Equivalent

The drive to his home had been tedious - each stop sign, each red light, each pedestrian crossing adding to his accumulating fury. He parked hastily and hopped out of his car, clicking on the alarm. Walking up to his door, he opened it, and slammed it shut behind him - an action giving him temporary comfort.

He retrieved a larger from the fridge and flopped down on his couch, slowly exhaling a sigh. Maliciously he smiled, wondering how they were going to rectify the problem of his absence.

He didn’t need the fame, the money nor the show, though it he knew it would probably hurt his ego in the long run - he would survive.

So what -had- kept him all those years.

The phone rang, interrupting his thoughts as it automatically switched to the voice mail.

“Simon...” There was a slight pause and then the receiver clicking shut.

He cringed softly, his brow furrowing. The need to comfort her was in direct conflict with his festering anger, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He chuckled morosely, listening to her voice and he knew the reason for his commitment to the show: his one-sided commitment to her.

He clicked his tongue, staring at the blank walls, hoping an answer would emerge. «Maybe time off is what I need...» He thought to himself, padding to his desk in his office. He sat down heavily on the leather chair, leaning back, forcing the chair into a tilt. He rested his chin on his steepled hands, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of him. Closing his eyes, he muttered softly to himself, before leaning forward and scribbling down some words on a blank piece of paper. He turned his fax machine on, punching in Nigel’s number.

He knew Nigel would hate him, but he hoped in the long-run, his friend would understand.

“Good luck.” He muttered, hitting ‘send’.

–TBC–