u/FoggyGlassEye

It's easy to hate yourself when you've earned it, when you've burned every bridge, poisoned every relationship. Eventually you look around, see that no one followed you to rock bottom, and think to yourself yeah, that's about right.

I remember my rock bottom very clearly. Broke into some storage units at this place I knew didn’t have cameras, hawked everything valuable I could find. Scored the junk near a bike path, so I went down that way to find somewhere quiet. There was a secluded spot a little ways off the path, near a stream, so I got off my bike and set my stuff down.

I had more than enough for one dose, but not quite enough for two, so I decided on a whim to take it all at once. I knew it could be too much, but the first thought I had when I realized that I was rolling the dice was screw it, not like anyone’s gonna miss me.

I was filling the needle when I heard him, that familiar, gravely voice. "Now that's the way to go," he said, taking a seat next to me. "Blue lips, head spinning, trying to breathe but you just can't manage to suck in enough air. Nice view, too."

I felt no warmth from his presence, because he wasn’t there. Couldn’t be. We’d buried him.

But I was a lonely guy, so I responded, knowing I was talking to no one at all. "Was it peaceful when you did it?"

"No," he admitted. "I had a bad trip, started barricading the motel room door like I thought something was coming for me. The end, turns out. Died facedown on the carpet, in a puddle of puke so impressive I might have drowned, now that I think about it."

"We missed you," I said, brave enough to get the words out but not to look at him. Instead, I looked down at the needle. "I was in a bad way, total spiral, so I didn’t tell you that at your funeral. I'm sorry. But it messed everyone up. Not just me."

He laughed, a moist wheeze that made me shiver. "I don't care about that. I'm just here for the end. It's the best part; I just had to get front row seats."

"What?" I asked, turning to look at him in surprise. What stared back at me wasn't the man I knew, but a mass of pale, decayed flesh covered in blue veins.

"Yeah," he said, smile widening. "This is the end. No more pain, just one more hit and it's over."

I dropped the needle and got to my feet. "Wait, I don't want this. I saw how hard it was on everyone when you died. I don't wanna do that to them."

He shook his head. "No! A few minutes ago, you didn't even care! You don't want to suffer anymore, right?" He picked up the needle and held it to me. "Take it. Take the hit."

The needle called to me from his palm. "Even if I did, I wouldn't take all of it now," I lied. "I don't want to."

"We both know that if you start pushing this plunger down, there's no stopping until it's all gone." He laughed again, then smiled playfully. "Feel free to try and prove me wrong, though. Maybe you’re strong enough. The first junkie in the world capable of practicing restraint."

I got back on my bike. "No, I can't do it. I won't."

He laughed as I rode back to the path. "See you at the relapse, then."

It's been over a year since then, and I haven't used since. Not yet, at least. Not ever, God willing. It's not easy, but I manage.

Been working on repairing some bridges, making up for lost time- and for past mistakes. It's difficult, as it should be.

I like to think that I hadn’t imagined it. I can’t know that, but I can believe. Sometimes I wonder if this is what he wanted. He couldn't save himself, but maybe, by reminding me how hard it was when he died, he was able to save his son.

It's easy to hate yourself when you've earned it, when you've burned every bridge, poisoned every relationship. Eventually you look around, see that no one followed you to rock bottom, and think to yourself yeah, that's about right.

I remember my rock bottom very clearly. Broke into some storage units at this place I knew didn’t have cameras, hawked everything valuable I could find. Scored the junk near a bike path, so I went down that way to find somewhere quiet. There was a secluded spot a little ways off the path, near a stream, so I got off my bike and set my stuff down.

I had more than enough for one dose, but not quite enough for two, so I decided on a whim to take it all at once. I knew it could be too much, but the first thought I had when I realized that I was rolling the dice was screw it, not like anyone’s gonna miss me.

I was filling the needle when I heard him, that familiar, gravely voice. "Now that's the way to go," he said, taking a seat next to me. "Blue lips, head spinning, trying to breathe but you just can't manage to suck in enough air. Nice view, too."

I felt no warmth from his presence, because he wasn’t there. Couldn’t be. We’d buried him.

But I was a lonely guy, so I responded, knowing I was talking to no one at all. "Was it peaceful when you did it?"

"No," he admitted. "I had a bad trip, started barricading the motel room door like I thought something was coming for me. The end, turns out. Died facedown on the carpet, in a puddle of puke so impressive I might have drowned, now that I think about it."

"We missed you," I said, brave enough to get the words out but not to look at him. Instead, I looked down at the needle. "I was in a bad way, total spiral, so I didn’t tell you that at your funeral. I'm sorry. But it messed everyone up. Not just me."

He laughed, a moist wheeze that made me shiver. "I don't care about that. I'm just here for the end. It's the best part; I just had to get front row seats."

"What?" I asked, turning to look at him in surprise. What stared back at me wasn't the man I knew, but a mass of pale, decayed flesh covered in blue veins.

"Yeah," he said, smile widening. "This is the end. No more pain, just one more hit and it's over."

I dropped the needle and got to my feet. "Wait, I don't want this. I saw how hard it was on everyone when you died. I don't wanna do that to them."

He shook his head. "No! A few minutes ago, you didn't even care! You don't want to suffer anymore, right?" He picked up the needle and held it to me. "Take it. Take the hit."

The needle called to me from his palm. "Even if I did, I wouldn't take all of it now," I lied. "I don't want to."

"We both know that if you start pushing this plunger down, there's no stopping until it's all gone." He laughed again, then smiled playfully. "Feel free to try and prove me wrong, though. Maybe you’re strong enough. The first junkie in the world capable of practicing restraint."

I got back on my bike. "No, I can't do it. I won't."

He laughed as I rode back to the path. "See you at the relapse, then."

It's been over a year since then, and I haven't used since. Not yet, at least. Not ever, God willing. It's not easy, but I manage.

Been working on repairing some bridges, making up for lost time- and for past mistakes. It's difficult, as it should be.

I like to think that I hadn’t imagined it. I can’t know that, but I can believe. Sometimes I wonder if this is what he wanted. He couldn't save himself, but maybe, by reminding me how hard it was when he died, he was able to save his son.

Sunny Allen didn’t want to be a star.

Even before the pressure of her auditions or the weight of responsibility that came with them. Before the endless hours of practice and rehearsals that dominated her childhood. Before the countless stories of how incredible her mother was on stage or how tragic her fall from grace was. Long before seeing how demanding- how cruel- her mother could truly be when she was defied.

Sunny didn’t know what she wanted, but to be fair, she’d never been asked. After all, she was the Luna Allen’s daughter. She was Sunny; shining was her birthright.

Perhaps this was the first time Sunny considered it, alone in the hallway leading to the stage, her father, the musical director and the spotlight waiting eagerly for her. She stared vaguely in the direction of the double doors to the stage, past the other girls and their attentive parents, letting muscle memory guide her stretches while her mind wandered aimlessly.

Her eyes began to wander as well, to the other end of the hall, to the parking lot. I don’t wanna be here, she thought, immediately tensing up, as though expecting to be struck. Her hands were balled up, she realized, unballing them with some effort. Finally, as her electric fear turned to a sort of anxious excitement, she dared to think something dangerous again: It’s not like Mom can make me do this anymore. She’s dead.

Oh, that one was wicked. Luna had a sixth sense for that sort of thing, for her daughter thinking such seditious thoughts. More than once Sunny had been walloped for the high crime of letting something unsanctioned by her mother divert her attention. The mere notion of not doing exactly what Luna wanted was terrifying, but as more horrible thoughts began to creep through- Dad might let me quit, I’m a teenager and I don’t even like dancing- Sunny began to smile.

The smile faded when Sunny’s name was called. A self-serious woman with a clipboard near the double doors began to approach her, and while she knew that she didn’t want to audition anymore, the best Sunny could muster on short notice was an excuse. “I need to touch up my makeup,” she lied. “Can someone go before me?”

The woman checked her clipboard, then nodded before calling another girl’s name. Sunny thanked her before retreating into a nearby dressing room.

Thankfully, the room was empty. Sunny collapsed into a seat before the vanity, letting out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Okay,” she whispered, eyes shut, trying to will the tension away. After taking a few slow, steady breaths- a method she realized with some guilt that her mother had taught her- Sunny finally allowed herself to say it out loud.

“I never wanted to do this,” she said to the empty room. It was little more than a whisper, but still progress. “M-m-mom made me do this, but s-she’s gone, and I don’t have to anymore. I’ll just leave.”

“The fuck you will.”

With a start, Sunny opened her eyes. Luna Allen was standing behind her, icy blue glare a cold fury that met her reflection. She turned around, and no one was there, but as Sunny faced the vanity mirror again, Luna was standing behind her.

“Mom? B-but-”

“No ‘buts’,” Luna said, looking down at her daughter’s reflection with disgust. “I always knew you were weak, but this is a new low. A good daughter would have redoubled her efforts in the wake of her mother’s untimely passing, but here you are, running away from your future the first chance you got. I’m rolling in my freshly filled grave, Sunny. Is that what you want?”

“No!”, Sunny denied, covering her eyes with her hands.

“After all the work I put into you. What a waste.” Sunny felt an intense cold wrap around her wrists and pull her hands from her face. An odd sensation, but she knew the shape of her mother’s hands well, so she didn’t fight it. She looked back at the vanity, back to Luna. “You could have been great.”

“I never wanted to be great,” Sunny confessed. She felt the grips on her wrists tighten, but she continued, defiant despite all. “This was always about you!”

Her mother let go of her, taking a step back. A brief flash of confusion quickly gave way to sadness. Luna’s eyes softened. “You think me so cliche? The bitter old woman trying to relive her glory days through her progeny? I wanted the world for you, and I knew I could show you how to take it. My way, yes, but that was all I could teach you. I never wanted you to be me, I wanted you to outdo me, Sunny. To outshine me. Ever since you were born.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Sunny whispered back. She had been hurt by her mother’s death, at the suddenness of it all, but hadn’t shed a tear for Luna until that moment. “I’m so sorry.”

A cold, invisible thumb brushed her tear away. “It’s alright, Sunny,” Luna cooed gently. “I just need you to tell me one thing, okay? Full honesty: do you want to quit?”

Sunny nodded, feeling her mother’s ethereal hands rest on her shoulders. “Yes,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

The grip on her shoulders tightened. “You were always so disappointing,” her mother muttered, and a wave of cold began to envelop her from behind. Sunny’s eyes opened only briefly, long enough to see her mother’s reflection envelop her own.

She closed her eyes.

And Luna opened them.

She checked her new reflection in the mirror, happy that her daughter hadn’t smudged anything too badly, and quickly touched up before heading back out into the hallway. “I’m ready now, thank you,” she informed the woman with the clipboard.

There was no guilt, no regret, only anticipation. She was alive again, and the spotlight was hers for the taking.

Sunny Allen didn’t want to be a star.

Even before the pressure of her auditions or the weight of responsibility that came with them. Before the endless hours of practice and rehearsals that dominated her childhood. Before the countless stories of how incredible her mother was on stage or how tragic her fall from grace was. Long before seeing how demanding- how cruel- her mother could truly be when she was defied.

Sunny didn’t know what she wanted, but to be fair, she’d never been asked. After all, she was the Luna Allen’s daughter. She was Sunny; shining was her birthright.

Perhaps this was the first time Sunny considered it, alone in the hallway leading to the stage, her father, the musical director and the spotlight waiting eagerly for her. She stared vaguely in the direction of the double doors to the stage, past the other girls and their attentive parents, letting muscle memory guide her stretches while her mind wandered aimlessly.

Her eyes began to wander as well, to the other end of the hall, to the parking lot. I don’t wanna be here, she thought, immediately tensing up, as though expecting to be struck. Her hands were balled up, she realized, unballing them with some effort. Finally, as her electric fear turned to a sort of anxious excitement, she dared to think something dangerous again: It’s not like Mom can make me do this anymore. She’s dead.

Oh, that one was wicked. Luna had a sixth sense for that sort of thing, for her daughter thinking such seditious thoughts. More than once Sunny had been walloped for the high crime of letting something unsanctioned by her mother divert her attention. The mere notion of not doing exactly what Luna wanted was terrifying, but as more horrible thoughts began to creep through- Dad might let me quit, I’m a teenager and I don’t even like dancing- Sunny began to smile.

The smile faded when Sunny’s name was called. A self-serious woman with a clipboard near the double doors began to approach her, and while she knew that she didn’t want to audition anymore, the best Sunny could muster on short notice was an excuse. “I need to touch up my makeup,” she lied. “Can someone go before me?”

The woman checked her clipboard, then nodded before calling another girl’s name. Sunny thanked her before retreating into a nearby dressing room.

Thankfully, the room was empty. Sunny collapsed into a seat before the vanity, letting out a long, shaky breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Okay,” she whispered, eyes shut, trying to will the tension away. After taking a few slow, steady breaths- a method she realized with some guilt that her mother had taught her- Sunny finally allowed herself to say it out loud.

“I never wanted to do this,” she said to the empty room. It was little more than a whisper, but still progress. “M-m-mom made me do this, but s-she’s gone, and I don’t have to anymore. I’ll just leave.”

“The fuck you will.”

With a start, Sunny opened her eyes. Luna Allen was standing behind her, icy blue glare a cold fury that met her reflection. She turned around, and no one was there, but as Sunny faced the vanity mirror again, Luna was standing behind her.

“Mom? B-but-”

“No ‘buts’,” Luna said, looking down at her daughter’s reflection with disgust. “I always knew you were weak, but this is a new low. A good daughter would have redoubled her efforts in the wake of her mother’s untimely passing, but here you are, running away from your future the first chance you got. I’m rolling in my freshly filled grave, Sunny. Is that what you want?”

“No!”, Sunny denied, covering her eyes with her hands.

“After all the work I put into you. What a waste.” Sunny felt an intense cold wrap around her wrists and pull her hands from her face. An odd sensation, but she knew the shape of her mother’s hands well, so she didn’t fight it. She looked back at the vanity, back to Luna. “You could have been great.”

“I never wanted to be great,” Sunny confessed. She felt the grips on her wrists tighten, but she continued, defiant despite all. “This was always about you!”

Her mother let go of her, taking a step back. A brief flash of confusion quickly gave way to sadness. Luna’s eyes softened. “You think me so cliche? The bitter old woman trying to relive her glory days through her progeny? I wanted the world for you, and I knew I could show you how to take it. My way, yes, but that was all I could teach you. I never wanted you to be me, I wanted you to outdo me, Sunny. To outshine me. Ever since you were born.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Sunny whispered back. She had been hurt by her mother’s death, at the suddenness of it all, but hadn’t shed a tear for Luna until that moment. “I’m so sorry.”

A cold, invisible thumb brushed her tear away. “It’s alright, Sunny,” Luna cooed gently. “I just need you to tell me one thing, okay? Full honesty: do you want to quit?”

Sunny nodded, feeling her mother’s ethereal hands rest on her shoulders. “Yes,” she admitted, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

The grip on her shoulders tightened. “You were always so disappointing,” her mother muttered, and a wave of cold began to envelop her from behind. Sunny’s eyes opened only briefly, long enough to see her mother’s reflection envelop her own.

She closed her eyes.

And Luna opened them.

She checked her new reflection in the mirror, happy that her daughter hadn’t smudged anything too badly, and quickly touched up before heading back out into the hallway. “I’m ready now, thank you,” she informed the woman with the clipboard.

There was no guilt, no regret, only anticipation. She was alive again, and the spotlight was hers for the taking.