I found myself surrounded in darkness, a thick shroud that weighed down on my senses. A dull ache pulsed through my head, and when I attempted to blink, my vision swam in and out of focus. For a moment, the unsettling thought crossed my mind that I might be dead, yet an instinctive whisper within me insisted I was still alive—at least for the time being.

  As my eyes adjusted, a faint glow broke through the darkness, revealing a light-colored wooden door in the distance. When I finally pushed the door open, I was met with the colorful chaos of a child’s bedroom.

  Superhero posters plastered the walls in all their vibrant glory, while a gentle light emanated from a mobile hanging above a baby’s crib. Stars glimmered in the dark ceiling, their luminescence a comforting reminder of childhood dreams, yet everything felt unsettlingly familiar.

  As I stepped forward, the pieces began to fit together. A closer look at the crib confirmed my suspicions—it was undeniably mine, and the tiny bundle inside, swaddled tightly in soft fabric, was me. A flood of memories surged forth, visceral and poignant: my parents locked in heated arguments, the way my grandparents had been the only constants in my turbulent childhood.

  It struck me like a jolt of reality—I was trapped in a nightmare of my past.

  With a mix of dread and defiance, I opened the door wider. Through its opening, I could see my mother and father in the adjacent room, a tense silence hanging in the air.

  Their attire screamed of an impending night out—my mother donned a form-fitting dress that clung to her frame, while my father adjusted his jacket with an air of indifference.

  The baby started crying.

  The sound cut through the haze like a knife, and I watched as my mother instinctively turned toward my room, her gaze locked on the noise as if she could sense my presence. She stopped abruptly, her face painting a picture of confusion.

  “Leo? Sweetie, is that you?” She called out, her voice both hopeful and afraid.

  I clenched my fists, fighting the tide of anger that had been building within me for years. “It’s Max. No one calls me that name anymore,” I shot back, my tone sharp and defiant.

  My father’s eyes widened in surprise when he spotted me. “Leo. My, you’ve grown up,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of nostalgia and guilt.

  I brushed past both of them, ignoring the weight of their stares. “Getting ready to leave me again, I see, I can see why grandpa was keen to take me away from this place.” I pressed on, bitterness coloring my words.

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  My mother’s expression crumbled as she stumbled over her thoughts. “Leo... We... I’m sorry,” she stammered.

  “It’s a bit late for sorry, don’t you think?” I retorted, the hurt echoing in my voice.

  “Leo, you’ve got to understand how much stress we were put through,” my father finally ventured, his tone defensive yet vulnerable.

  In the silence that followed, they exchanged glances, a wordless conversation passing between them. Finally, it was my father who mustered the courage to explain. I braced myself for the truth—a truth that I had long awaited but dreaded equally.

  “We were excited to have a son, really we were, but the main issue with you was...”

  “Go ahead, say it. I was a mistake.”

  His eyes looked in a different direction; they knew I was right.

  I had enough of standing here, and I turned my back to them and proceeded to walk out the door. The door led into the black void again. I could hear the voices of my mother and father begging me to come back.

  I pressed on through the dimly lit corridors, the passageways stretching endlessly before me, a maze that seemed to pulse with a life of its own. With each step I took, the walls began to morph, their textures shifting the air laden with the faint scent of alcohol and nostalgia. Soon, I found myself standing in the all-too-familiar bar Afterlife.

  There, across the bar was the woman who put me in this twisted nightmare I found myself trapped in. Her soft hazel colored hair cascaded down her shoulders like and her gaze was piercing as if she was looking deep into my soul.

  With a graceful motion, she slid a note toward me, its surface adorned with her delicate, looping handwriting and the scent of raspberries and phlox that felt inviting.

  I flipped over the note. The words on the page were familiar.

  “You're in my head.

  I pray for your voice every time I dream away.

  You know that I know you’re here.”

  The lines unfolded like a forgotten melody, a tune that had been playing the first time our eyes met—an electric moment charged with unspoken words and uncharted territories of our souls. I couldn't tear my gaze away from her, transfixed by the intensity of those memories, when suddenly, without warning, someone thrust a phone into my hands.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “It’s the drug. Don’t lose yourself. Snap out of it. You’re better than this. Wake up. It's all just an illusion none of this is real. You've got to wake up.”

  The voice on the other end was familiar to me but I didn’t know why. I started listing to the stranger again curious on what was going on but this time he began babbling on about random things.

  “First it was Mia who you let go, then it was Ruby and Rita who you had a one-night stand with and now her. For what? Fun? Or is it because you actually care for her. You sure like the dangerous kind, after all this is love. It can hurt when you least expect it. Don't fall for her tricks it will do you more harm than good.”

  The line with the stranger ended and my headache returned with a vengeance alongside this knot in my stomach that was making me feel sick.