairs. She's even more bitter than I am." She must have heard the conversation upstairs.
     "Okay, but...why are you sorry?"
     "For blowing you off earlier," she explains.
     I chuckle. "You're apologizing for 'blowing me off' because I'm infamous?"
     She blushes! Then, she bites her lip for a second before replying, "Well, it's not so much that but that I realize you have more reason to be mad at the world than I do."
     I bravely walk around the bar. I don't like it standing between us.

     She turns to me, surprised, but she doesn't stop me. "I am mad, but I decided it's not the world's fault. I'm still here, so the world must be giving me another chance." I pause, letting her mull over that. "You know my past, at least what you probably read, but I can't say the same about you."

     She doesn't answer me right away. "I remember seeing the pictures. I remember thinking, 'so he kissed someone. At least he didn't tell you you were stupid, too stupid to go out and get a job that you can support yourself with. At least he didn't try to put you down all the time in order to build himself up.'"
      "Then it is good you left that," I tell her, guessing she just told me some of her story.

     She brings those blue eyes my way. "You think so?"
     I can't help but smile a silly grin at her eyes. "Of course! Don't ever let anyone tell you you are too stupid to do something."
     Her brows come together in a worried frown. "Even go to university? Even though I'm older now?"
     "When I was at university, there were people there from all ages."
     "What did you study?" she asks happily.
     "Art design," I answer simply.
     "So...you can, like, draw?"
     I get an idea. "Yes. Would you like me to draw a quick portrait of you?"

      I get her to pose for me, but it's all for show. I already know how I'm going to draw her. If only I had a blue something...even a crayon! It would be the only color I'd add to my otherwise black and white drawing.
     "Can I see? Are you finished? Are you close?" she asks eagerly, and I motion for her to pose for me again. The customers from upstairs leave. The bar will close soon. Shayna won't have any more drinks to fill.
     I make a few, quick strokes and finish the sketch. Looking up at her expectant expression, I grin and say, "I don't think it'll be what you expect." Like my drink earlier.

      The lights automatically go out, but there is still just enough to see by. I hold up the sketchpad and show her the drawing. I smile a guilty smile as I know she realizes I only had her pose to keep her from looking over my shoulder as I drew.
     "I gave you wings to fly," I explain softly.
     Her eyes fill with tears, and she quickly pushes aside the sketchpad, putting it on the bar top. Then, she holds my face in her hands and kisses me.
     I spend tonight at Shayna's apartment.

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-I wish I still had that sketch, but all of this was lost due to a freaking error code 12. I still wanted the pics for the story, though. My game hasn't given me another error code anything recently, so hopefully, that's gone.
-I don't know if I put this in anywhere, but I discovered Rose can sell her paintings at the elixir consignment shop as well. With the hefty number she had stored up, she quickly made 18k.
-Donovan gets a promotion to lvl 3: quality assurance manager. $39/h

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