WOMANIZER // Chris Schistad

1.

Hartvig Nissen High School.

I kept the pamphlet of the school in my hands with a repulsed expression clearly having no desire to be affiliated to this public school. And yet, it was here that I started a new semester during the year.

Thanks to Papa and his tax fraud for that.

Okay so maybe it was not really justified. I really wanted to be angry against my dad. God knew that probably the whole of Oslo and Stockholm were in a rage against him. After all, he had destroyed the lives of so many people.

My father was... well, he was the biggest scoundrel currently making the newspaper covers right now.

And those even though his trial had been months before. My mother was a real mess after that and we had to get used to our routine of poor people. Obviously, we now owe the nonsense of my father. Hence my entrance to Nissen.

Honestly, as much as I hated public schools, I had to acknowledge that I was relieved to leave the girls of my high school. They were not even eighteen and they were already real housewives. That being said, I wanted to imagine the treatment I had received during the last half-year.

And I did not even talk about idiotic jocks. They were probably the worst. I could not even remember the number of imbeciles throwing insults at my face or even making me fall on the goal in the corridors.

I obviously rebelled clearly not intimidated by anyone only I had learned that hitting the biggest jerk of high school until blood had just ended up giving me more hatred than before. Not that I really cared, I had had enough to take this shit to my face without saying anything.

I knew that the boxing classes that my father had forced me to take during most of my childhood would serve. This had certainly had some effect on the worldly suburbs but I had the claim to be able to say that our wealth was never going to the heads of my parents.

They had always been those two normal people who liked to do long sleepy hours instead of taking a huge brunch with high society that could probably feed more than one African family dying of hunger.

My mother had taken me to a solidarity center from the moment I was able to run and I had spent most of my days in the open air instead of spending my time in luxury stores.

Obviously, we always allowed ourselves the excesses of the wealthy families of Oslo but we always stayed ourselves.

Well, until that fateful day. I could still remember the explosion of our door before a huge group of policemen broke into our large mansion. Mum had shouted asking what the hell was going on while my father had just gotten up quietly in the resignation.

I had watched him shocked with tears in my eyes as the police had thrown him face-to-face unceremoniously before handcuffing him with no ounce of consideration for his daughter and son aged only sixteen and eighteen finding a few meters away.

Mama immediately threw herself on me in a revival of lucidity soon joined by Ansel before she hid our faces against her to avoid us watching the scene any longer.

At that time, I thought my world could not collapse more than that. If only I had known at the time it was only the beginning.

Like most of society, the rumor had not been slow to spread like wildfire in the worldly society of the city of Oslo even going as far as Stockholm where my father had a very high reputation.

Most people have started lynching us from beyond. I was witnessing the decline of my surname in impotence. First of all, it was my mother's friends, then my father's friends, and finally mine. Or at least the ones I thought were my friends at the time. Now, I knew that they was just pretentious and arrogant pests.