Marco. The name echoes through his head, inspiring a sinking feeling in the pool of his gut. The alcohol that was soothing his nerves dissipates prematurely, leaving exactly as his best friend did.

Within a matter of seconds, he leaves the party and sits on the curb outside, hands pressed against his ears to block out the shrieking ring piercing through the autumn air. 'Pourquoi pas moi?' He wonders, pushing back the tears that gather on his lash line.