The light at the cigarette is almost at my finger, spewing out its last clouds of smoke as I crush it into the ashtray. Laying back against the couch with my legs obnoxiously resting on the glass table in between the half-eaten bags of chips and whatnots, I listening lazily to the chatter of conversation happening around me. Unperturbed, I contemplate lighting another cigarette among their excited yells and pointless blabbers.

“Zelo, how’s your first love?”

The rest burst out into laughter and I smile into my glass of water.

“Zelo’s the youngest here, he should have the most vivid memory.”

“Does he even have a first love?”

They laugh in sync once more, probably high from their sessions of gossip and meaningless chatters. I don’t say a single word, instead focusing on the glass in my hand, thinking that they’ll get bored and move on. A hand tickles the under of my foot and I retract my legs in a flash, baring a face of annoyance.

“Tell us, Zelo.”

Andre is one of the cocoa-skins in our company. I think she has a pretty face of sculpted beauty, especially that pair of lips which reminds me so much of somebody else. I look around at the rest of the models, their different shades of skin, their different colours of the eyes, all expecting my answer except a few who are pretty much lazily lost in their own nonchalance.

I chuckle to clear the silence and reply almost mischievously, “It’s a secret.”

They make a sound of displeasure before prodding me to spill my secret.

“It was a guy. My mom found out and took me away and now I’ve escaped to this place, stuck with you people.”

“It’s alright, there are many gays in our industry.” One of them waggles a eyebrow at me and chuckles at the other’s distaste. “Besides, Asian models are the hot stuff nowadays.”

As they carry on into another unbounded conversation between gossip and jokes, I silently excuse myself from the room to find the quiet in the bathroom.

I run a hand through my hair before rubbing at a dark eye circle with a finger. My blonde locks fall into my vision as I lean forward to take a closer look at the face in the mirror. I probably look so different than before.

The thought tugs the end of my lips.

Each expensive hotel after another in between tours and assignments, suddenly my life becomes a whole lot more luxurious and careless with the temptations hanging in front of me.

I stopped calling home a long time ago. They finally got so burdensome that I decided to chuck it into the excuse of busy work. I guess Mom wouldn’t care if she thinks I’m too hectic to go astray again—Who am I kidding? How is this industry