Rody sat at the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly together as he stared at the floor. The room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamps outside, casting long shadows across the walls. Vincent was in the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he prepared dinner-something he’d done a thousand times before. But tonight, the sound grated on Rody’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
He used to love this. He used to find it endearing, the way Vincent would get so lost in the process, moving gracefully between the stove and the counter. Rody had admired the fluidity of Vincent’s movements, the way his long, slender fingers handled the knife with such precision, the way he would occasionally glance over his shoulder and smile at Rody, his eyes sparkling with joy. Rody used to watch him, entranced, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the sight of Vincent in his element.
But now, the sight of Vincent in the kitchen filled Rody with a sense of dread he couldn’t quite explain. He hated the way Vincent’s thin frame looked so fragile in the dim light, hated the way his oversized shirt hung loosely on his bony shoulders. The smell of cooking food that once made Rody’s mouth water now made his stomach churn. He couldn’t stand the thought of sitting down to eat, of pretending that everything was okay when it felt like the ground beneath him was crumbling away.
He could hear Vincent’s voice, soft and melodic, drifting through the hallway as he talked to himself. Vincent always did that-he would narrate his thoughts, his process, as if he were sharing it with Rody even when he was alone in the kitchen. Rody used to find it charming, a quirk that made Vincent even more lovable. But now, the sound of Vincent’s voice filled him with a strange kind of irritation, a gnawing sensation that crawled under his skin and wouldn’t go away.
Rody clenched his jaw, trying to push the feelings down, trying to remind himself that this was Vincent-his Vincent. The same man he had loved for years, the same man who had always been there for him, who had been his rock when everything else in his life had fallen apart. But it was getting harder to remember why he had loved those things, harder to summon the affection that had once come so easily.
He thought back to the early days, when Vincent’s constant need for attention had made Rody feel important, necessary. Vincent had always been clingy, always needing to be near Rody, to touch him, to feel his presence. It had been sweet, in its own way-a reminder that Rody was loved, that he was someone’s everything. But now, that same clinginess felt like a burden, like a weight on Rody’s chest that he couldn’t shake off. He couldn’t stand the way Vincent would drape himself over him, couldn’t bear the way Vincent’s fingers would trace lazy patterns on his skin as they lay in bed. It felt suffocating, as if Vincent was draining the life out of him with every touch.
Rody ran a hand through his hair, trying to clear his head, but the thoughts kept coming, relentless and unforgiving. He hated the way Vincent would cling to him in the middle of the night, the way he would curl up against Rody’s chest, seeking warmth and comfort. Vincent was taller than Rody, but he always seemed so much smaller, so much more fragile, and Rody used to love that. He used to love the way Vincent would nestle against him, like a kitten seeking shelter. But now, all he felt was a desperate need to push him away, to create some distance between them, to breathe.
The bedroom door creaked open, and Rody tensed as Vincent stepped inside, carrying a tray with their dinner. Vincent’s face lit up when he saw Rody, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way Rody had once found so endearing. He was still so beautiful, even with the dark circles under his eyes, even with the slight hunch in his shoulders that came from years of stress and sleepless nights. But Rody could hardly bear to look at him.
“Dinner’s ready,” Vincent said softly, his voice tinged with that familiar excitement. He placed the tray on the bed, sitting down beside Rody, their legs brushing together. “I made your favorite-roast chicken with garlic and rosemary. I know you’ve had a tough week, so I thought it might cheer you up.”
Rody forced a smile, his throat tightening. “Thanks, Vin,” he muttered, avoiding Vincent’s gaze. The smell of the food was overwhelming, and not in the comforting way it used to be.
Vincent leaned in closer, his body pressing against Rody’s side. “I missed you today,” he murmured, his voice soft and affectionate. “It’s been so quiet without you here.”
Rody’s skin prickled at the contact, and he shifted slightly, trying to create some space between them. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he lied, hoping Vincent wouldn’t notice the strain in his voice.
Vincent didn’t seem to notice-he never did. He was too lost in his own world, too wrapped up in his own feelings to see the cracks forming in Rody’s façade. Vincent reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of Rody’s face, his touch light and tender. “Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern. “You seem… distant.”
Rody swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t tell Vincent the truth-he couldn’t bring himself to say the words that would shatter everything between them. So he did what he had always done: he pushed the feelings down, buried them deep where they couldn’t hurt anyone.
“I’m fine,” he said, forcing another smile. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Vincent’s eyes searched Rody’s face, as if trying to find the truth behind his words. But after a moment, he seemed to accept it, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice tinged with a sadness that Rody wished he could erase.
They ate in silence, the tension between them palpable. Every bite felt like a struggle, every glance like a reminder of the distance that had grown between them. Rody could feel Vincent watching him, could feel the weight of his gaze on his skin, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. The food tasted like ash in his mouth, the once-familiar flavors now foreign and unappealing.
After dinner, Vincent cleaned up the dishes, his movements slow and deliberate. Rody watched him from the doorway, his heart heavy with a sense of guilt he couldn’t shake. Vincent was trying so hard-too hard-and Rody knew he should be grateful, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of suffocation.
Vincent turned to him, a small, hopeful smile on his lips. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” he asked, his voice tentative, as if he were afraid of rejection.
Rody nodded, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t want to watch a movie-didn’t want to do anything that required him to sit close to Vincent, to pretend that everything was okay. But he couldn’t bring himself to say no, couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Vincent’s eyes if he did.
They settled on the couch, Vincent curling up beside Rody, his head resting on Rody’s shoulder. Rody stared at the screen, barely registering what was playing, his mind a million miles away. Vincent’s presence beside him, once so comforting, now felt like a chain around his neck, tightening with every passing second.
Vincent’s breathing slowed as he drifted off to sleep, his body relaxing against Rody’s. Rody sat there, unmoving, his heart heavy with a mixture of emotions he couldn’t name. He looked down at Vincent’s sleeping form, at the dark circles under his eyes, at the way his thin frame seemed even smaller in sleep. Rody used to find these moments precious, used to feel a swell of love and protectiveness when Vincent would fall asleep on him. But now, all he felt was a crushing sense of loss-loss for the love that had once been so strong, loss for the man he used to be.
He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t comprehend why everything that had once brought him joy now filled him with dread. Vincent hadn’t changed-he was still the same man Rody had fallen in love with, still the same man who had made him laugh, who had made him feel alive. But Rody had changed, and he didn’t know why.
As the credits rolled on the screen, Rody gently shifted, easing Vincent off his shoulder and onto the couch. He stood up, looking down at Vincent one last time before turning away, the weight of his own confusion and despair pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.
He walked down the hallway to the bedroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. The darkness of the room swallowed him as he entered, but Rody didn’t turn on the light. He stood there in the silence, his mind a chaotic mess of thoughts and feelings he couldn’t untangle.
Why did he feel this way? Why did everything about Vincent that he used to love now feel like a burden? Why did the sight of Vincent, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, fill him with such overwhelming dread?
Rody sank down onto the bed, his head in his hands. He didn’t have the answers, didn’t know how to fix what was broken inside him. All he knew was that the love he had once felt for Vincent was slipping away, like sand through
his fingers. No matter how hard he tried to grasp it, it just kept slipping away.
The bed felt cold and uninviting, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to envelop Rody when he lay here with Vincent. He could hear the faint sounds of the movie still playing in the living room, the soft murmur of voices and music, but it all felt distant, as though it was happening in another world entirely.
Rody tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. His thoughts raced in circles, the same questions and doubts echoing over and over. He turned over, pressing his face into the pillow, trying to block it all out, but the silence was too loud.
Hours seemed to pass in this restless state before Rody finally heard the soft sound of footsteps padding down the hallway. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge the approaching presence, even though his heart clenched with a mixture of guilt and something else he couldn’t name.
Vincent appeared in the doorway, his figure barely visible in the darkness. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly walked over to the bed. When Rody didn’t turn to look at him, Vincent’s steps faltered, a hint of confusion crossing his features. Rody could feel Vincent’s eyes on him, feel the weight of his gaze, but he kept his back turned, pretending to be asleep.
Vincent stood there for a long moment, uncertainty etched into every line of his thin frame. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Rody?” he called softly, a note of vulnerability in his tone that twisted something inside Rody’s chest.
When Rody didn’t respond, Vincent bit his lip, glancing around the room as if searching for something that would make sense of the situation. Normally, on nights like this, Rody would have carried Vincent to bed after he fell asleep on the couch, laying him down gently and wrapping him in the blankets before crawling in beside him. It was something Vincent had come to expect, a quiet gesture that spoke of Rody’s care and love.
But tonight, Rody had left him there, alone and confused, and Vincent didn’t understand why. He didn’t understand why everything felt so different, why the man he loved seemed so distant, so unreachable.
Vincent slowly climbed into bed beside Rody, careful not to disturb him. He lay there, stiff and uncertain, the usual comfort of Rody’s presence replaced by a cold emptiness. Vincent’s mind raced with questions he was too afraid to ask, doubts he didn’t want to face. Had he done something wrong? Was Rody upset with him? He couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t remember a single moment where he might have caused this sudden change.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn’t just tonight. Rody had been distant for a while now, his smiles less frequent, his touches more reluctant. Vincent had noticed, of course he had, but he had convinced himself it was just stress, or maybe a rough patch that would pass with time. But now, lying here in the dark, with Rody turned away from him, that comfort was nowhere to be found.
Vincent reached out hesitantly, his fingers brushing against Rody’s back. He paused, waiting to see if Rody would respond, but there was nothing-no movement, no sound, just the steady rise and fall of Rody’s breathing. Slowly, Vincent withdrew his hand, his heart sinking.
He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling more alone than he had in years. The silence between them was suffocating, and the darkness seemed to press in on him from all sides. Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will away the tears that threatened to spill over. He didn’t want to cry-didn’t want to let the overwhelming sadness that was building inside him take over-but the ache in his chest was too much to bear.
Vincent tried to focus on the good things, tried to remember the way Rody used to look at him, the way his eyes would light up when he walked into the room. He remembered how Rody used to hold him close, his embrace warm and reassuring, making Vincent feel safe and loved. But those memories only made the emptiness he felt now even more unbearable.
As the night stretched on, Vincent found himself longing for something-anything-that would make this pain go away. He wanted Rody to turn around, to pull him close, to tell him that everything was okay, that he was just imagining things. But that reassurance never came, and as the hours ticked by, Vincent realized that it probably never would.
Eventually, exhaustion took over, and Vincent drifted into a fitful sleep, his dreams filled with fragmented images of Rody slipping further and further away from him. Even in his sleep, he couldn’t escape the sense of loss that had taken root in his heart.
When he woke the next morning, the bed beside him was empty. Rody had already gotten up, leaving Vincent alone in the tangled sheets. Vincent sat up slowly, his body heavy with the weight of the previous night’s emotions. He glanced over at Rody’s side of the bed, the sheets still warm, and his chest tightened with a fresh wave of sorrow.
He got out of bed, his limbs feeling weak and unsteady, and made his way to the kitchen. Rody was there, already dressed, his back to Vincent as he made coffee. The sound of the coffee machine filled the room, but it did nothing to ease the tension that hung in the air.
“Morning,” Vincent said quietly, his voice hoarse from sleep and unshed tears.
Rody glanced over his shoulder, offering a brief, strained smile. “Morning,” he replied, turning back to the coffee.
Vincent hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do, what to say. The silence between them was thick, and he felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, teetering dangerously close to the edge. He wanted to ask Rody what was wrong, wanted to beg him to talk to him, to tell him why he felt so distant. But the fear of what Rody might say kept the words trapped in his throat.
Instead, Vincent moved closer, reaching out to touch Rody’s arm. Rody tensed at the contact, and though he didn’t pull away, the reaction was enough to make Vincent’s heart sink even further.
“Rody…” Vincent began, his voice trembling slightly. “Is everything okay?”
Rody froze for a moment, his hand hovering over the coffee mug. He could feel the weight of Vincent’s gaze on him, could hear the fear and uncertainty in his voice. But he couldn’t bring himself to answer the question, couldn’t bring himself to admit that everything was not okay-that he didn’t know if it ever would be again.
Instead, Rody nodded, forcing himself to turn and face Vincent. “Yeah,” he said, his voice flat and unconvincing. “Everything’s fine.”
Vincent searched Rody’s eyes, looking for some sign, some hint that Rody was telling the truth. But all he found was a wall, a barrier that seemed impossible to break through. The tears that Vincent had fought so hard to hold back the night before now threatened to spill over, but he blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.
“Okay,” Vincent whispered, his voice barely audible. He dropped his hand from Rody’s arm, stepping back as if the distance between them might somehow ease the pain in his chest.
Rody watched him retreat, feeling a pang of guilt, but it was buried under the overwhelming sense of relief that Vincent had let it go-for now, at least. He didn’t want to hurt Vincent, didn’t want to be the cause of the sadness that was so clearly etched into his features, but he couldn’t help the way he felt. He couldn’t control the growing sense of detachment, the way every little thing Vincent did seemed to push him further away.
They went about their morning routine in silence, the tension between them palpable. Vincent tried to act normal, tried to pretend that everything was okay, but it was impossible to ignore the gnawing sense of dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach.
As Rody left for work, Vincent stood in the doorway, watching him go. He waved goodbye, forcing a smile, but as soon as Rody was out of sight, the smile crumbled, and Vincent leaned heavily against the doorframe, his legs trembling beneath him.
He didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t understand why Rody seemed so far away, why the love that had once been so strong now felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The thought of losing Rody, of losing the life they had built together, was too much to bear, and for the first time in years, Vincent felt truly alone.
As the door clicked shut behind Rody, Vincent sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands as the tears finally broke free. The sobs wracked his thin frame, each one pulling him further into a darkness he didn’t know how to escape. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the silence deafening in its intensity.
Vincent cried until there were no tears left, until his body was too exhausted to do anything but lie there, curled up on the cold floor. He felt hollow, as if a part of him had been ripped away, leaving only a gaping void in its place.
He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to fix whatever was broken between them. All he knew was that he couldn’t bear to lose Rody, couldn’t bear the thought of a life without him. But as he lay there, alone and trembling, Vincent couldn’t shake the fear that it might already be too late.
Vincent stayed on the cold floor for what felt like hours, the silence of the apartment pressing down on him. He didn’t have the energy to move, didn’t know where he would go even if he did. The empty spaces of their home, once filled with warmth and love, now felt foreign and cold-an unfamiliar place where the memories of better days haunted him.
When he finally managed to push himself up, his body felt heavy, like each movement required an effort he wasn’t sure he could muster. The daylight streaming through the windows seemed too bright, too harsh, as if it was mocking his pain. Vincent stumbled to the bathroom, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, too afraid of what he might see there.
He splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the remnants of tears, but the raw, aching emptiness in his chest refused to leave. As he looked down at his trembling hands, he couldn’t help but notice how they seemed almost skeletal-too thin, too weak. Vincent had always been smaller than Rody, but now, standing there alone, he felt like he might disappear altogether.
The day passed in a blur, Vincent going through the motions of daily life with an emptiness he couldn’t shake. He cleaned up the living room, his movements mechanical as he folded the blanket Rody had left behind, plumped the pillows, and tidied the coffee table. The movie they’d watched the night before still sat on the counter, forgotten in the midst of everything. Vincent picked it up, turning it over in his hands as if it might somehow hold the answers to the questions plaguing his mind.
But there were no answers, only more doubts, more fears that gnawed at him as the hours dragged on. He tried to distract himself by cooking, something that had always brought him comfort, but even that felt hollow now. The kitchen, once his sanctuary, seemed too big, too empty without Rody there to share it with him.
Vincent found himself staring at the ingredients he’d laid out, the thought of preparing a meal for one suddenly too much to bear. His hands shook as he tried to chop vegetables, his vision blurring as tears welled up again. He had to stop, setting the knife down with trembling fingers, unable to continue.
The apartment was suffocating him, the silence pressing in on all sides, so Vincent grabbed his keys and left, hoping that a walk might clear his head. But even outside, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the city, Vincent felt isolated. The people around him seemed distant, their laughter and conversations a world away from the dark thoughts that consumed him.
He wandered aimlessly, the familiar streets offering no comfort, no solace from the pain that gripped him. Vincent couldn’t stop thinking about Rody, couldn’t stop wondering what he had done wrong, why everything had changed so suddenly. He replayed every conversation, every moment from the past few weeks, searching for something he might have missed, some clue that would explain why Rody had become so distant.
But there was nothing, only the growing fear that the man he loved was slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
By the time Vincent returned to the apartment, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the room. The sight of their empty home filled him with a fresh wave of despair, and he sank down onto the couch, burying his face in his hands once more. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, didn’t know how to keep going when it felt like everything he had loved was crumbling away.
When Rody finally returned that evening, Vincent forced himself to sit up, to greet him with a smile that felt brittle and false. But Rody’s response was the same as it had been that morning-distant, distracted, as if he were merely going through the motions. The tension between them was palpable, an invisible barrier that kept them apart even as they sat in the same room.
Vincent wanted to reach out, wanted to bridge the gap that had grown between them, but he was too afraid-afraid that Rody would pull away, afraid that the love they had once shared was already gone. So he stayed silent, watching Rody move about the apartment with a heaviness in his heart that felt like it might crush him.
As the evening wore on, Rody retired to bed early, leaving Vincent alone in the living room once again. He sat there, staring at the empty space where Rody had just been, the silence deafening in its finality. The room felt cold and uninviting, and for a moment, Vincent wondered if he should just stay there, wrapped in the blanket of his own despair.
But the thought of another night spent apart, of lying in bed with Rody so close yet so far away, was too much. So Vincent forced himself to his feet, his legs feeling like lead as he made his way to the bedroom. He hesitated in the doorway, watching Rody’s still form under the covers, his heart aching with the desire to be close to him.
Slowly, Vincent climbed into bed, careful not to disturb Rody. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the distance between them like a physical barrier. The warmth that used to radiate from Rody’s presence was gone, replaced by a cold emptiness that seeped into Vincent’s bones.
He wanted to reach out, to touch Rody, to feel some connection, some spark of the love they had once shared. But he was too afraid-afraid that Rody would pull away, afraid that the distance between them was already too great to bridge.
Vincent closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, but the sadness that gripped his heart was too strong. He lay there in the dark, his mind racing with thoughts of everything they had lost, everything that had changed. He didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t know how to bring Rody back to him, and the fear of losing him for good was a pain unlike anything Vincent had ever known.
As the hours passed, Vincent felt himself drifting in and out of sleep, his dreams filled with images of Rody slipping further and further away. Even in his dreams, Vincent couldn’t escape the sense of loss that consumed him, couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of a precipice, about to lose everything he had ever loved.
When Vincent woke the next morning, he felt drained, his body heavy with exhaustion. The bed beside him was empty once again, Rody already gone, leaving Vincent alone with his thoughts. He stared up at the ceiling, the weight of the previous night’s emotions pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.
Vincent didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this, didn’t know how to keep pretending that everything was okay when it felt like his world was falling apart. The love he and Rody had shared was slipping away, and Vincent didn’t know how to hold on to it, didn’t know how to stop the distance that was growing between them.
As Vincent lay there, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the beginning of the end-if the love they had once shared was already gone, lost in the silence that now filled their home. And as the tears welled up in his eyes once more, Vincent realized that he was truly, utterly alone.
Vincent hadn’t been able to shake the heaviness in his chest all morning. The lingering sadness clung to him, even as he forced himself through his usual routine. The grocery list he’d written down seemed so trivial compared to the ache in his heart, but he clung to it, hoping that by focusing on the mundane, he might forget the emptiness that gnawed at him.
The grocery store was crowded, the bustle of people around him only amplifying his sense of loneliness. He moved through the aisles like a ghost, his thin fingers trailing along the shelves as he absentmindedly picked up the items he needed. Everything felt hollow-Vincent could hardly bring himself to care about what he was putting in the cart. Even the thought of cooking for Rody didn’t bring him the joy it once did. It was as if all the color had drained out of the world, leaving only shades of gray.
When he reached the checkout, Vincent fumbled with his wallet, his fingers trembling slightly as he handed over the cash. The cashier smiled at him, a bright, cheerful expression that made Vincent’s heart ache even more. He returned the smile with one of his own, but it felt brittle, like it might shatter if he held it for too long.
As he left the store, Vincent noticed the bank across the street. He had been meaning to deposit a check, but in the haze of his despair, he had forgotten. Without really thinking, he decided to stop by on his way home-anything to delay the inevitable return to the empty apartment.
The bank was quiet, the sound of soft classical music playing over the speakers. Vincent walked up to the counter, waiting patiently for the teller to finish with the person in front of him. He glanced around, taking in the sterile surroundings, his mind wandering back to Rody, as it always did.
Just as he reached the counter, the door behind him burst open, and everything changed.
Vincent’s heart jumped into his throat as he heard shouting, the sound of heavy footsteps filling the space. He turned slowly, his breath catching in his throat as he saw a group of men storm into the bank, guns raised, faces obscured by masks. The room erupted into chaos-people screamed, dropped to the floor, and begged for their lives as the robbers took control of the situation.
Vincent felt his blood run cold, his body frozen in place as one of the men barked orders at the terrified customers and staff. He felt like he was outside of his own body, watching the scene unfold as if it were happening to someone else. Everything felt surreal, the world moving in slow motion around him.
“Everyone on the ground, now!” one of the robbers shouted, waving his gun around threateningly. Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest as he slowly lowered himself to the floor, his mind racing. This couldn’t be happening-things like this didn’t happen to people like him.
But it was real. Too real. The cold tile beneath his knees, the sharp smell of sweat and fear in the air, the panicked breathing of the other hostages-it all told Vincent that this was no nightmare. He was trapped, helpless, and he didn’t know what to do.
The robbers moved quickly, locking the doors, disabling the security cameras, and herding the bank employees and customers into a tight group in the center of the room. Vincent felt a hand roughly grab his arm, pulling him to his feet, and he gasped as the man dragged him toward the others.
He stumbled, almost falling, but managed to stay upright as they were all forced into a line. The cold barrel of a gun pressed against his back, and Vincent felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. He could hear the leader of the group barking orders, demanding access to the vault, threatening the bank manager with violence if he didn’t comply.
Vincent’s mind raced. He didn’t want to die-he hadn’t even gotten a chance to fix things with Rody. The thought of leaving this world without ever telling Rody how much he loved him, without trying to make things right, was unbearable. He couldn’t let that happen.
But there was nothing he could do. He was just one man, thin and frail, with no power to change the situation he was in. All he could do was wait and hope that somehow, they would all get out of this alive.
As the minutes dragged on, Vincent found himself thinking of Rody again. He thought about how distant Rody had been lately, how cold and indifferent. Vincent had tried so hard to hold on, to keep things together, but it felt like no matter what he did, Rody was slipping away from him.
Tears welled up in Vincent’s eyes as he realized that if he didn’t make it out of here, he might never see Rody again. He might never get the chance to try and make things better, to hold Rody in his arms one more time, to tell him how much he loved him, despite everything. The thought tore at his heart, the pain almost too much to bear.
But there was nothing he could do. He was powerless, a hostage in this nightmare, and all he could do was wait and hope that somehow, they would be rescued.
The hours passed slowly, the tension in the room palpable. Vincent could feel the fear radiating off the people around him, could hear the whispered prayers and the stifled sobs. He tried to stay calm, tried to focus on the thought of seeing Rody again, of holding him close and never letting go.
But as time went on, hope began to fade. The robbers were growing more agitated, more desperate, and Vincent could feel the situation spiraling out of control. He prayed silently, begging for a miracle, for some way out of this mess.
And then, just as it seemed all hope was lost, the sound of sirens filled the air. The robbers cursed, shouting at each other as they realized the police had arrived. Vincent’s heart leaped in his chest-maybe they had a chance, maybe they would make it out of this alive after all.
But the robbers weren’t giving up without a fight. They grabbed a few of the hostages, including Vincent, dragging them to the front of the bank as human shields. Vincent’s heart pounded in his chest as he was shoved forward, the cold metal of a gun pressed against his temple.
The next few moments were a blur of noise and chaos-shouting, gunfire, the sound of breaking glass. Vincent’s ears rang as he was pushed to the ground, the weight of the robber’s body pressing down on him. He felt something wet on his face, but he was too dazed to register what it was.
When he finally opened his eyes, the world was spinning around him. The sound of gunfire had stopped, replaced by the shouts of police officers and the cries of the other hostages. Vincent’s vision blurred as he tried to focus, tried to make sense of what had just happened.
And then he saw it-the body of the man who had been holding him, lying motionless on the ground beside him. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks-the wetness on his face was blood. The man’s blood.
Vincent’s stomach churned, and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling away from the body as fast as he could. He felt sick, the world spinning around him as he tried to catch his breath. The police were swarming the bank now, securing the scene, checking on the hostages.
But Vincent couldn’t focus on any of it. All he could think about was Rody-how close he had come to never seeing him again, how much he still needed him, despite everything. He needed to get home, needed to see Rody, to hold him and never let go.
Vincent stumbled out of the bank, the sunlight blinding him as he stepped outside. He barely registered the police officer who tried to speak to him, brushing them off as he made his way down the street, his legs feeling like jelly. His thoughts were a mess, his heart racing with a mix of fear, relief, and overwhelming sadness.
He needed to get home. He needed to see Rody. That was the only thing that mattered now. Nothing else mattered.
Vincent didn’t know how he made it back to the apartment. The walk felt endless, his body moving on autopilot as his mind spiraled with thoughts of what had just happened, of what could have happened. When he finally reached their door, he fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking so badly that he could barely get the door open.
When he stepped inside, the apartment was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Vincent’s heart sank as he realized Rody wasn’t home. He felt a wave of despair wash over him-he needed Rody now more than ever, needed to see him, to hold him, to reassure himself that he was still here, that they were both still alive.
Vincent dropped the groceries on the floor, barely caring as they spilled out of the bags. He collapsed onto the couch, his body trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. The tears that had been building up all day finally spilled over, and he buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
He had never felt so alone, so utterly broken. The fear, the helplessness, the overwhelming sadness-it all came crashing down on him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was cry, the sound of his sobs filling the empty apartment, echoing off the walls.
Vincent cried until he had nothing left, until he was completely drained, his body shaking with exhaustion. When the tears finally stopped, he was left feeling hollow, empty, like there was nothing left inside him.
And still Vincent sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. His tears had long since dried, leaving only a dull ache in his chest that he couldn’t shake. The apartment was eerily silent, the emptiness echoing the hollowness he felt inside. Rody still wasn’t home, and Vincent wasn’t sure how much more of this solitude he could take.
The grocery bags lay forgotten on the floor, the contents spilling out across the hardwood. Vincent’s mind drifted to the events at the bank, the cold terror he had felt when the gun had been pressed to his temple. He had come so close to dying today. But in a way, it felt like a part of him had already died.
All his life, Vincent had been afraid of being alone. The thought of Rody leaving him, of being abandoned, was something that haunted his nightmares. But what terrified him even more was the realization that he was already alone, even when Rody was there. The distance between them had grown so vast, and no matter how hard Vincent tried to reach out, it was like grasping at smoke.
The disconnect between them, the coldness in Rody’s eyes, the way he no longer looked at Vincent with the same warmth-it all weighed on Vincent like a stone. The man he loved more than anything in this world no longer seemed to love him back. And the worst part was, Vincent couldn’t figure out what he had done wrong.
The apartment, once a sanctuary filled with shared memories and love, had become a tomb-a place where Vincent was trapped with his own despair. Every corner, every piece of furniture, every little item reminded him of the love they once had, now tarnished and distant. The kitchen, where he had once happily cooked for Rody, now seemed like a monument to his failure. He couldn’t even bear to look at the stove, the knives, the pots and pans. Everything that used to bring him joy now only deepened his sadness.
Vincent felt so tired. Tired of trying, tired of holding on, tired of pretending that things could get better. It felt like the world was closing in on him, the walls of the apartment tightening around him, squeezing the breath from his lungs. The loneliness was suffocating, an unbearable weight pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
He couldn’t do this anymore. The thought echoed in his mind, growing louder with each passing moment. He couldn’t keep living like this, in a world where the person he loved no longer loved him back. Where every day was a struggle just to get out of bed, to put one foot in front of the other. Where every smile was forced, every laugh hollow, every moment spent pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t.
Vincent got up slowly, his movements sluggish, like he was moving through water. His feet dragged as he made his way to the bathroom, the dull ache in his chest growing sharper with each step. He paused in front of the mirror, staring at the reflection that greeted him.
The man who looked back at him was a stranger. His once neatly styled hair was a mess, dark circles under his eyes highlighting the exhaustion that clung to him like a shadow. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes-they were empty, devoid of the spark that had once defined him. The man in the mirror was broken, a shell of who he used to be.
Vincent looked down at the sink, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white. He could barely see through the tears that welled up in his eyes again, blurring his vision. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, painful rhythm that echoed in his ears.
He didn’t want to feel like this anymore. He didn’t want to be this person anymore-the one who was so desperate for love, who clung to Rody even when it was clear he didn’t want to be held. He didn’t want to live in a world where everything he had once loved had turned to ashes, where the very sight of the man he adored brought him pain.
Vincent’s eyes fell to the cabinet under the sink. He knew what was in there, had known for a while. It was something he had thought about before, on those nights when the loneliness became too much to bear, but he had always pushed the thought away. He had always told himself that things would get better, that Rody would come back to him, that they would find their way out of this dark place.
But now, standing there, looking at the man he had become, Vincent realized that those hopes were just illusions. He wasn’t strong enough to keep holding on, not anymore.
He reached down, his hand trembling as he opened the cabinet door. Inside, nestled among the cleaning supplies and extra toiletries, was a small bottle of pills. Vincent had been prescribed them a while back for anxiety, something he had kept hidden from Rody. He didn’t want Rody to know how much he was struggling, didn’t want to be a burden.
But now, they seemed like the answer. The only way out.
Vincent took the bottle out, his fingers shaking as he twisted off the cap. The pills rattled inside, a soft, almost mocking sound. He poured them into his hand, staring down at the little white tablets. It would be easy. So easy. Just take them all, and the pain would stop. The loneliness would end. The emptiness would fade away, and he wouldn’t have to live with this unbearable sadness any longer.
He hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to stop, to put the pills back, to call someone, anyone. But the voice was weak, drowned out by the overwhelming sense of despair that consumed him.
Vincent closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face. He thought of Rody, the way he used to be, the way he used to look at Vincent with such love and adoration. He thought of all the nights they had spent together, wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing secrets and dreams. He thought of the life they had built, the plans they had made, all now reduced to memories that cut him to the core.
And then he thought of the emptiness that had taken its place. The coldness in Rody’s eyes, the distance between them that had grown into a chasm Vincent couldn’t cross. The way Rody no longer touched him, no longer smiled at him, no longer loved him.
Vincent opened his eyes, staring down at the pills in his hand. His decision was made. There was no going back now.
He swallowed the pills, one by one, the bitterness burning his throat. Each one felt like a nail in his coffin, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. He just wanted it all to end.
When the last pill was gone, Vincent sank to the floor, his back against the cool tiles. The world around him began to blur, the edges of his vision darkening as the medication took effect. His breathing grew shallow, his heartbeat slowing as his body succumbed to the poison he had willingly ingested.
Vincent’s thoughts drifted as he lay there, the darkness closing in. He thought of Rody one last time, his heart breaking at the thought that he would never see him again. But even that pain was fading, slipping away as the world grew colder, quieter.
As the darkness took him, Vincent felt a strange sense of peace. The loneliness was gone, replaced by a numbness that was almost comforting. He would never have to feel this pain again, never have to face another day where the man he loved looked at him with indifference.
He was free.
And then, there was nothing.
Rody walked up the stairs to their apartment, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders. The evening had slipped away, swallowed by work, leaving him drained and irritable. He fumbled with his keys, finally managing to unlock the door. As he stepped inside, the familiar scent of home greeted him, though it felt different-hollow, as if something vital had been stripped away.
The apartment was eerily silent, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. Rody kicked off his shoes and tossed his jacket onto the back of the couch. He noticed the grocery bags still lying on the floor, their contents spilled out, but paid them no mind. His focus was on finding Vincent, even if the thought of seeing him brought a mix of dread and guilt.
“Vin?” Rody called out, his voice echoing through the quiet apartment. There was no answer.
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. Maybe Vincent had already gone to bed, tired from the day or still shaken. He heard about the ordeal at the bank. Rody’s stomach twisted with guilt, remembering how he had been so dismissive of Vincent earlier. He should’ve come home sooner. Vincent needed him. He should’ve been more understanding, more caring. He should’ve…
Rody shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He made his way through the apartment, expecting to find Vincent curled up in their bed. But as he passed the bathroom, something caught his eye-a shadow on the floor, just beyond the door.
Rody’s heart skipped a beat. “Vincent?”
No answer.
A cold, sickening dread crept up his spine as he stepped closer. The door was slightly ajar, and with trembling fingers, he pushed it open. The scene that greeted him made his blood run cold.
Vincent lay on the bathroom floor, his body slumped against the cabinet, eyes closed. His face was deathly pale, his lips tinged with blue. The bottle of pills lay beside him, tipped over, its contents scattered like tiny white confetti across the tiles.
“Vincent!” Rody’s voice cracked as he dropped to his knees beside him. His hands shook as he reached out, touching Vincent’s face, his skin icy to the touch. He shook him gently at first, then more urgently, his panic rising. “Vin, wake up! Please, wake up!”
But there was no response. Vincent’s body was limp, unresponsive, his breath shallow, if there was any breath at all. Rody’s mind raced, a maelstrom of terror and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Not Vincent. Not like this.
Rody scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself as he grabbed his phone, dialing emergency services with shaking hands. His voice was barely coherent as he begged the operator to send help, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush. But even as he spoke, the reality of the situation settled in like a lead weight in his chest.
Vincent was gone. Or at least, it felt that way. The lifelessness in his expression, the stillness of his body-it all pointed to one inevitable conclusion. And Rody knew, deep down, that it was his fault.
The minutes that followed felt like a blur. Rody stayed by Vincent’s side, clutching his hand, whispering desperate pleas into the void. He begged Vincent to come back, to open his eyes, to take a breath-anything. But the silence was deafening, the stillness suffocating.
When the paramedics arrived, Rody was forced to step back, his heart pounding in his chest as they worked on Vincent. The room was filled with their urgent commands, the beeping of machines, the chaos of life-saving efforts. But Rody could only watch, numb with shock and horror.
He stood in the hallway as they carried Vincent out on a stretcher, the world around him collapsing into a tunnel of disbelief. He followed them out to the ambulance, but when they closed the doors and drove off, he was left standing alone in the cold night air, his mind reeling.
Rody felt like he was drowning, caught in a whirlpool of guilt, regret, and anguish. He had failed Vincent. He hadn’t been there when Vincent needed him most, hadn’t seen the signs, hadn’t noticed the pain that had been eating away at the man he loved.
How had it come to this? How had he let it get this far?
Rody’s legs gave out beneath him, and he sank to the pavement, staring blankly at the empty street where the ambulance had disappeared. The tears that had been held back for so long finally broke free, and Rody buried his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
He had loved Vincent so much once. Every little thing about him had been precious-his voice, his touch, his laugh, the way he would curl up on Rody’s lap and cling to him like a lifeline. Vincent had been his world, his everything. And now, all of that was gone, snuffed out like a candle in the dark.
Rody had been the one to snuff it out. He had let the darkness creep in, let his love for Vincent turn to bitterness and resentment, until there was nothing left but the emptiness. And now, he would have to live with the knowledge that he had pushed Vincent to this-had driven him to a place so dark that he saw no other way out.
The thought was unbearable, the weight of it crushing Rody’s chest until he could hardly breathe. Vincent was gone, and it was his fault. He had lost the person who had loved him more than anything, who had seen the good in him even when Rody couldn’t see it himself.
And now, he was truly alone.
The night stretched on, cold and merciless, as Rody sat on the pavement, his sobs echoing into the emptiness around him. There was no comfort to be found, no solace in the quiet streets. Only the unbearable truth that Vincent was gone, and Rody was left to face the wreckage of the love he had let slip through his fingers.
Comment