"Hello everyone! I'm Sam!" he shouted, swaying slightly on the stage, a half-empty beer bottle in one hand. "I'm feeling amazing tonight, so I'm gonna sing for you all!"
The crowd collectively groaned the moment they heard the word sing. A few people even booed, others just shook their heads and returned to their drinks. Sam's voice, already rough from years of smoking, always became harsher after a few beers. And tonight—tonight was one of those unhinged nights.
this night… this night felt like the kind where the world melted into the beat of music, flashing lights, drugs, and alcohol. Everything blurred. People danced like they were shedding their skin, forgetting who they were, dissolving into the chaos. I stood there, drink in hand, watching it all happen. A twisted form of freedom.
I forgot everything that usually clings to me. All the pain, the memories, the things I've been running from… tonight, they didn't exist. It was a temporary death, a beautiful numbness.
And then, Sam's grating voice jolted me back.
"What do you think, dude?" he said, leaning close, shouting over the music.
I blinked, disoriented. "What?"
"I said this party's great, isn't it?" His face lit up with that stupid grin he always had when he was three drinks in.
"Yeah," I replied. "Awesome night."
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming with excitement. "Hey, there's this woman I've been seeing around. I think she likes me."
"That's great," I said with a smirk. "Now you won't have to hang out with your boring friend anymore."
Sam laughed. "It's good that you finally realized you're boring. But I won't leave you, man. You'd become a lonely loser without me. I won't let that happen."
We both burst out laughing, and for a second, I felt human again.
But the night kept pushing on. The lights felt too bright, the music too loud, and suddenly I felt the urge to pee.
"Hey bro, I'm gonna hit the bathroom."
"Yeah man, go!" Sam waved me off.
I stumbled through the crowd, weaving between dancing bodies and drunken conversations. My legs weren't working right. I guess that's what five beers and whatever was in that last shot will do to you. I laughed to myself. Why am I walking like a drunk man? Oh yeah… because I'm drunk. What a surprise.
I finally made it to the bathroom, barely managing to lock the door behind me. The bass from the speakers outside thudded against the walls like a heartbeat. I unzipped, leaned against the wall, and let my mind drift.
That's when I heard it.
"Hey... I've seen you before."
A deep, unfamiliar voice. It came from behind me.
I froze. Slowly, I turned around.
A man stood just a few feet away, his face shadowed, but something about his presence sent a jolt through my body. He wasn't there a second ago—I was sure of it.
"You're the guy from the coffee shop," he said, smiling. But it wasn't a friendly smile. It was... wrong. Crooked. Predatory.
"I—uh, yeah… I work there," I muttered, my voice shaky. "Thanks."
"You make insanely good coffee," he continued, taking a step forward. I stepped back.
"Appreciate it…" I forced a weak chuckle.
He leaned in. "But you know… those hands aren't just good for making coffee."
My stomach dropped.
"What… what are you talking about?" I asked, voice cracking.
"You've killed people, haven't you?" he whispered.
I backed away until my shoulders hit the cold bathroom tiles.
"No," I said firmly. "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done anything."
The man tilted his head, smile never fading. "Oh, but you have. Everyone you know… dead. Because of you."
My heart was pounding in my ears. I was about to scream when—
"Bro?"
Sam's voice cut through the tension like a knife.
I blinked.
The man was gone.
I stood alone in the bathroom, heart racing, drenched in sweat.
"There was… there was a guy," I said, stumbling out. "He was shit-talking my coffee or something…"
Sam looked at me for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"I think you're done for tonight," he said, taking my drink and guiding me toward a chair.
A Few Days Later
Sam sat across from a woman in a white coat. She tapped a pen against her notepad thoughtfully.
"Yes," he said. "I saw him talking to himself. I mean, sure, people do weird stuff after drinking, but that night… he wasn't that drunk. It was like he was hallucinating."
The therapist nodded slowly. "My theory is that he's experienced something traumatic—something he hasn't processed. His mind is trying to protect itself by building false explanations, illusions even. But it's bleeding into his reality."
"Can he be cured?" Sam asked, clearly concerned.
"Therapy can help, but only if he's willing. In the meantime, I'll give you some medication to mix with his drinks—nothing dangerous, just something to stabilize his mind. And Sam…"
"Yes?"
"I want you to start secretly recording him. His habits, what he does when he's alone. That will help us understand the depth of his problem."
Sam nodded reluctantly. "Alright. I'll do it."
Back in Rahul's Apartment
The alarm clock rang violently, and at the same time, the doorbell buzzed repeatedly. I groaned, rolling off the couch and dragging myself to the door.
I opened it.
Sam barged in like a hurricane.
"Dude! My room's under renovation, so I'm crashing here for the week," he announced like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I blinked, still half-asleep. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, tossing a duffle bag on the floor. "You got anything to drink?"
"Kitchen's the same as it was yesterday," I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
Sam made himself at home, opening cabinets, humming to himself.
My head still throbbed. That man from the party—was he even real?
The question haunted me.
Later That Night
I lay on the couch, the TV playing some late-night thriller in the background. Sam had passed out in my bed. My hands trembled, so I clasped them together, trying to stop the shaking.
I stared at them.
Those hands.
His words echoed in my mind.
These hands aren't just good for making coffee…
Suddenly, I remembered something. A flash. Blood on the counter. A scream. My reflection smiling while I wasn't.
"No," I muttered. "That didn't happen."
But more flashes came. A girl crying. A broken bottle. My hands… around someone's throat.
I stumbled to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. I looked up at the mirror.
The man from the party stood behind me.
I spun around.
Empty.
I stared back at the mirror. My own reflection.
Smiling.
Not me.
The other me.