The hardwood felt wonderfully rigid against his spine. A dull, uncomfortable rubbing that aligned perfectly with his current mental state.
As a child, he would have gotten what he wanted. Spoiled from birth, he wasn’t part of a wealthy linage, but rather a collective guilt is what provided him with anything he desired. Guilt of his family for the broken home he was born into. Despite this, he wasn’t a typical spoiled kid. He didn’t squander his things. If anything, he valued them too much.
Things were different now. Things he wanted couldn’t simply be acquired or even taken by force. He had no option but to work for it. But after a year of doing just that, he was tired. Tired of trying. Tired of doing everything right. Tired of blowing off others for the dream of one. Tired of being alone.
He couldn’t find a proper shot glass. It didn’t matter really, but it just felt like one more fuck up he managed to have. He chuckled as he watched the liquid swirl around in the commemorative Disneyland cup. Someone better would have thought of a clever joke here. Or maybe he was just too tired to care. Downing each cup as quickly as he could, he felt the burning move from his head to his chest. It’s not as scary as he imagined. It felt like the night before a school trip. Excited for what may happen. Happy to be doing something different.
Slipping in and out of conciseness, his hand paws at his phone. Knocking the empty bottle out of the way, he clutched the overpriced alarm clock, and began dialing everyone on his contact list.
Not many people are awake at 4am it seems. The few who are, got a spewing of nonsense and sobbing for their trouble. It didn’t matter what was said. He wouldn’t remember anyway. And to be honest, neither would anyone else. Exhausting the list, he threw his phone across the room and reached for the final bottle he’d ever hold.
The white tablets spilled over the floor. A prescribed avalanche of pills designed to solve problems. He was so tired of waking up with dread. Of being inches away from the only person that had him happy. Of not being good enough. His inflamed eyes moved to the nightstand, making sure the paper was still there. He wanted to leave an impression. He wanted so much more.
As tears ran down his face, he took one last deep breath from the open window. The cold, rainy night air still made him feel alive. Just then a fluttering noise zipped past the window. He craned his head towards the blur in the corner of his eye. Peering down, he sees a yellow phone book falling towards the wet grass below.