HYSTERIA

FORTY SEVEN - CRAZY TRAIN

CRAZY TRAIN - OZZY OSBOURNE

"Mental wounds still screaming, driving me insane, I'm going off the rails on a crazy train."

HARRY STYLES

I wake up in a bed that isn't my own, the sheets tangled around me like a web of regret. The soft morning light filters through the drawn curtains, illuminating a scene I've become all too familiar with. Strangers lie scattered around the room, their bodies entwined, some still asleep, others groggy and blinking in the haze of the early hour. My heart sinks as I piece together the fragments of the night before, a blur of loud music, sex, and the taste of whiskey burning down my throat.

It's been weeks since I last saw Ariel, and since then, my life has spiraled into a reckless cycle of self-destruction. Each night is the same—chasing the high of oblivion, seeking solace in the arms of strangers who don't know my name and couldn't care less about my broken heart. I roll over, grimacing as the sunlight pierces through my hangover, and I catch a glimpse of a girl I don't recognize, her hair tousled, her eyes still closed.

I can't even remember her name. It's just one of many faces, fleeting connections that mean nothing to me. It's like I'm trying to fill a void that grows deeper with each encounter, each drink. I grab my phone from the nightstand, scrolling through notifications that barely register. Texts from Niall and Louis, both checking in, but I've avoided their calls, too ashamed to admit how far I've fallen.

I know it's bad when even Louis is messaging me. We had a huge falling out, words I never thought would come out of my mouth, so hateful and aggressive, targeted at him.

"Fucking hell," I mutter under my breath, rubbing a hand over my face. The reality of my life sinks in, I'm a joke. I can't get over her, and yet here I am, pretending like this is normal. The laughter and moans of last night are distant echoes, memories I can barely grasp. I get up, slipping out of the tangled sheets, careful not to wake anyone.

As I step into the bathroom, the sight of myself in the mirror is almost unrecognizable. My hair is a wild mess, eyes bloodshot and heavy. The reflection staring back at me shows a man who's lost, drowning in his own sorrow, desperately seeking escape. I splash water on my face, trying to clear the fog in my mind, but it doesn't help. I still see her—the way she looked that night, happy and carefree, kissing that guy like I never meant anything to her– because I never did mean anything to her.

I remember his face. I've seen him around Glass Hearts before. Bonnie mentioned that he's the moonshine guy, but I guess I was too dense to realize that he was trying to get to Ariel too. Fuck, is that why she was so flustered towards the end? Because of him?

I grab a drink from the sink, a half-empty bottle of rum, and take a long swig, feeling the burn slide down my throat. It's a temporary fix, the only thing that dulls the ache in my chest, but I know it's not a solution. I'm just prolonging the inevitable, running from feelings I can't face.

After another drink, I stumble back into the main room. Laughter and voices fill the air, but it sounds hollow. I feel like an outsider in a world I used to belong to, trapped in this cycle of empty encounters and wild nights. Each person here is just another reminder of what I've lost, and I can't help but feel a wave of anger rise up inside me.

I pour another drink, trying to drown out the memories of Ariel, of our time together—how she made me feel like I could be more, like I could love without fear. But that feels like a fantasy now, a cruel joke played by fate. She's moved on, and I'm left here, a ghost of the person I used to be.

With every drink I take, the anger morphs into something else—desperation, perhaps. I pour another glass, desperately trying to drown out memories that won't leave me alone. The nights blur together, a collage of strangers and loud music, but no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the image of Ariel's face, the way her smile lit up a room, or how it felt when she kissed me, when she touched me.