I'm Only Happy When I'm Wasted

Prologue- Where It Begins

"Nice to see you again, Harry. I was starting to get worried when you'd hadn't shown up here for two days. Has to be some record," Bill, the bartender joked. I laughed humorlessly. Although it was true that me being MIA for two days had to be some record it didn't mean I hadn't drank since then. I just felt like getting wasted in the comfort of my own home at the time.

"Yeah, I've been busy," I shrugged. He nodded at my brief response, deciding not to push me.

"I see that. So the usual then?" I nodded my head and he turned his back to me to focus on my straight Jack with a twist of lemon that I always ordered. Strong, just how I liked it. How I needed it.

He handed me a tray full of the shot glasses loaded with the bodily poison I craved. One by one I threw them back until the flashes outside the bar window turned into just people. Not wicked guys waiting to slab my name next to some wild fabrication. The dangerous thoughts in my head were dimmed. And the women slowly creeping towards me were like my prey. All caution was blown to the wind. This is me. This is the state I feel the most comfortable in because reality for me sucks.

After nonstop flirting with various women and a handful of numbers collected I smoothly made my way outside. Their were no paps outside. I guess they had enough pictures and were going to sleep thinking about how miserable they could make me and how much money they would earn from each candid. But I was at peace. Numb and at peace.

A walked surprisingly straight down the cobblestone of the London streets with my hands in my pockets. I can't describe how invigorating it feels to walk down the streets like a normal person for a few minutes. I know celebrities always say that we're 'normal people' but we aren't. We know that and our fans know that. Even though we get handed free expensive clothes and bottles of alcohol left and right we're limited on things like privacy. We don't always have the upper hand.

As I was passing by a bakery I turned my head to flick some of my hair out of my face and was stunned by a flash in my eyes. I groaned inwardly. Without worrying that it was a fan I turned and marched in the direction of the lady whose attention was now taken away from me. She stood a few inches below me and was shaking the picture that came out of the Polaroid she held in her other hand. From her pocket she retrieved a ballpoint men and started scribbling something on the white margin.

"Excuse me," I asked brashly. She looked up, stunned and slightly shocked, before answering me. 

"What?" 

"What? What do you mean 'what'? Do you not respect people's privacy? Stupid paps." I snatch the picture from her hand without even taking a second glance at it. I didn't even bother to wonder what kind of pap takes Polaroids. Regardless it would be placed by something rude about me, no doubt. 

"Wait. Give that back," she yells after me. I hear the clatter of her shoes of the ground until there she stood in front of me with an angered look on her face. "I could care less if you're a celebrity. And I'm not some dumbass paparazzi either, for your information."

"Oh so you're a fan?" Like I said, the alcohol diminished my common sense to nothing. The girl in front of me probably despises all of the boys now and our band and will go home and write some Twitlonger about her 'terrible experience meeting her role model'. Rude, I know. Blame the alcohol. I'll probably just write some tweet in the morning telling everyone that I wasn't myself and was highly intoxicated when it all gets out and people start freaking out.

"No. And I'm just saying that after meeting you either. Although you are acting like a jackass."

I ignored her insult. "So why are you taking pictures of me?"

"Why don't you take a look at the picture?" She nodded her head downward to what I still harbored in my hand. 

I looked down and saw a close snapshot of my face. Below it in the margin was what she had scribbled as I stormed up to her. 'Lost' was written in a girly font with black ink.

"Lost? So you go around taking pictures of lost people?" She nodded her head. "Well I'm sorry but you are terrible at reading people because I actually knew where I was going." As I spoke she crossed her arms and smirked at me with raised eyebrows. "What?"

"Not lost as in 'I don't know where I'm going' but lost as in lost emotionally. Like 'I don't know what to do with my life right now and I'm suffering but maybe if I get drunk and look happy in public they'll believe me'. That kind of lost."

I looked at her, stunned. Maybe she was like those palm readers who could evaluate your whole life except she could read facial expressions. As far as I know I'm pretty good at putting up a strong and happy front. Well, I figured since no one has ever said otherwise.

"What else do I look like?" I asked quietly. She accessed my face with a solemn look before diagnosing me.

"You look. . . broken. Like you don't know who you are." Then she laughed to herself. "Don't think I'm weird. I'm not some professional reader or anything like that. I'm just good at reading people. Or so I've been told. It's a gift and a curse, really," she shrugged.

"Oh." I didn't know what to say. But I didn't have to say anything other than that. Before I had the chance to put together a slightly reasonable response she had turned on her heels and was walking away.

"Oh yeah, keep the picture. Maybe you'll soon realize what a mess you really are."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know what to think. Here comes this strange girl who takes a picture of me and classifies me like I'm a part of some project of hers. But the thing was I didn't even care. All I knew was that she was unique. She's one of the people who will cross your path once in a lifetime and you could either chase after her or do nothing and never see her again in your life. 

I was confused. She understood me like no one else and made me realize things I tried so hard to put aside and wasn't even starstruck. 

I didn't like the feeling. So as I walked to my flat I did what I always did when I felt confused or clueless; I pulled out my liquor flask from my inside coat pocket and took a swig. Then another. Until finally those feelings were dimmed into nothing. Just like those camera flashes from outside the bar window and the dangerous thoughts that used to swarm my head.

It was an unhealthy addiction, I know. But it was the only anesthetic I knew of. I laughed to myself thinking of crazy things that flew through my mind. Because, let's face it, I'm only happy when I'm wasted.

Like? I need your help thinking of the girl who will play Jamie, the main character. So just comment someone below. Don't forget feedback and votes. That way i'll know who likes this so far and if I should continue. 

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