The echoes of his father's voice still lingered in his mind. "Useless! Good for nothing!" The words had become a constant, insidious soundtrack to his life. Chris clutched the whiskey bottle tighter, the icy glass a stark contrast to the burning sensation in his chest.

He hadn't touched alcohol for a week, not since the incident with Felix. He had promised himself, hadn't he? Promised to change, to be better. But the demons within him were relentless, clawing at the fragile walls of his sobriety.

The hallucinations had started subtly at first. Fleeting glimpses of his father, his face contorted in rage, looming over him. Then, the voices. His mother's shrill screams, his father's thunderous roars, a cacophony of abuse that echoed through his mind.

He'd tried therapy, of course. A stern-faced woman with kind eyes who listened patiently as he recounted his childhood, the years of torment, the suffocating weight of his parents' dysfunction.

"You internalized their anger," she had said, her voice soothing. "You're carrying the weight of their toxicity within you."

She had suggested techniques for managing his anger, for identifying and challenging his negative thought patterns. She had prescribed medication, a gentle nudge towards a path of healing.

But it hadn't worked. The medication made him feel numb, disconnected from the world. He hated the feeling of being analyzed, reduced to a collection of symptoms. He hated the vulnerability, the exposure of his deepest, darkest secrets. He longed to escape, to retreat into the comforting oblivion of alcohol.

He remembered a particular session, the therapist's voice a monotonous drone as she dissected his childhood traumas.

"And how did this make you feel?" she had asked, her voice gentle but probing.

He had looked at her, his eyes filled with a chilling emptiness. "It made me feel... verbatim," he had replied, his voice a low growl. "Like a broken record, playing the same song on repeat."

The therapist had been taken aback by his response, her gentle demeanor momentarily shattered. He had seen the flicker of fear in her eyes, a fleeting acknowledgment of the darkness within him.

He had stormed out of the session, the therapist's words echoing in his mind: "Verbatim." It was a fitting description, wasn't it? His life was a constant replay of his parents' destructive patterns.

~•~

He took another long swig of whiskey, the burning liquid offering a temporary reprieve from the torment within. The voices were louder now. His father's voice, booming and accusatory, "You're weak! You're a failure!" His mother's shrill screams, "Get out! Get out of my sight!"

He saw their faces everywhere - in the shadows, in the flickering flames of the candle, even in the innocent face of the waiter at the cafe downstairs. They were always watching, judging, condemning.

He tried to fight back, to silence the voices, to drown them out with the roar of the music. But it was futile. The voices persisted, relentless, a constant reminder of his failures.

He was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into a sea of despair, the memories pulling him down, dragging him towards the abyss.

He thought of Felix, his heart aching with guilt and longing. He imagined Felix's face, the look of concern, the unspoken question in his eyes: "Are you okay?"

He wanted to tell him, to confess everything - the hallucinations, the voices. But he couldn't. He was ashamed, terrified of losing Felix's love, of being judged, of being rejected.

He took another long swig of whiskey, the burning liquid offering a fleeting sense of oblivion. He knew he was losing control, spiraling back into the darkness he had so desperately tried to escape. But he couldn't stop. He was trapped, a prisoner of his own mind, a victim of the echoes of his past. He, powerless to break free, was now trapped in an endless loop of self-destruction.

Chris was lost, utterly and irrevocably lost.
_____________________________________

Damn...

-Mrin