His body shook with sobs as he stood there in the bathroom,teetering on the edge of self-destruction. The pills rattled in the bottle, both a warning and an insistent call to surrender.
He pried open the bottle and poured ten bright yellow pills into his clammy palm. He stared at them, mesmerized by their simple promise of escape. Had these been in his pocket these last few weeks, he realized, his life would have been a very different story.
The pills would have numbed all the agony and pain he had endured. A world without feeling, without the crushing weight of his emotions, seemed almost appealing.
But a chilling realization washed over him, stealing the warmth from his brief fantasy. It wouldn’t have been just the bad.
He wouldn’t have felt Vincent’s strange warmth on that night out on the porch under the moon. He wouldn’t have experienced those butterflies in his stomach when Vincent looked at him with those intense blue eyes. The desire, the passion, the pleasure—none of it would have pierced through the fog of numbness. Even with all the horror and confusion surrounding their relationship, there had been moments that felt real and good.
A sudden, sharp knock on the front door shattered the silence, pulling Adam back to reality with a jolt. His entire body tensed. He didn’t need to guess who it was.
Vincent’s voice, muffled but unmistakable, called out his name.
His hand flew to his mouth, the pills clinking against his teeth as his jaw snapped shut almost involuntarily. For a heartbeat, he considered it—swallowing them all, ending it before it could get any worse. But the sheer number of pills gave him pause. It was reckless, even for him.
He didn’t actually want to die, did he?
You don’t want to die.
The thought surfaced, small and hesitant, a seedling pushing through cracked concrete. He didn’t even think he wanted to be high. He just wanted…clarity. Simplicity. An answer that made sense of the tangled mess his life had become.
Vincent’s pounding on the door grew more urgent, each blow vibrating through the floorboards as he continued to call out. Adam could hear the strain in his voice, the frantic edge of genuine concern.
Or was he imagining it? Projecting his own feelings onto the situation?
What if he was misinterpreting everything? Twisting Vincent’s actions to fit a narrative that only existed in his own head?
A loud crack echoed through the apartment as the front door burst open, but Adam didn’t turn around. He couldn’t. Not yet. He had a decision to make. The pills were heavy in his hand, a tangible representation of the choice before him—numbness or pain, oblivion or…whatever awaited him on the other side of this.
“Adam…”
Vincent’s voice wrapped around him like a lifejacket.
“Please don’t…”
Adam squeezed his eyes shut, tears burning hot tracks down his cheeks. As much as it hurt, he couldn’t let this break him. He would feel it all—the good, the bad, and the uncertainty.
With an unsteady exhale, he tilted his hand, letting the pills cascade into the toilet bowl. He didn’t hesitate. Hepressed down on the handle, watching as the water swirled, swallowing his escape before vanishing down the drain.
Only then did he turn to face Vincent.
Vincent stood in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red and wide with a mixture of fear and relief. His gaze darted to the scattered pills swirling in the toilet bowl, then back to Adam. Vincent took a hesitant step forward, hands outstretched as if approaching a wounded animal.
“Adam,” Vincent breathed. “Let me explain—”
Adam met his gaze as he slapped Vincent’s hand away. “Did you mean it?” he demanded, his fists balling at his sides.
“No, all that back there, none of it. It was just for show—”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” Adam cut him off, voice sharp with accusation. “Did you mean what you said back in the warehouse? That you loved me?”
“Adam—”
“Did you mean it?!”
“Yes. A thousand times over, yes.” Vincent’s gaze held Adam’s, unwavering as bloody tears loosed themselves from his eyelashes. “The things you have brought out in me, these feelings I didn’t know I was capable of, I hate them with every fiber of my being.” Vincent ran a hand through his hair, frustration crossing his features. “You make me feel…truly, deeply, from the bottom of a heart that should have been crushed under the weight of every monstrous thing I’ve done. But I can’t help it. I love you in a way that might kill me, and even knowing that, I am willing to take that risk. I love you, Adam.”
Adam choked back a sob, the words washing over him like a wave. As much as a part of him wanted to bask in the warmth of that declaration, another, louder part screamedthat Vincent was lying.
