23 Rock Bottom

The cold morning light filtered into Lucas Hale's sparsely furnished apartment. It was the same routine—wake up, face the mirror, and stare at the man who no longer recognized himself. He used to know who he was. Once, he was on the verge of breaking into the entertainment elite, a rising star riding a wave of acclaim, but now he had nothing. His reflection was gaunt, tired, the fire in his eyes reduced to dying embers.

Lucas was barely holding on. The last few weeks had been some of the hardest of his life. The initial shock of his downfall had worn off, replaced by a numbing sense of emptiness. No matter how much he tried to throw himself into his music, or how many times he rehearsed his lines, the fire just wasn't there. His replication ability—the very talent that had brought him fame—felt like a curse more than a gift. It had led him to borrow brilliance, but now he was stranded, searching for a spark that was truly his own.

The constant reminder of his public humiliation weighed on him. He had become a cautionary tale, a symbol of meteoric rise and sudden fall. The entertainment world, once welcoming, now seemed to be closing its doors on him. Contracts dried up, and even his most loyal supporters started to distance themselves. What hurt the most, though, was the silent judgment in the eyes of his peers—the whispered gossip that he had peaked and wouldn't recover.

A World Without Options

Lucas hadn't performed publicly since his disastrous breakdown. His team—what was left of it—suggested he take time off to heal, to reflect. But how could he heal when the wounds were self-inflicted? When every reminder of his past was a reminder of his failure?

He glanced at his phone, scrolling through the few social media accounts he hadn't deleted. His name was still trending, but for all the wrong reasons. Memes of his breakdown, articles analyzing his supposed arrogance, fans turning their backs—it was all there in real-time, mocking him.

His phone buzzed again—another message from Jay. He had lost count of how many times Jay had tried to reach him in the past few days. And Luna too. They were worried, but Lucas couldn't face them, not now. What was there to say? That he was lost? That he was terrified he might never climb out of this hole?

The truth was, Lucas had hit rock bottom, and the world felt different from down here. Even with all his talent, even with the ability to replicate brilliance, it hadn't been enough. He had relied on borrowed talents for too long, and now, stripped of the shine, he wasn't sure he had anything left of his own.

Escaping Reality

The only thing that dulled the pain, even momentarily, was alcohol. Lucas had never been much of a drinker before, but now it seemed to be the only thing that kept the endless loop of failures from crushing him. Every night, he drowned his fears and doubts, losing himself in a haze of numbness.

Sitting at his apartment window with a bottle in hand, Lucas stared out over the city skyline. It was raining, the steady patter against the window reflecting the numbness he felt inside. He could still hear the echoes of his past performances in his mind—applause, cheers, praise. It all felt so far away now, almost as though it had happened to someone else entirely.

At the bottom of another glass, Lucas found himself wondering what his life would have been like if he had never replicated anyone's talent. If he had never gained that strange ability, would he have found his own path? Was he ever good enough on his own?

He slumped back into his chair, running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't even bring himself to pick up the guitar anymore. It had been days since he'd written a single lyric, weeks since he'd felt the thrill of performing. Every attempt to create something new, something original, was met with frustration. His gift of replication had given him access to talent beyond his own, but now, the well was dry. Without it, who was he?

A Desperate Call

The phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Jay or Luna. It was his mother.

Lucas stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the answer button. He hadn't spoken to her in months. She had been proud of him, always supportive of his dream to rise to fame. What would she say now? Could he even face the disappointment in her voice?

The phone continued to ring. His finger trembled. But something inside him urged him to answer this time. He swiped the screen.

"Lucas?" His mother's voice was soft, concerned.

Lucas swallowed the lump in his throat. "Hey, Mom."

There was a pause. "How are you, sweetheart? I've been worried about you."

"I'm fine," Lucas lied, his voice hoarse.

His mother wasn't fooled. "Jay called me. He said you've been… struggling."

Of course, Jay would have reached out. Lucas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the emotions surging to the surface.

"I just… I don't know what to do anymore, Mom." His voice cracked, and before he knew it, he was spilling everything. The pressure, the expectations, the fall, the alcohol, the emptiness. Every raw feeling he had buried came tumbling out, and by the time he finished, his face was wet with tears he hadn't realized were falling.

His mother listened patiently, not interrupting once. When he was done, she simply said, "Lucas, you don't have to carry this alone."

"I don't know how to come back from this," he admitted, wiping his face. "I've lost everything. Maybe I was never meant to make it."

"Fame isn't everything, Lucas. It never has been. What you need to focus on is why you started. You've always had the talent, but more than that, you have the passion. You don't need to replicate anyone to be great. You just need to believe in yourself again."

Lucas stared at the floor. He wanted to believe her, but the scars of his failure ran deep. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start by picking yourself up. You've hit rock bottom, but there's only one way to go from here—up."

A Flicker of Hope

After the call ended, Lucas sat in silence, absorbing his mother's words. She was right. He had been so focused on fame, on chasing success, that he had forgotten why he started this journey in the first place. Music had been his passion long before the world knew his name. He used to write songs for the love of it, for the connection it gave him to others.

Lucas set down the bottle and looked at his guitar, untouched for days. Hesitantly, he picked it up. The strings felt foreign beneath his fingers, but as he strummed, a faint memory of joy sparked within him.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Lucas had hit rock bottom, but maybe, just maybe, he could find his way back. And this time, he'd do it without relying on anyone else's talent. It would be his own climb, and he'd make it, or fall again, on his terms.

With that resolve, Lucas knew he had a long road ahead, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he had hope.