The Irony

Alex woke in the pale morning light, head throbbing like a storm echoing through his skull. The room smelled faintly of stale beer and spent sorrow, like emotions that had fermented overnight into something heavier. He groaned, untangling himself from the covers that clung to his legs like vines. It took more effort than it should have to pull himself upright. His back ached, his eyes burned, and his mouth felt like cardboard soaked in regret.

It had only been one drink, or at least that was the excuse he kept rehearsing in his mind. But deep down, he knew better. It wasn't the alcohol weighing him down, it was the weight of everything else. The pressure. The expectations. The feeling that no matter what he did, he was always dancing on a wire above disaster. The memory of last night's emotions pressed on him harder than any hangover could.