Special Nobody

By Brendan Spratt

Jason L'Estrange has a secret.

A secret he is desperate to keep from his best friend, Lizzie.

A secret so devastating, it could destroy their friendship and ruin his life.

At 22, Jason should have the world at his feet.

Instead, he wakes on a dismal hospital ward to discover he has a broken foot and a multitude of other injuries.

Learning he plunged down the stairs of Dublin’s seediest nightclub, Jason has no recollection if he fell or was pushed and the hospital psychiatrist is questioning if he may have had any reason to harm himself?

Special Nobody intertwines between Jason’s teenage years and one crazy night out in Dublin when secrets thought long buried returned and threatened to destroy his friendships.

Heart-warming but gritty and honest, Special Nobody is the realistic story of a flawed young adult and guarantees to take the reader on a roller coaster of a ride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626752009

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9781626752009

PROLOGUE: Facing The Fear

Monday 19th December

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

Nothing before this moment matters anymore.

I’m starting afresh. I’m wiping the slate clean. I’m going to be the person I’ve always wanted to be. Or is that the person I used to be? Either way, I don’t like the person I’ve become.

All these positive affirmations wash over me. The clean, refreshing statements turn dark, dirty and disgusting as unable to ignore the flashbacks, reality dawns and I accept my life is in utter disarray. Sighing, I close my eyes and leaning back I rest my head upon the concrete-like pillow as the voice in my head angrily ridicules me for the mess I have gotten myself into. Shutting my eyes tighter, I hope this will suffocate the voices but it just penetrates them further as they grab at my insides and twist them.

Waking up in this wretched hospital bed on this dismal ward and becoming aware of the full extent of my completely avoidable and essentially self inflicted injuries, it is plain for all to see that I have reached the lowest point possible. Well reached, is too polite a word. I have come crashing, head first with no helmet on into the lowest point I have ever had the misfortune of venturing to. There have been many drink, drug, friend and family related low points over the years but usually I’m laughing at them or about them ten minutes later. However this time there has been no laughter. This time, I haven’t dusted myself off, jumped into the shower and hit the pub to regale anyone who would listen with tales of my mad weekend. This time I know I’ve unequivocally, no questions about it, without a doubt, lucky to get out of it alive, definitely fucked up.

Deep within, I’ve known for a while things had to change but in total denial, I was too scared or possibly too stupid to make the first tentative steps to better myself. And now I am left with nothing but the shreds of a life that once had potential. So much hurt has been caused. So much needless havoc has been created. So many tears shed over pointless arguments. Where do I begin? What can I salvage? I just hope it’s not too late.

CHAPTER 1: Dick the Gremlin Hunter

4 years ago

Through-out your lifetime, people will come and go. A veritable merry-go-round, some stay on the ride for years, others continually pop on and off while some make a fleeting appearance but leave a memorable and lasting impression. On my merry-go-round-of-life, Dick fits into the last category.

Twenty years older than me, with tight balding hair, constantly bloodshot dull eyes and the beginnings of a tyre around his middle, Dick could look rather dapper at the beginning of an evening but would always look a sorry state by the end of the session which always lasted longer than intended. Dick seemed to do everything to excess. He ate too much, drank too much, smoked too much, loved too much, hated too much. I suppose it’s safe to say Dick had an addictive personality. For a brief period when I was eighteen and had just been kicked out of college, I considered Dick a good friend. We’d spend hours together off our heads. I’ve no idea what we talked about as I can’t remember much about him or those foggy times. I’m ashamed to admit I can’t even remember his last name or if I ever knew it. I haven’t thought about Dick in months, but lying in this hospital bed, he seems to be all I can think about.

Dick was a mad bastard. If it could be smoked, snorted or swallowed, Dick would take it. He holidayed three times during the summer in Ibiza and made regular stoner trips to Amsterdam. Always the last to leave a party, nobody had seen Dick sober in years. Dick was hardcore and he knew it.

However the more time I spent with Dick the more uncomfortable I felt in his company. Observing his personality shift from fun-filled and cheerful to dour and depressed, I selfishly started to avoid him and hang out with him less as I didn’t want him to bring my mood down. It was clear Dick was no longer happy. All the years of abuse had started to take their toll on his mental state. Finding it hard to shift the constant hangover, Dick’s comedowns were lasting for days at a time. Dick knew the party was over but quitting his party lifestyle seemed a scarier prospect than quitting the drugs. For without ever comprehending it properly, Dick’s life revolved around this rock and roll lifestyle. His old buddies from childhood were long forgotten, some had dipped their toes in the party lifestyle but then fell in love and settled down to get married and have kids. Dick’s friends were now younger party animals just at the beginning of their own tumultuous relationship with drugs. While friends had come and gone over the years, Dick had refused to change his ways. As his friends got younger and he got older, Dick had continued to drink heavily and do whatever drugs he could get his hands on.

Unable to hold down a job, Dick had for years lived in a grotty house in Rathmines. A constant party house, Dick’s flatmates changed on a regular basis. Occasionally the odd civilian moved in who didn’t like to party but they never lasted long, pushed out because of the constant noise or randomers bursting into their bedroom in the middle of the night looking for the toilet or a place to have a shag. Dick’s flatmates usually consisted of people working in the hospitality industry, happy to work evenings, party through the night and sleep during the day or back packers and travellers who’d party all night and then go to their minimum wage jobs with little or no sleep. His flatmates usually only had one thing in common; they liked to party.

One night after a particularly mad session, Dick was back in his house with a plethora of crazy people he’d picked up in a club. After snorting a line, Dick came over a bit funny. Starting to feel a little paranoid, Dick convinced himself it wasn’t coke he’d just snorted but something more sinister like the horse tranquiliser K. Finding the culprit who’d kindly giving him the line, Dick agitatedly questioned what it was. When the drug supplier assured him it was coke and good stuff at that, Dick began to get even more agitated. Drugs never made him feel like this. Becoming aggressive, Dick started screaming at his guests suggesting he was being poisoned. Unable to breathe properly and with a tightening in his chest, Dick suddenly realised what was happening; he was dying. The years of abuse had finally caught up with him and he was paying for it with the highest price; his life.

Collapsing on the floor, Dick screamed for help. Someone turned off the repetitive dance music and the partygoers gathered around Dick who was now in the foetus position clutching his chest and struggling for breath. Nervously unsure if he was joking or not, the party goers silently wondered what they should do. Those who had drugs opted to leave, sure they didn’t really know this dude who’d invited them back and they didn’t want to let him ruin their buzz; there was still a few hours left until dawn and they didn’t want the party to finish. Puzzled, people looked at each other and then looked at this pathetic sight on the floor and silently vowed to themselves that they would never end up like him.

After one caring party goer called an ambulance, Dick found himself in hospital and subsequently in a room with a psychiatrist. Answering the psychiatrist’s inquisitive questions, a now sober Dick realised how crazy his answers sounded. When quizzed when the last time he ate was, Dick was mortified to admit because of his drug intake his appetite was non-existent and in the past three days all he’d eaten was a banana and a bowl of cereal. Trying to make light of the conversation, Dick joked there was plenty of nutrients in the many pints of Guinness he’d consumed over the weekend. Not finding the jokes funny, the psychiatrist advised Dick he’d had a panic attack brought on from drug abuse and advised Dick that if he didn’t want to end up with a full on psychosis he’d have to give up the drugs. As Dick digested her advice and perused the literature she’d left for him, he came to the conclusion that this was it. This was the wake up call he’d been waiting for. He was going to give up drugs.

But not before one final Hurrah! So Dick decided to have one final party, one final blow out. Over the course of a weekend, Dick went on a complete mad one. At the end of the epic weekend, Dick found himself alone on his couch. Aware this was the final time he was ever going to take drugs, Dick decided to go out on a bang and finish off the last of his supply. Ingesting the mushrooms he had smuggled from his last trip to Amsterdam, Dick headed to the park to enjoy the scenery and the beautiful colours brought on from the hallucinations from the mushrooms.

Dick doesn’t remember much after this but that evening a flatmate came in from work and found Dick slumped on the couch watching one of his favourite movies from the eighties ‘Gremlins’. Commenting that he had nearly died in work from lack of sleep from the weekend’s partying, the flatmate wondered how Dick’s day had gone. Noting Dick was still clearly off his rocker the flatmate suppressed a giggle as a bleary eyed Dick revealed he’d had a lovely day in the park but had been slightly scared at one stage because he’d found a Gremlin. Amused, the flatmate went along with Dick’s story and enquired what Dick had done with the Gremlin, had he conversed with it? Played with it? Got up to mischief with it? Dazed and staring vacantly into a distant universe, Dick assured his flatmate the world was now safe, he alone had captured this evil Gremlin and therefore rescued society from their evil fate. Enquiring what he’d done with the Gremlin, the flatmate giggled in disbelief when Dick revealed he’d locked him in his wardrobe. Having lived with Dick for a while, the flatmate was totally used to Dick’s crazy stories and went to fix some food before sitting down and enjoying the rest of the movie with Dick.

An hour or so later, the wrecked flatmate left a sleeping Dick on the couch and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Walking by Dick’s bedroom, the flatmate was overcome with fear to hear something or someone banging on a door and weeping. Running down the stairs, the flatmate screamed at Dick to wake up. Unable to wake the comatose Dick, the flatmate grabbed an umbrella, the only thing in his sight that might protect him and returned up the stairs. Cautiously opening the door to Dick’s bedroom the flatmate observed the wardrobe where the weak banging was coming from. Hearing the sobs, the flatmate had to reassure himself he wasn’t going to lose his life at the hands of a fictitious Gremlin but was nevertheless trembling with terror imagining what could possibly be behind the doors.

Knowing he had no choice but to remove the chair from Dick’s wardrobe and face what lay behind it, the flatmate braced and preparing for the reveal tried to convince himself it was just a stray dog behind the door. Flinging open the door, the flatmate was appalled to find a petrified young boy cowering and shaking with fear as he cried for his mother. As he fretfully reached out for the young child and assured him he was safe, the flatmate was appalled to see the child was down-syndrome.

It pains me to admit this but if I don’t stop this craziness now, I’m going to become another warped version of Dick and club kids are going to talk about me in the years to come with a toxic mixture of disgust and twisted admiration!

CHAPTER 2: Bad Ideas begin with Vodka

2 days ago

With it under a microscope, I uneasily realise my life actually began to slowly unravel and spiral out of control as soon as I left school and officially became an adult. Turning seventeen, I had been a wreck of a teenager. Nervous, paranoid, suspicious, awkward but then I made some changes and my life slowly began to get better. Once I turned eighteen and made some real friends, I found the confidence to come out as gay. Being true to myself, I found people who liked who I was, people that laughed with me, not at me. With these new friends, I started socialising, boozing and getting up to mischief. The happiness inside obviously permeated outside as I noticed other gay boys stealing glances at me in clubs and I slowly began to accept I wasn’t the ugly mutt I’d always been made to feel I was. Sadly I now realise that as I turned eighteen and took control of my own life, in ways I had already slowly began to lose a grip on it.

Now twenty two, my life has been in freefall for four years. My downfall resulting in this hospital stay and my own personal intervention ultimately began like most of my bad ideas tend to, with a bottle of vodka.

It was the Saturday before Christmas and I was in hiding. For numerous reasons but mainly because I was as broke as an obese, one armed hooker, vodka or any stimulant hadn’t been high on my list of priorities recently. In fact for the previous few weeks, I’d really been trying to be good and avoid temptation. With Christmas just around the corner, I’d been desperately trying hard to save my few pennies. Somehow, I’d managed to scrape my rent together for December but with presents to buy and no money coming in, I knew I was going to struggle to find my rent for January. With hindsight I now realise it was my own fault I’d no money but at the time I was blaming everybody else.

I had lost my job two weeks beforehand. Well when I say lost; I actually mean I’d been sacked from my job. But that’s not quite true either as I never gave them the opportunity to sack me. I just didn’t show up for work again after the Christmas party. This job had been my big break, my chance to make contacts and a name for myself in interior design and I’d ruined it by drunkenly making a show of myself in spectacular style in front of the whole company. However, right at this moment, I was choosing to ignore the Christmas party and still cringing, changed the subject any time anyone brought the nauseating matter up.

For the sake of my wallet, my future and my sanity, I’d come to the conclusion that I had no choice but to stay in on the Saturday night. A few months previous, when I won the position with the interior design firm, I’d been working as a waiter in a busy and popular restaurant in Dublin city. Always believing I was better suited to being served than being the server, when I left my waiting job, I’d been elated at the prospect of never having to serve a rude customer again. Luckily I’d kept the self laudatory thoughts to myself and the manager Gina had remained a friend in the months since I’d stopped working for her. The previous day passing the restaurant and seeing it was quiet, I took the opportunity to relay my sad predicament to the always stylish and sophisticated Gina. The week before Christmas and I was like something out of a bad soap; a twenty two year old with no money, no job, no prospects, no boyfriend, no life.

Gina who had once been a party girl but had turned her life around and become one of the most respected restaurant managers in the industry listened understandingly to my tales of woe. Of course I had an ulterior motive as I moaned to Gina over my cappuccino and she fell for the bait. Gina had been so encouraging when I left the restaurant for my position with the interior design firm and now taking pity on me revealed one of her Polish waitresses was thinking about getting a last minute flight home for Christmas and if she did her shifts would be mine. This was ideal for me as it would hopefully give me just enough money to get the few presents I had to, pay my rent for January and give me some pocket money to party with over the festive season. Working in a restaurant and working nights was far from my first preference but with little else in the way of offers and with nobody else in the queue offering work, I knew that beggars couldn’t be choosers. Thrilled with the possibility of getting some cash together, I promised Gina if she gave me the opportunity, I wouldn’t let her down. True to her word, Gina had texted me earlier on the Saturday and told me she might need me to work the lunch shift on the Sunday. This combined with the fact I had no money was the catalyst to get me to stay in on the always enticing Saturday night.

As I pondered the clock striking nine o’clock I realised this was the first Saturday night I’d stayed sitting in on my lonesome in well I actually couldn’t remember the last time. Flicking through the television stations, I was totally bored and utterly restless and frustrated. There was no two ways about it; I had a terrible goo on me. I was dying for a pint and some company. Trying to forget about the warm, inviting surrounds of a pub, I looked to the television for distraction. Flicking through the stations, nothing would appease me or offer comfort. In fact as I continued to channel surf, I slumped deeper into a depression with every flick. Feeling bluer than an anorexic in a cake shop, I came to the realisation I was so sad because all these movies and programmes had the same Christmas theme of happy people spending the holidays with their loved ones and this just reminded me how completely disastrous my own family life was.

Although the television had been a good friend to me in the past, it was now my mortal enemy and I switched it off regarding it with disdain. A pick me up was most definitely in order. Having sworn off alcohol for the evening and with no narcotics on my possession, I thought one of my favourite movies might cheer me up. Scanning the selection was like scanning over my life. Everything from childhood favourites to dumb gay romantic romps which titillated the closeted teenager adorned the shelves. I needed some humour and escapism but nothing was jumping out at me guaranteeing to make me laugh. There was nothing that would placate this twitching mood!

Catching sight of my mobile phone, I picked it up and slumped on the couch cradling it in my hands. Afraid of distractions, I’d texted Gina back and asked her to call me on the land line to confirm if she needed me to work and had turned off my mobile. I’m the first to admit I’ve no will power. I hate to miss a party or a night out as I’m always convinced I’ll be missing the greatest night of my life. Sadly, I’m fully aware that most of these nights end in a blur so even if it was the best night of my life, usually the next day I can’t recall. Remembering Gina, I convinced myself she must have forgotten to ring me on the land line and had probably left a message on my mobile. Trying hard to suppress my want to go out, I persuaded myself that if there was a message from Gina wanting me to work in the morning then that would be all I would need to be happy to stay in for the rest of the evening. Turning on my mobile, I entered my PIN and was alarmed to be informed by text that fourteen messages were awaiting my attention. Fourteen messages in just over three hours. Wow. I was a popular guy. Silently hoping for offers of dates from handsome strangers, offers of jobs from past bosses who realised they missed me in the office or even an offer of Christmas dinner from my mother who still hadn’t called, I wasn’t completely surprised to discover all fourteen messages were from my dear but completely overly dramatic friend Lizzie.

A stereotypical fiery red head with a heart as big as her personality, Lizzie, for all her drama and madness had been a really good friend to me over the years. Always there to wipe away a tear or talk me through a bad drug experience, I could always count on Lizzie. Listening to her messages, a tone of anxiety bordering on desperation was evident in her voice. Although her messages began quite calmly, by the fourteenth message her anxiety had descended into total chaos with Lizzie crying that she really needed to talk to me but was now convinced I was dead. Feeling slightly guilty, I couldn’t help but smirk; was it really that crazy for someone to turn off their mobile phone for a few hours?

Over the course of the messages, I managed to apprehend that Lizzie had had some sort of argument with her family and was looking for someone to confide the drama in. Arguments between Lizzie and her parents were not a rare occurrence and I was used to her rants bitching about them after another heated row. When you have a drama queen like Lizzie and parents as highly strung and stubborn as Lizzie’s mother and father then there is bound to be World Wars 3, 4 and 5 on a regular basis. However this time there was something different in Lizzie’s tone. In between blurts of Where the fuck are you? she was bemoaning that she needed to talk to me urgently. Listening to the final message received twenty minutes earlier, I discovered Lizzie was actually so worried about me she was on her way over to check I was alright and hadn’t fallen down the stairs and broken my neck or drowned in the bath. Hearing this I knew that Lizzie must be genuinely concerned for my well being as she hadn’t ventured into my little house in over a year. The reason being Lizzie hated my flatmate and other best friend Ryan with a passion ever since the incident with her boyfriend Philip and the candle.

I heard her before I saw her. With the television now on mute, her distinct walk in heels signalled she was approaching my front door. Ever the lady, before she’d even rung the doorbell, she was gawking through the sitting room window. Dressed in a stylish gold shift dress that complimented her shoulder length red curls and hazel eyes to perfection, Lizzie caught sight of me and the frantic expression on her face turned to relief. Clenching her fist she shook it at me with mock ire. Ever the sarcastic friend, I mockingly put my fingers to my mouth and teasingly told her I was shitting myself.

Well are you gonna let me in or what? Lizzie screamed.

Catching sight of the bottle of vodka in her hand, I knew my night was about to take a turn to the dark side and like it or not I was going along for the ride. I wouldn’t mind but it wasn’t even a nice brand of vodka. I could almost deal with fucking my life up further if it was a nice Smirnoff, or a bottle of citrus absolut but Lizzie was never one for labels. More Penneys than Gucci, to Lizzie vodka was vodka and the cheapest brand was just as good as the expensive. I’d told her numerous times that cheap vodka gave me the worst sort of hangover but Lizzie slagged that I was a snob and the fact that I didn’t know when to stop drinking was what gave me the hangover.

You look nice. I observed as she burst through my door out of breath.

Why is your phone off? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. was her opening line as she ignored my compliment, kissed me on both cheeks and handed me the vodka. Waiting for her to catch her breath, I explained I fancied a night with no distractions and had decided to turn my mobile off so I wouldn’t be tempted to go out before enquiring what she expected me to do with the vodka.

Well what do ya bleedin think? she hissed as a response.

I’m not drinking tonight! I explained but choosing not to hear me, she raised her eyes to heaven and darted straight for the kitchen wondering what mixers I had. Turning to me before she disappeared into the kitchen, her tone cautiously dropped and she whispered That wanker isn’t in, is he?

Aware she was referring to my housemate Ryan, I assured her that he was working in the theatre tonight and wouldn’t be home for a few hours. And with a Thank Fuck! she was rattling around in the fridge looking for ice and lemons and grabbing a knife in preparation to slice.

As she returned with what looked like two vodkas and orange juice, a slightly happier Lizzie wondered if I had a light proclaiming she would kill for a fag. Berating her for going back on the dreaded cancer sticks after another failed attempt, I told her she’d have to light it off the toaster and then smoke it outside. Again raising her eyes to heaven, Lizzie turned for the back door and ordered me to follow her out. As the chaos of the past few minutes died down, Lizzie suddenly snapped back into reality as she remembered why she had come over to my house in the first place. Her disposition abruptly switching from manic to sombre, Lizzie gravely exclaimed I was not going