Page Numbers

3- Nathaniel

Stop staring at the shelf, you look like an idiot.

Can I help it, though?

No, you can't, but I'm trying to save your reputation, you numbnut.

Pfft. Numbnut isn't even a word.

Neither is pfft, but you keep using it.

Ugh. Ignore him, he's just bored. And I'm not. Even though he's still technically me in a way. I mean, he's my other self. And by other self, I basically just mean my subconscious talking to me because I talk to myself. I kinda have like a mild multiple personality disorder, or MPD. I think it started when I was 9, and it began as someone telling me what to do, but I'm sixteen now, and it developed more of a personality, hence the term, so now I'm basically talking to some sarcastic imaginary figure that--

What are you standing here for, again?

I don't know. Why am I standing here in front of a shelf?

You're looking for a book. Page Numbers? Remember? It was on TV, notably nicknamed as 'Breakthrough Fantasy of the Year?'

Oh, that's right. I forgot to tell, I'm kind of a reading fanatic. I like to just pick up books, buy them and read them. Now where is it...

Over to the left.

Thanks, Nathan.

No problem, Nat.

Before I go on any further, my name is Nathaniel, Nat for short. Before you start saying my name is weird, let me just say my parents were expecting a girl and was gonna call me Natalie, but out I came and grew up I did. Not even sure if that was correct grammar, but it doesn't probably matter.

I take the book from the shelf and walk over to the cashier. Normally, due to extreme excitement, I start reading the book while heading over to pay. If I don't like the first five sentences, I just walk back and find another book. Thankfully, I liked this book, so I kept reading.

Watch out.

I hear two grunts: my own, and a foreign feminine one, just before I hit the ground. I sit up and hold my head, checking for a possible concussion, and look around for the book.

"Can you watch where you're going?" I say, almost angrily. Whoa, there. Don't need to be so rude.

"I'm sorry." She says. The book is over to where she is, a meter from my position. I crawl over to her. When I'm about to get my book back, she hands it to me.

Damn, she's pretty.

Shush. I couldn't agree more, but keep your voice down.

I'm IN YOUR HEAD. No one can hear me. You do realise that.

Shush, can you let me examine this beauty? She has brown hair, wavy and flowy, and it's really long. Like, up to the waist. Glasses that almost look hipster. Like, seriously.

I'm guessing they're black Wayfar-

SHUT UP. Oh, crap, I think she noticed me react to you. See what you did? Can you just shut up? Please?

Oh, fine. I'll keep my mouth shut.

"Thank you," I say, receiving the book from her amazingly soft finger tips. We stand up, and I see she's wearing a knitted blue sweater. It looks so uncomfortably itchy. She's wearing black leggings as well.

What prompted you to look at her legs?

I thought I told you to shut up.

Sorry.

"No problem," she replies, sheepishly pulling back her hair over her ear. And we walk off in different directions, me to the cashier and her to the fiction section. Will I ever-

See her again? I highly doubt it.

Gee, thanks for the confidence. As I step up to the bored-looking cashier, I plop down the book and take out my wallet.

"Twenty-five dollars, please." He says, and I give my cash.

That was an interesting development.