Eddy's cheeks burned with embarrassment as Gabriel made his observations. They were so simple and pandering coming from anyone else, but coming from Gabriel who knew the scope of Eddy's private nature, it was a tremendous statement. It<i>was</i>a big deal for him.<br/><br/>Then Gabriel guessed the crux of the problem. Of course Luke didnt know, if he had known there was no way he could have gotten so close. Eddy's fame was a detriment to every relationship he's ever had (though his own personality was definitely also a factor).<br/><br/>"Of course not," Eddy huffed as he recieved his 4th scotch of the evening. "I can't."<br/><br/>It wasnt him anymore anyway. That part of his life was firmly over so it really shouldn't matter. But he knew his therapist would tell him that he was dishonoring a huge part of himself pretending that it never happened. Either way it was lying, even if it was out of self preservation.<br/><br/>It seemed trite for an artist to hate his own fame but Eddy did, with such a deep and vast loathing that he didnt even go by his own name anymore. All he ever wanted to do was create. He never set the prices, never sought out the sort of pretentious privileged fucks that could toss millions of dollars on a statue that 'spoke' to them, as if they ever truly cared about the message.<br/><br/>It was a complete accident that Eddy had been 'discovered', and by the grace of a ruthless agent he managed to stay on that gravy train till the very last station. Some part of Eddy wished that it had never happened, so sure he would have been happier staying in that junkyard, weilding scrap metal just for the sheer joy of it, penniless but free. But then he'd remember how awful poverty was and that nostalgic little bubble would pop. If things had stayed that way, eventually he would have had to quit when reality pressed in on him. He would have had to give it up for a real job that could feed him, that could put a roof over his head.<br/><br/>Eddy was one of the lucky ones, the ones that made it, that lived the dream. That could finally create for a living. He just wished it didnt come with all the other bullshit. The posturing and posing, the elites and the critics, the hounding and questions. The deep invasions of privacy. The many personal betrayals.<br/><br/>Eddy couldnt just create, he had to stand for something, he had to champion for a cause just to justify his change in fortune, to keep from drowning in the guilt of being a fraud and sell out. He had to be an activist, a satirist, a social commentator. He had to expound on the evil of riches while being paid by the very same people he was criticizing. The hypocrisy was almost lethal, but he took the money anyway.<br/><br/>It hadnt been him, not really. A caricature of a facet of himself, maybe, an act to keep the money rolling so he could keep creating.<br/><br/>Once Luke knew the truth he would see that other guy, Edwin the 'artist' and not Eddy the man.