TEACH ME NOT 2 HATE LOVE

8

🧑Nik Anthony POV🧑

Ugh! That woman. She just always managed to get on my damn nerves, I tell you.

Damn! I can't stand her. I hate her, or rather, her rotten personality.

I blame my mother for this. If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have to deal with such an ill-mannered woman.

Sigh. I really need to learn to say no to her. I need to stop allowing my mother to manipulate me into doing her bidding. Typical women. But I only tolerate her because she's my mother and I love her. I want to make her happy, even if it's at the cost of my sanity most of the time.

Hopefully, this bar I'm at with my best friend McCarty, drinking beers, will drown my sorrows and bring me some joy.

"What's wrong with you now, bro?" McCarty, who was seated next to me, put aside his beer and asked. He's a bit taller than I was, averagely built, and a face boy. That means he's very good-looking. "You seemed to be in a foul mood again."

"Oh, it's nothing," I stated bitterly before taking a drink from my bottle. The last thing I want to do is talk about my problems and my feelings like some whiny bitch.

"Oh, this ain't nothing. Tell me," he insisted, and I started singing like a canary. Curse you, beer.

I informed him about Mother moving in and what a pain she's been. Of course, I didn't forget to include how Mother hired a bitchy, unpleasant housekeeper without my permission for an absurd amount of money. Also, that witch, that conniving housekeeper, deceived me into tripling it.

Yeah. That about sums it up. So much for not talking about my problems and feelings. Yes, I am a whiny bitch.

Hah, aha ha ha! That's the sound of my best friend laughing at me. He even captured the attention of everyone present. That was how boisterous he was behaving.

"This is not a joke, bro," I stated very seriously.

"Your life never seemed to have a dull moment. Let's hope things work out for the best this time."

"I know I shouldn't have told you," I complained.

"Relax man." He patted my shoulder. "Drink some beers, pick up a hot chick or two, and have some fun."

"You're right." But that's not going to be enough to rectify my problems. Drinking beers, that is. Maybe temporarily, but not forever.

Sometime later, McCarty ditched me to go be with two unknown females that he'd been hitting on earlier. The ladies just can't seem to resist this playboy. Well, his money and bling.

Man, I wish I was more like him. The man courts every random damsel he comes across and feels no emotional attachment to them whatsoever. The guy just smash and run.

Well, to be honest, I did something similar after that heart-shattering breakup I had almost a year ago. And for a while, it was a temporary distraction. But in the end, that kind of lifestyle wasn't working out for me, so I stopped completely.

Yes, it's been a while since I had sex with a woman. Nine months and counting, to be exact. And I know it's very hard for some people to believe that a hot, rich young man like myself would abstain from sex for such a long time.

But believe me, it's easier than you think, for several reasons.

I'm scared I'll allow my emotions to get the best of me. I'm scared to get close to another woman—terrified of getting my fragile heart, which I barely managed to repair, broken again.

Furthermore, I won't allow another woman to abuse my generosity. My love.

A few girls came over, hitting on me. However, my foul mood and lack of interest in them frightened them off.

Ten more bottles of beer later. McCarty called my phone, which I barely managed to answer, summoning me to the back of the bar. I wonder what the emergency is.

It took me about ten minutes to get there since my vision was a bit hazy and my body felt out of balance. That's another way of saying I am high. Drunk.

Why the heck is McCarty hiding behind a dumpster? I thought he was having fun with those hot beauties.

He signaled to me as if I hadn't seen him already. I got closer and realized he was butt-naked. That explained hiding behind a dumpster. But why?

"What happened to you?" I asked, laughing. If I were in my right mind, I would take this more seriously. Please remember that I'm under the influence of alcohol. Therefore, I don't control how I react to things right now.

"Those bitches scammed me," he complained. "They took my wallet, my car key, and my clothes. Damn scoundrels."

Serve him right for entertaining strange girls he just met. But I didn't say that out loud. "So what am I going to do about it?"

"Get me some damn clothes!" he roared.

"Where?" Be reminded that I'm drunk, so nothing he's saying makes much sense to me.

"Don't you have extra clothing in your car or something?" he asked. He then muttered to himself, very upset, "Damn it, I can't believe this is happening to me."

"I don't know." I laughed like a maniac. For some reason, I find his suffering amusing. I know it's terrible, but it's not me in control here.

"You know what? Give me your car key," he requested, and I handed it to him after a minute of searching myself for it.

"Now let's get out of here." He walked to my car in his birthday suit and caused a scene. Not that this shameless bastard cares.

"Hurry up!" He got in the car, honking the horn like a madman. Don't vent your frustration at my baby. You jerk.

I got into the back seat, and he drove me home, which was about less than an hour away.

"Now get out!" He demanded.

I did as he instructed without fuss. I was too out of it to even care about anything anyway. He could take me to the moon and back, and I wouldn't care.

"I'll return your car later," he said, then speedily drove off.

Crazy bastard.

So, I wobbled my drunk, worn-out self into my house and stripped down to my underwear. I would have taken them off too, but it was a bother. Then I threw myself down on my comfy couch, and as I was about to fall asleep, she came in and ruined that.