Random (The Wanted)

2:39 A.M. - Nathan Sykes

He rubbed his temples in a circular motion as he slouched over the bar finishing his third beer. It was the fifth night this week he was at this utterly familiar and all around draining bar. As the bar tender handed him another beer, Nathan sighed, downing almost half of the bottle in one sip, burning his throat with the thick alcohol.

He stared absentmindedly at the wall cluttered with empty wine glasses that he couldn't help compare to the emptiness of his entire self. He left money on the bar as he took his keys and drunkly walked out of the place. He started his car and couldn't bother to think about how he shouldn't have been driving despite the fact he didn't have enough alcohol in him to mess with his mind; it was the heartache and depression that he knew was too much for him to drive, but he did it anyway.

He parked the car in the driveway as he entered the house and he dropped his keys and jacket. Stumbling into the kitchen he ripped the refrigerator door open grabbing two more bottles of beer. He pulled the tops off, sitting at the table as he continued to drink away all of his problems.

The love of his life died last month of a car accident, he still hadn't forgiven the killer of his lover. The only thing on his mind was how he could possibly be with her for the rest of eternity without his death seeming like suicide.

Not only did a great part of his world fall apart, but fame was ruining him. His band was on hiatus, he thought he could become a solo artist until they resumed as a five. All he ever got was hate from everyone that WERE his fans. Reading those tweets and comments each night ate away at him and pulled him further and further underneath the water until breathing was no longer an option. Everything was falling apart; everything was over.

Once those two bottles were finished to the last drop, he pulled out two more and then after that, two more. Well beyond drunk now, he went upstairs to his room. The doors to his balcony were open, letting in a gentle midnight breeze. Drunkly, yet again, he stumbled his way to the open doors standing out over his balcony: right over a busy street. Perfect. He thought to himself.

As he inched his way closer to the edge he stepped one foot over, but pulled back. Knowing that wouldn't be quick and painless made him pull back. Not to mention, that would definitely look like suicide.

He struggled to get himself back inside as he went into the bathroom. He had two options; cut himself to death, or overdose.

Opening the rickety medicine cabinet, he found a bottle of painkillers from his surgery in April. There was still half the bottle left; they were the strongest pills he had ever had.

Next; razors. He pulled out three of his saved blades, from when he had his last breakdown. He didn't even care that this method would look more like suicide than the last, he just wanted to end it. Making sure they were sharp, he dragged one down the length of his arm, he repeated this motion until blood poured out of his arm, indication it was deep enough.

He swallowed ten, maybe twelve of his painkillers knowing his life was over within minutes. He began to feel dizzy as he collapsed on the floor.

Time of death, 2:39 a.m.
R.I.P. Nathan James Sykes