Addiction [Niall Horan]

Prologue

Prologue

These are the types of people I sometimes notice on my morning commute.

There was once a guy. He was tall and thin and had a red face. His ears stuck off his head a little ways, peeking through his longer jet black hair. I'm sure it was dyed because his eyebrows were a light color of blonde. I wondered why people change their hair color? Why are we never happy with ourselves. 

The thought still tickles me today. I think about it everytime I look in the mirror at my own head of hair. I think about it when I see my roots peeking through the blonde die job. I guess I'm just a bit addicted that way.

On the subway I once spotted a girl. Her figure wasn't fat. It was full. She sat slumped over, resting her chin on her fists that were propped up by her elbows. Her hair was natural, or at least I thought, because it was a crisp blonde that was chopped short. Her skin was a frail, pale colour. I could tell from her wrists that she'd seen hard times. There were scars running up her arm and I just knew. I questioned and wondered why we did things like this to ourselves? 

Then, I thought of the time when I was seventeen and they told me I ate too much. I remember looking at my food and putting it down. I remember them telling me I was fat and I needed to stop. I remember starving myself. I think about the pain that girl gave herself when I think of the pain I put myself through. I guess I'm just a bit addicted that way.

I once saw a kid on the sidewalk. He had to be about fifteen. His back was pushed against the brick building. I couldn't see his face because his hoodie was pulled tight around him. Other people sped up when they were around him. The shoes on his feet were tattering and his jeans were a bit frayed. He hadn't a sign or a can to beg for money, but still the working class people glared down at him, but still somehow managed to keep their noses held high. I wondered why they wanted to feel superior.

This feeling of guilt pangs me, when I think about Year Seven. All my friends had Pokemon Blue, so I had to have Pokemon Red. I've thought about my needs to feel better than others and I guess I'm just a bit addicted that way.

We all get addicted; all for different reasons, but it wasn't Alex's fear that set her apart. It wasn't even her cowardice. It wasn't the way she was afraid to face the outside world and it wasn't the way she lied to stay healthy in her mind. No, we all do that. It's human. What set Alex apart was her inability to understand that one day it all gets better.

But she never could find that day.