the devil in the mirror (an andy biersack story)

chapter 1: the hangover

Andy's POV

I wake up to the smell of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke, my head pounding like a jackhammer in my skull. I don't remember how I got here. My body is heavy, my mouth dry as a desert, and the world feels a little too bright for comfort. My eyes squint against the harsh daylight creeping through the blinds, but I don't bother moving. I can feel the weight of the night pressing down on me, and for a moment, I wish I could just stay here-sinking deeper into the fog of whatever it is I've been numbing myself with.

But it doesn't work. It never does.

I roll over, the sheets tangled around my legs, the remnants of last night's mess scattered across the room-empty bottles, crushed cans, and broken promises. The mirror across the room catches my reflection, and I can barely recognize the person staring back at me. My hair's a fucking mess, dark circles under my eyes. I look like shit-like a ghost who's lost the will to haunt.

My phone buzzes, and I instinctively reach for it. It's a text from one of the guys-something about a gig, some stupid band shit I can't bring myself to care about right now. I don't answer. I don't want to talk to anyone. I just need to get through the next few hours, pretend like I'm not falling apart piece by piece.

But I can't escape it. She's there-always there, like a shadow that clings to my thoughts, no matter how much I try to drink it away.

Juliet.

God, how stupid I was. The thought of her makes my chest tighten, a cold rage bubbling up from the pit of my stomach. I should've known. I should've seen it coming. But no, I was too blinded by her. Too fucking blind to see that she was slipping away while I was too busy playing the fool, thinking that love was supposed to be easy, like in the songs I wrote-those lies we tell ourselves when we're young and stupid.

I thought she was the one. I really did. She had that fire in her eyes, that spark that made everything feel like it could be real. But I didn't know that fire would burn me alive in the end.

The memories come crashing back-the sound of her voice, the touch of her skin, the way she used to look at me like I was everything. And then, the betrayal. The text. The pictures. She fucking cheated on me.

I could still feel the anger, the rawness, like a knife slicing through me every time I thought about it. The fucker she was with... I don't even care to remember his name. Doesn't matter. He's just another casualty in this mess of my broken heart. But her? Juliet? She's the one who cut me open, and now, I'm left with nothing but the fucking mess of it all.

I clench my fists, feeling the burn in my palms as if that could ease the sting of her lies. My jaw tightens, and I curse under my breath, wishing I could punch something-anything-until the pain went away.

But I can't do that anymore. I don't have the energy. I don't have the fight.

I try to push her out of my mind, but it's useless. The bitterness, the resentment, the hollow space she left in me-they all linger. I try to think of anything else. But there's nothing.

I grab the bottle on the nightstand, barely looking at it, and take a long swig. The burn in my throat matches the ache inside, but at least it drowns out the sound of my thoughts.

I let it go down easy, feeling the alcohol blur everything around me. The sharp edges of reality start to melt away again. I don't care about the mess I'm in or the way I'm slowly destroying myself. I don't care about the people who pretend to be my friends or the ones who claim to care. None of them understand. None of them have felt what it's like to have everything you thought you knew get ripped apart in front of you.

And maybe that's why I don't care anymore. Maybe that's why I don't give a fuck about anything or anyone. Because I'm broken. And no one can fix me-not even me. Not anymore.