***Holden Young***
The alcohol burned like it was trying to remind me I was still alive—or maybe it was the mixture of alcohol and smoke corroding my throat. Maybe I needed it. Proof that I was still here, in this messed-up, repetitive, shitty world.
The party around me was just a blur—women laughing too loudly, men spouting nonsense as if they were gods of the universe. Hands grabbed at me, bodies pressed against mine, trying to take something from me. It didn’t matter what. But I didn’t care. That’s what I wanted—to forget. To lose myself in the music, the sweat, the bitter taste of whiskey, the smell of cigarettes mixed with cheap perfume.
It was better than thinking. Better than remembering that Alissa signed that damn contract without hesitation. That she sold the song—her song—the song she wrote with her own hands as if it meant nothing. As if I meant nothing.
Cyrus said it was expected.
“She moved on with her life, Holden. You should do the same.”
Move on. What did that even mean anymore? Honestly, I didn’t know how to do that.
“Hey, rockstar, lost on your way to paradise?”
A feminine voice pulled me out of my haze.
A redhead, easy smile, and glazed-over eyes of someone who’d already had too much fun that night. My gaze passed over her, unfocused. She said something about how unfair it was to see me alone. About how she’d always wanted to be with someone “famous like me.”
I grabbed the nearest bottle and tilted it to my mouth, feeling the liquid burn its way down like fire. The girl laughed.
“Trying to kill yourself? Take it easy, sweetheart.”
“Maybe,” I thought. But I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to talk anymore.
Whatever had been holding me back finally let go. Or maybe I let go first. Because the next moment, my hand gripped the back of her neck, and my mouth found hers—desperate, bitter, empty.
And that’s how the night went on. More alcohol. More bodies. More faceless kisses. More nothing.
The hours blurred together. I didn’t know where I was anymore. The taste of cigarettes and vodka mixed on my tongue with something I couldn’t even identify. Hands tugged at the hem of my shirt; others scratched at my chest. Someone was laughing in my ear.
“Shouldn’t Holden Young be with his little girlfriend?”
I ignored it. I ignored everything. Because, deep down, nothing mattered.
I don’t know how I ended up in a nightclub bathroom, the flashing lights giving me a headache. My mind was foggy. I laughed for no reason. I saw myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the man staring back. My eyes were sunken and red; my mouth tasted of nicotine and regret.
The door behind me opened, and someone walked in—a random guy. He looked at me like he knew me. Maybe he did. Maybe he was a fan.
“Holden Young...”
“Do I know you?”
He laughed.
“No, I’m someone who doesn’t need to buy fame.”
Ah. That’s what this was. Another jerk trying to make a name for himself.
I turned back to the sink, splashing water on my face. My heart was racing, my breathing erratic.
“What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little truth?” the guy pressed on. “Everyone knows your dad bought your career. You’re only here because of money.”
I swallowed hard, blinking a few times. The bathroom felt smaller.
“Isn’t that right?” he continued. “You’re just a Young project. Your fascist dad’s little puppet. No real talent. Without Daddy’s money, you’d be nothing.”
Nothing.
The word echoed in my head—because of the nothing I felt. The nothing Alissa made me feel.
And then, before I realized it, I hit him.
My fist collided with his face, the impact reverberating through my arm as my whole body shook. The guy stumbled back, stunned, but then lunged at me. Everything turned into a blur of shouting, punches, and the sound of breaking glass.
I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. But it didn’t hurt.
Because, for a few seconds, nothing hurt.
It was all a confused blur—the bathroom, the muffled music from the dance floor, the yelling, someone pulling at my arm, separating me from the guy who was now holding his nose, swearing under his breath.
“Are you crazy?!” he spat on the floor, blood mixing with spilled beer and grime.
My fists were still clenched, ready to keep going. My lungs burned. I couldn’t tell if it was from the effort or the alcohol eating me alive from the inside.
Someone grabbed my shoulders. Voices swirled around me.
“What’s going on here?”
“This guy just lost it!”
“Call security!”
“Holy shit, he’s bleeding...”
I blinked a few times, trying to focus on something, but everything was spinning.
Then I felt hands on my arms again, this time stronger.
“You’re leaving. Now.”
The voice was low, firm.
I looked to the side and saw Cyrus.
Great. The night was officially ruined.
Before I could respond, he was already dragging me out. The noise from the nightclub grew louder as we left the bathroom—people staring, phones raised to record.
Perfect. Just what I needed.
Cyrus shoved me against the hallway wall leading to the VIP section and took a deep breath, running his hands through his perfectly styled hair, clearly trying to stay calm.
“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”
I laughed because, honestly, he wasn’t wrong.
“Oh, screw you, Cyrus.”
“Screw me? Do you have any idea how bad this is? What you just did?”
“I threw a punch. The guy deserved it.”
“Do you seriously think it ends there? You think tomorrow there won’t be headlines like ‘Holden Young assaults man in a nightclub, spiraling into drugs and alcohol’?”
I blinked slowly, wondering if I was supposed to care.
“Well. At least they wouldn’t be lying.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling like he was praying for patience.
I didn’t care. I wanted another cigarette. Another drink. More sex.
I wanted everything to disappear.
The nightclub’s side door burst open, and then they came—the lovely police.
Fantastic.
They didn’t even have to ask anything. One of them looked at me, recognized me immediately, and sighed, annoyed.
“Great. Another celebrity thinks they can do whatever they want.”
“You guys are always so professional... pigs.”
“Oh, yeah? Then you won’t mind spending the night in jail, right?”
And that’s how the night ended.
My arms pinned behind my back, my head still throbbing, as I was shoved into a police car. Cyrus was trying to negotiate, but I knew he only cared about saving the damn contract, not my skin.
I just wished Alissa could’ve seen this. Because maybe, just maybe, she’d finally believe I was never okay without her.
But the truth was, she probably didn’t care anymore.