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Deidara 4
Throughout those years, he was like every other teenager – went to s school, failed classes, had pimples, acne; drunkenly made out with girls and boys, had first time experiences unrelated to sex; leaving dog shit sizzling with firecrackers at a random person’s doorsteps and running away to observe after pressing the doorbell. To everyone else, they were a prefect little family. A fine adopted son with a good smile and head on his should and a couple with the best relationship in town. Review lesson 3: love is indeed a lie.

Deidara was 17 and finally more masculine looking, he played waiter to a child who had just turn 10 and was having his birthday party at the diner. Deidara follows the leer of his step father and it locks on to the child. The child was happy, plumped with lingering baby fat and a head feathered with light blond hair. Deidara smirked knowingly to his stepfather, who returns the gaze shocked then frustrated, mumbling something about teenagers. It was time to leave. Since the day he made his residence permanent he has sneak a little money out of the cashier’s without anyone noticing and kept in his shoe to be stored later under a loose floor board. He had a stable amount of money to set a foot hold on everything. After all, money was everything.

He’s not the brightest crayon in the box but one thing he knew was in his arsenal is blackmailing. Deidara blackmailed his stepfather one last time and took his savings and fled, but not before having a word with his stepmother. He didn’t tell her the whole story, just simply left a letter telling her to leave the bastard. He had compassion, sort of.

Subconsciously, Deidara knew all of this was just dumb luck. If it happened again, which he would never allow, the results would have been different and he would surely be on the losing side.

He rented an apartment in Reno, Nervada with hopes of art school or something along the lines. He didn’t want to sell his art, no matter how good they were. They were special, not some petty thing you buy off a street corner; they were his. No, he’ll find other ways to make money. He took up meaningless jobs as a waiter. There again, he exploited older gents through his good Catholic school boy looks.

Old cougars fell for it too and they were so easy it was as they say, taking candy from a baby. He would feed their egos, charm them, fuck them and let their moans and sighs roll over him. In turn, they gave him expensive gifts, rarely money. That’s the difference between male and female clients, misguided form of currency. Taken by his charm, one of these women claiming to be a photographer asked him to model for him. The job itself was easy enough; the woman was true to her word and he was only there to pose and make faces, naked. He was surprisingly flustered being nude the first couple times but the end results were worth it. Rent paid off, money in his savings account and food that wasn’t leftovers from the restaurant. She showed him the photographs and he was highly addicted. He wanted a camera. And his waiter money, plus the clients on the side was not enough for the one he wanted. He needed some a job that was both more stable and earn him double with a less risky consequence.

Lesson 7 – take drastic measures and don’t regret: in a week he saw an ad for Feel Good Inc. A week and a half later, he got a job as an actor. This is weird. Sex on stage, but at least being naked is no longer a discomfort.