HeartBreaker | Book 1

Chris Madison

"Art and beauty can be found in the most unusual places." -Me

Chapter One

Chris Madison

I am an asshole.

I've heard it all before. If you smile at me, I probably won't smile back, if you hold the door open for me I wouldn't thank you, nor would I ever do the same.

It's not that I'm a bad person, (well maybe I am but who cares?) but I don't try so hard to be a good person, because what's the point? Kindness has gotten me nowhere in life, but to be fair, nastiness hasn't either.

I'm not a pessimist, or a dreamer, I'm not really anything except a twenty-year-old boy who's having depressing thoughts because it's 6 in the morning and I have to get ready for work.

I work as an environmental maintenance man, which is a fancy way of saying an outdoor janitor. It's my duty to keep the streets of Melbourne city clean, as my boss Ray Dickson would remind me every shift.

My life has been a cycle of work to live and live to work. I've been on my own since I was eight, I didn't do too bad at school, but I knew university just wasn't for me.

I have no idea what direction my life is headed except for the fact that I'm going to die someday, which probably shouldn't be a comforting thought, but if you've lived the life I've lived, seen the things I've seen; death doesn't seem so bad.

You know how some people use the phrase, 'I have a small circle?' well in my case, I'm more of a dot on a blank page.

In fact, my only friend is a goldfish I call Winston. Looking after someone or something other than myself brings meaning to my meaningless life.

I know it may sound dark and tragic and all, but despite what some might think: I'm not sad or lonely. Alone? yes, and not particularly happy, but I've been through worse. I guess you could say I'm content with where I am.

I try to make as little human contact as possible. My greatest fear is any form of human relationship, because let's face it, you meet someone, grow attached, love them and then what? they leave.

Nobody can tell me that's not the case when my own mother – the only family I had left on this godforsaken planet; let me go when it was just her and I.

I've been hurt before; can you tell?

If the people who were supposed to love me, didn't, why would anybody else? If they weren't genuinely interested in my wellbeing, who would be?

I lay in my small uncomfortable bed and think.

It would hurt, a lot, not gonna lie. But over time I grew a hard shell, things don't get to me anymore. I'm alone and I'd like to keep it that way.

I have no interest in making friends because making friends equals losing people you care about; though I'm made of stone, I'm not willing to test it by being vulnerable to stuff like that.

I don't need that.

I should probably get up and bring the first phase of my morning routine to an end.

I roll of my bed and stretch, cracking every bone in my body it would seem.

I look at my small bed against the wall of my bedroom and wonder how I avoided any physical deformities sleeping on that thing.

I'm not complaining, I may not have people to call a family or people to call friends, but I have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in.

Despite it being the crummiest of apartments, with no heating and everything in one cramped room; it's home to me.