Chapter 1

Chapter 1


Dizzy. Sweating. Nauseous. The white powder sprinkled out on the bedside table made me realise that this would be my last hit. My clothes were soaked through with sweat and the last thing I remember before passing out was the faint glow of the sun as it was setting.
The taste of vomit at the back of my throat kept me conscious long enough for me to have a few last sane moments. This wasn’t the trip I planned for and I was trying to remember the reasons for coming here in the first place. Before I could get the answer I was being sick onto my chest and arm. It was mainly whisky from what I could tell but at least it was warm.
Here I was, in the middle of Spain, in my hotel room with nothing but the thoughts of violence and brutality going through my mind. The violence of the streets and the underworld that the tourists from around the world would never know about. I only just touched on the level of power that this community had but what I had witnessed was enough to make my darkest dreams seem like sweet fairytales. A foreign country can be strange see, because we’re not so adaptable to the unknown. The unknown territories of the foreign land can mean disastrous things for a tourist. Once you let yourself go and allow the unknown to enter into your life all kinds of possibilities can open up.
The sun was shining through the curtains that hung in front of the floor to ceiling window. I followed the trace of the sun beam as it crept along the carpet and up onto the bed, touching my big toe that was poking out of the sheet. This was such a nice room when I arrived; it probably served as a nice family room for a holiday that would be remembered forever. The balcony overlooking a nearby beach would have made a great album picture which they would look at in twenty years and remember how great it was when… But this was my time now, my room and my holiday and yes, I’ll admit that it wasn’t the holiday of dreams but I’ll always remember it.
         As I lay there in amongst the crisp, white bed sheets I couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the swirling patterns of paint that coated the ceiling. The cream coloured walls screamed elegance but yet the hotel resembled something closer to a dank basement than a deluxe suite. There was a mini-bar, now empty of course, and it was now just a place to keep the two bags of cocaine I had stolen and the gun that had worked its way into my possession. It was a six wheel silver Smith and Wesson with a rubber grip handle; it was loaded with five rounds and completely illegal. Obviously most of my trip hadn’t exactly been legitimate but if I was caught with a gun and the white devil dust I would surely not see daylight again for a long time. The last thing I wanted was to be caught up in some investigation as the stereotypical tourists that come to a foreign country to do illegal drugs.
         How the gun came into my possession is a different story altogether and an even bigger story as to how there were only five rounds left. The barrel smelt like gunpowder and had lost some of its fine quality shine at the nib. I remember the first time I held the weapon; it was brand new and smelt of oil and grease. It had a shimmer to it that I thought I would never see from a gun. The bullets were finely crafted and had a bronze tip to them. The precision of firing the thing was almost as skilful to do as it would have been to create the weapon. There was definitely a distinct sense of power and testosterone pumping though your body that was unlike anything else when holding that gun.
The focus of my emotions was nothing more than trying to forget Sol and his whole crew that he had looking for me right now. It wasn’t like I was in such a state as to not walk but I was sure they would be looking for me at the airport so leaving wasn’t an option right now. They would never find me here as they never knew the location of my hotel but that still didn’t comfort me to much.
         There was a strange smell to the air that I couldn’t seem to get used to. The window was already open so there was no point in trying to rid the room of it, I would just have to bare it. The smell could be coming from the strange moist patch that was on the carpet by the door from the night before. I had accidentally vomited on the floor when I came home last night then crawled into bed and drank the rest of the whiskey that was sat on my bedside table. It must have been somewhere around seven o’clock when I passed out because I could hear the waves crashing against the rocks outside. I had been here for two weeks and never been to bed before midnight so I knew the rhythms of the tide. When living in a dense city it is easy to forget the simple things such as the sound of the ocean but here I had been living in Spain for two weeks and had not once appreciated it until now.
         The streets were quiet and I could just about hear the homeless bums on the streets outside. They would congregate at the entrance to the hotel, begging for money from late night students. They knew they had more of a chance late at night as everyone who was out at this hour would either be drunk or slowly getting that way. As for me, I was already tucked up in my bedroom although admittedly not in the best state when it comes to health.
         If this was my delusional state and if in fact I had reached the end then nothing mattered now and my mind would be overcome with the fear I felt in my stomach. The fear that I had finally drank to much alcohol and reached a peak that my liver would never come back from. On the other hand, I could just be in need of a tremendous amount of sleep that I had lost over the past three days. I had got lost in a drug and alcohol binge and time seemed like it would go on forever but like everything that feeling soon came to an end. It was now glazing over me in the form of paranoia, anxiety and the feeling of panic. The paranoia was real, I did have people trying to kill me but the anxiety and panic was all mine. The fear of being ill in a place far from home and the inability to speak the language or feel safe was soon becoming apparent to me. The same feelings crept up on me when I was leaving for the trip. I remember I was sat on the plane next to a young couple and right from the take off they were all over each other like a forest fire. The feeling of being alone and scared of everything around me lasted only for a brief moment. I was slowly becoming drunk as the plane flew through turbulence and I was becoming closer to my destination, one mile at a time. Before the flight even started I was already heavily intoxicated with three small glasses of whiskey and ice. By the time I was half way through the flight my jaw was floppy and the drinks we’re poured with less and less mixer.
         I don’t fly well. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that flying was the highlight of the entire trip because honestly, it’s probably my most hated form of travel. You’re cramped into a space the size of a dog house and you’re expected to sit there for hours at a time. The stewardesses are not interested in anything except to get everyone on and off the flight as quickly as possible. You can see the look in their eyes when you call them over. That look of annoyance and hatred builds in their veins as they tower over you and ask ‘how can I help you sir?’ You look back in sheer panic and think to yourself that this whole ordeal could have been avoided if you simply hadn’t pushed that button. ‘Another drink please!’ I command, putting on my most sober voice so they will actually give me another drink. The reason for my constant drinking during a flight is so that I can avoid all the little annoyances that are concealed within this small confinement. But mostly on this flight alone I am trying to drown out the sound of the screaming baby just two rows back from me. I caught a glimpse of the parents as I got up to go to the toilet. I don’t understand why the parents won’t simply feed the damn thing or help it in some way. Instead they seem contempt to simply try and amuse the small thing by pulling faces and talking over the cries for help.
         Eventually I was able to fall asleep for the remaining part of the journey and I awoke to the screech followed by the vibrations of the wheels hitting the runway. By the time I gathered my senses people were already leaving the plane. I gathered my self together and slowly left, trying not to stagger down the aisle to much.
        The next incident that occurred on my travels was trying to get my luggage back. I was stuck at the airport for approximately three hours while they tried to locate it. In the end I gave up and decided that I could either buy the clothes that I needed or simply not change until my bag showed up. So after a two hour flight from London to Spain I had finally arrived and leaving the airport I could feel the scorching heat difference. Luckily I was wearing a red and blue Hawaiian shirt with a white vest underneath. It was only when I felt this heat that I finally remembered why I had come on this trip.