The man and the boy (part 1)

There were no more holes in his soles, but the hole in his soul was getting bigger, his clothes were no more moth eaten, but his heart was being gnawed at. Yes he had money today, everything he willed at his footstep, but what he didn’t have was love, anyone to trust. Anyone to believe in, anyone to just be yourself with. He was a different man with everyone. He himself didn’t remember when was the last time he was just himself, the real man that he really was. He didn’t believe in real anymore nor did he believe in love. He didn’t believe in honesty. Hell! He didn’t believe in himself too.
Today he sat on his favourite leather finishing chair, with a glass of bourbon in his hand, Mozart playing in the background. The ideal evening setting for him. It was his evening ritual after office every day. The whole atmosphere helped him think. But today of all days he was not happy with the whole feel of the room. He never felt alone in that huge room with carved wooden panels into the walls and the floors furnished with the most expensive of the Turkish rugs, but today something was different.
It was his 38th birthday. Was he really that old? He asked himself and then suddenly reclined on the plush soft cushioned chair, feeling the age creeping in.
He had achieved everything he had promised himself the day his mother had abandoned him. Well abandoned was a term he used for what had happened. She had died is a road accident when he was only 15, but he still blamed her for just leaving him. She was the only human being on this earth he had actually loved and when she died, it was like his innocence was robbed of him and the boy was forced to become a man overnight. Since then the boy was never came out and the brutal man just lived.
After his mother died, he had seen the worst of days, he had no pennies to rub together and no roof to call his own, and the foster homes he was sent to were more interested in making him slave for his stay than to give him a bit of love or affection.
The music stopped abruptly, and he was jolted back to reality. No he was not living in some shabby house any more with his stomach churning out of hunger. He was in his mansion, his huge mansion, but he was still lonely today.
The day she died, he was all alone and till today that feeling was there. He was still the wet rat standing under the rain scurrying around for shelter.
Will he ever get the umbrella?