The Problem is Me [EDITED)

Chapter 27

December, 2014

When I woke up I was alone, which wasn't very surprising. It wasn't the pleasantest of awakenings if I'm honest with you, I had a brutal headache and I felt like I'd been deep throating a machete. I didn't think I was drunk at the time, but I can now tell you that I was. I was extremely drunk, so much so that I don't remember 75% of the night. Of course I remember losing my V card to some girl called Amber, but everything after that is a blur.

I wondered what she would do if she somehow found out that I was fifteen. And if she remembered fucking me on Christmas Eve. I think that's probably why she left, it being Christmas and everything. Who the hell would want to spend Christmas morning with me?

It was mid-morning and I still had a head that felt like an axe was planted in it. My eyesight struggled to cope with the daylight and I fumbled tying the belt on my jeans. With my brain still struggling to recover from the previous night's alcohol abuse I had very few options. Reading would be impossible, the TV too garish and I was staying away from the kitchen for fear of what I might see. So instead I elected to feed myself and dragged my heavy limbs into the bathroom so I could look half decent when I left to get food.

Amber wasn't on the front desk; instead there was someone who looked merely a few years older than me. He couldn't have possibly been any older than twenty. He glanced up from his magazine but didn't smile, nor did he glare. He simply stared at me for however long it took me to walk out into the reception area. Even when I stopped and stared back he didn't flinch, only continued to challenge me, acting like I was his prey instead of him being mine. The opportunity of a new game excited me to high measures, it had been too long. Surely I could just physically manipulate the guy, I mean I had a fucking gun in my bag, but that was no fun.

Now I'm older I tend to rarely argue with my fists but believe me when I say that my words pack a powerful punch. Carefully spoken, without drama, my words have an air of finality to them and no matter how hard the opposition railed against me, nothing would change my mind.

He was the first to break the ice, "Do you want a picture? I'm sure it'll last longer." The guy kept a straight face the entire time, somewhat equal to mine. To anyone watching but not listening it would look like a neutral conversation, neither good nor bad.

I hummed patronizingly, "I don't know. Are you expecting me to pay? If so, do you take visa? I understand it's a bit hard for the lower class people to be fully educated in that department." I replied with a simple shrug of my shoulders, "Or any department, actually."

"I wouldn't know. You look like you might do though, so why don't you tell me?" He fired back. Usually in these kinds of witty arguments people bounce off each other, but his comebacks left a lot to be desired. It's like aiming a gun to someone's head, pulling the trigger and finding out it's a water pistol.

"Well, you have the right to assume, so I'll give you that. Although, I wouldn't get too high on your horses princess, I'm sure you'd love me if you weren't so-"I paused and grimaced, "Pretentious."

He sighed. "There is no love, only people using other people." And he paused for a second, as if he was really thinking about something. "They are in denial if they think otherwise, or perhaps in their mental weakness they cannot accept other people or even themselves for what they are."

I raised my eyebrows, "I agree. Very well spoken for a hillbilly aren't you?"

To my total and utter surprise he started laughing, and dropped the hostile exterior. I forced out a chuckle and straightened my clothing, as the temporarily forgotten hangover dwindled its way back in.

"Hillbilly my ass, I prefer to go by the name of Shane but whatever helps you sleep at night." He added.

I nodded and gathered my things to go, I'd only paid for one night but something tells me they're not going to check, but I took my things just in case.

He stuck his hand over the counter for me to take, "Shane Braylon. Merry Christmas, man."

I took his hand and shook it, "Nathan McKenzie, you too."

"I'll see you around, mate." Shane added finally as I walked out of the door. When I left the (barely) heated hotel, I was smacked in the face with a big batch of December weather. It hadn't snowed, but it was about the right temperature for it to. The streets were pretty much empty aside from the occasional car passing by. It must have sucked for the people who were forced into going to work when they've got family at home on Christmas.

I eventually found a coffee shop and got some breakfast. I didn't feel as gross as I did before, but I still looked a bit like a heroin addict. With nothing else to do, I resided to a nearby playground to waste away some of the day.

In all honesty, I didn't know what I was going to do, or where I was going to go from here. I'd completed the task I set for myself, which was to get my mother out of the picture and to leave everything behind. But now I've done both of those things, I'm mind numbingly bored. There is something different going on though. Something I'd laugh at in a movie because they're so pathetic and over-dramatic.

I wanted to kill someone else. I know what you're thinking, 'Christ, I always knew this guy was psychotic' and I don't blame you. But it's not the whole concept of killing someone that I like; I'm not like one of the Columbine kids who shot up the school. I'm not at the end of my tether and so filled with hate that I need to kill all of my mates. The factor that I like is the control. If you know me, which I like to think that you do quite well now, you know how much I need control over situations. If you want, I'm a control freak to the max.

In that moment, I have control over life and death. It's the ultimate source of power in my opinion, I get to decide if this person lives or not.

I presume that most people think that I'm highly narcissistic and in love with myself. That's not the way it is at all. I think very highly of myself, but I know I'm not the best of the best. I'm content with the way I look; I think I'm reasonably attractive. I'm also content with the way I am, even though many people aren't.

Times like these are best spent drunk. So I found a dodgy corner shop that was more than willing to serve me to a bottle of vodka. My intent for that night was to drink enough to numb out the hangover, but of course that didn't work out. Shane and Amber were in the lobby when I walked in, I tried my hardest to sneak around them but it was no use.

"Nathan!" Shane greeted happily, drumming his hands on the bar. I closed my eyes and slowly turned around, plastering a smile on my face when I was facing them. "Meet my sister, you've probably seen her here before." Oh yeah, I've seen her a few times actually.

"Yeah..." I stalled- "Nice to meet you."

She blushed furiously and darted her eyes around the room, "Nice to meet you too. I'm Amber, by the way." She smiled weakly. I smiled in return, desperately trying to edge my way back to the room.

"Fancy coming to the Christmas Festival?" Shane offered. I didn't know what a 'Christmas festival' was but it didn't sound very appealing. I'm routing for a load of drunken morons prancing about singing old fashioned songs.

I shrugged, "I don't know-"

Shane eagerly interrupted me before I could finish, "C'mon man, it's a reason to get drunk. Don't tell me you want to spend Christmas day on your own."

I sighed. "Fine." Sometimes I wonder how I get myself into the situations that I do; because I often find myself in strange scenarios with strange people. I'm probably one of the strange people.

Funnily enough, the night took a sharp turn that none of us were really expecting.