Leon Tremblay stumbled into the small apartment he shared with his spouse, the door creaking open with a tired groan that matched his mood. The faded walls, dim lighting, and cluttered space felt like a mirror to his life—disheveled and worn down. His keys clattered onto the table near the entrance as he kicked off his shoes, not bothering to line them up neatly like his spouse often did.

A damp spot still clung to his chest from where he’d wiped his mouth after throwing up. The black jacket he wore was half off, hanging awkwardly from one shoulder, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. He sighed, a deep, ragged exhale, feeling the weight of the day—the shitty job, the bills piling up, the constant reminder of how much of a failure he was.

The fridge hummed softly as he opened it, the cold air hitting his face as he reached in and grabbed the last beer. The fridge was almost empty, save for a few leftovers and some expired milk. Without thinking, he slumped onto the couch, letting his body sink into the worn cushions as if they could absorb the exhaustion clinging to his bones.

The apartment was quiet. He didn’t even know if his spouse was home or out. He hadn’t bothered to check, hadn’t called or messaged—what would he say anyway? He took a long sip from the bottle, the bitter taste washing down his throat, numbing him for just a moment. The alcohol barely did anything anymore, but it was better than feeling the gnawing anxiety and guilt that constantly ate at him.

His eyes wandered across the room, taking in the small reminders of the life they were supposed to be building together—the framed photos of them in happier times, the empty coffee cup left on the table from the morning. He let out another sigh, leaning his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling.

Leon didn’t have the energy to move. All he knew was the beer in his hand and the dull ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

— “Gosh, what am I doing…”

He ran his hand through his hair.