I don’t remember when it started going wrong. Maybe it always was.

My name is William. People think they know me — rich parents, big house, no rules. They think it must be easy. Truth is, it just means no one’s around to stop you.

Tonight I’m at this bar downtown. Same place as always. Dark lights, loud music, people pretending they’re having the time of their lives. I’ve already had too much to drink, but that’s kind of the point. I don’t come here to feel better. I come here to feel nothing.

There’s a line of coke on the table in the bathroom. Not even mine. I just lean over and take it like it belongs to me. No one says anything. They never do.

I look at myself in the mirror after. My eyes are wide, almost shaking. I grin, but it doesn’t look real. Nothing about me feels real anymore.

Back at the bar, I spot a girl. Blonde. Doesn’t matter what her name is — it never does. I walk over, say something stupid, something confident. It works. It always works.

That’s the problem.

We laugh, we drink more. I tell her things that sound deep but mean nothing. She looks at me like I’m someone worth knowing. I almost feel bad. Almost.

But I don’t stop.

I never stop.

Hours pass like minutes. Or maybe minutes feel like hours. I can’t tell anymore. Everything is blurry — music, voices, faces. Someone hands me another drink. Someone else offers more coke. I take both.

Because why not?

My phone buzzes. It’s my mom. Or maybe my dad. I don’t check. They’re probably in another country anyway, pretending to care through a text message. I silence it and shove the phone back in my pocket.

I don’t need them. That’s what I tell myself.

But standing there, surrounded by people, I’ve never felt more alone.

The girl is still next to me. She’s talking, but I’m not listening. I’m thinking about how tomorrow will feel. The headache. The regret. The emptiness.

And still… I know I’ll do it again.

Because when everything slows down — when the music stops and I’m left with my own thoughts — that’s when it gets unbearable.

So I keep going.

Another line. Another drink. Another lie.

I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar. For a second, I don’t recognize the person staring back at me.

And honestly?

I’m not sure I want to.