Lost in Arcadia Chloe Price x Reader (Life is strange)

Part 9 The Fool (Redux)

I sat in my dorm room alone in the dark, my mind a whirlwind of emotions. I eventually stopped trying to text Chloe, taking Max's advice to heart. Frustrated and feeling hopeless, I pulled out that fucking piece of paper with the unfinished lyrics and threw it away.

Then, I remembered the bottle I had in my dorm room. It was one I had intended to save and share with Chloe, a gift for a special occasion that now felt like a cruel temptation. The bottle sat in the back of my closet, a silent reminder of the urges I had been fighting to keep at bay. I got up and retrieved it, staring at the label. The dark amber liquid inside seemed to taunt me, promising a temporary escape from the pain and confusion. My hand trembled as I held it, the weight of the bottle feeling like a lead anchor.

Instead of smashing it—something only Nathan gets away with—I opened it up and took a long swig.

The alcohol burned as it went down, matching the burning frustration inside me. I leaned back on my bed, closing my eyes and letting the music wash over me. Each song seemed to echo my feelings, I took another swig, and then another, each one blurring the edges of my thoughts.

But as the alcohol took hold, the fight became harder. My resolve weakened.

Before long, the room started to spin. I stumbled to my feet, nearly knocking over the bedside lamp in the process. My coordination was shot, but I didn't care. I cranked up the volume on my speakers, letting the music drown out everything else my thoughts and the banging on my door. The beats pounded in my head.

I took another swig from the bottle, then another. Soon, I was gulping it down, the taste no longer registering. The room became a haze of swirling colors and sounds. I staggered around, knocking over books and papers, not caring about the mess I was making.

"Fuck this," I muttered, throwing a notebook across the room. It hit the wall with a satisfying thud, pages scattering everywhere. The physical act of throwing something provided a brief, hollow satisfaction, an outlet for the turmoil I couldn't contain.

I collapsed back onto the bed, the bottle slipping from my hand and spilling onto the floor. I stared at the ceiling, my vision swimming. Thoughts of Chloe, our fight, and the look in her eyes tormented me. I couldn't escape the sorrow, so I reached for the bottle again, but it was empty. The realization hit me hard, a fresh wave of desperation washing over me.

"Shit," I slurred, trying to stand. My mind raced with the need for more alcohol, the need to numb the pain further. The room tilted violently as I pushed myself up, but I was determined. I staggered towards the door, hoping to find something more to drink. Each step was a struggle, my legs heavy and uncooperative, my vision a swirling blur of colors and shadows.

As I neared the door, my coordination failed me entirely. My foot caught on the  the rug, and I went down hard, landing with a jarring thud. The impact knocked the breath out of me, and I lay there, the cold carpet pressing against my cheek. How is carpet cold? I wondered, my mind drifting in a haze.

The darkness of the room felt suffocating, closing in on me as I lay helpless and alone. I wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but the words wouldn't come. My body felt heavy, my mind clouded by the cocktail of substances that blurred the edges of my consciousness. I was trapped in a prison of my own making, the walls closing in with each passing moment.

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mix of frustration, guilt, and overwhelming sadness. I had let Chloe down, and now I was letting myself down I clung to the fleeting memories of Chloe. Her laughter, her eyes, the warmth of her presence—all of it slipped through my fingers like sand. The darkness closed in. It was suffocating I surrendered to it, my last thoughts a plea