Vincent stared at the reflection in the mirror, eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face-the sharp angles of his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes, the slight hollowness of his cheeks. His once meticulously groomed hair was now tousled, a bit longer than he usually kept it, the jet-black strands hanging limply around his face. He hardly recognized himself anymore. The man who used to stand in front of this mirror with pride had long since disappeared, replaced by a hollow shell of uncertainty and doubt.
Ten years. They had been together for ten years, married for five. A lifetime, really, by modern standards. They were the couple everyone envied-the perfect blend of passion and companionship, of love and understanding. They had weathered so many storms together, fought battles side by side, and come out stronger for it. But now, Vincent wasn’t sure they would survive this one.
He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling slightly. The house was too quiet, the silence oppressive, like a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. Rody was out again, probably with friends, or at work, or… somewhere. Vincent didn’t know anymore. Rody used to tell him everything, used to share every detail of his day, every thought that crossed his mind. But now, there was a distance between them, a gap that seemed to grow wider with each passing day.
Vincent felt a familiar pang of anxiety tighten in his chest, the same gnawing fear that had haunted him for months now. He could feel Rody slipping away from him, could sense the shift in their relationship, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Every time he tried to bring it up, to talk to Rody about what was happening between them, he was met with dismissive reassurances, a quick kiss on the forehead, and an “I’m just tired, Vin.” But the tiredness never seemed to go away, and Vincent was left feeling more lost and alone than ever.
He had always been the more emotional one, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve. Rody, on the other hand, was strong, confident, the rock that Vincent had clung to during the darkest moments of his life. He had been there for Vincent through everything-through the grueling hours of culinary school, through the sleepless nights spent perfecting his craft, through the moments of crippling self-doubt and insecurity. Rody had been his anchor, the one person who had never let him fall.
But now, Vincent was falling, and Rody wasn’t there to catch him.
Vincent turned away from the mirror, unable to stand the sight of himself any longer. He walked to the kitchen, his bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The kitchen had always been his sanctuary, the place where he felt most at ease, most in control. But now, even that was tainted. The joy he used to find in cooking had faded, replaced by a sense of obligation, of going through the motions. He still prepared meals for Rody, still put on a smile when they sat down to eat together, but the warmth was gone. The laughter that used to fill the air had been replaced by uncomfortable silence, by forced conversations that ended too quickly.
Vincent opened the fridge and pulled out a container of leftovers, setting it on the counter with a sigh. He wasn’t hungry-hadn’t been for days, really-but he knew he needed to eat. He knew what would happen if he didn’t, knew the spiral he would fall into. He had been down that road before, had spent too many nights hunched over a toilet, too many days avoiding mirrors, too many years hating himself for not being enough.
He wasn’t going to let himself fall back into that, no matter how much everything hurt right now.
As he mechanically heated up the food, his mind drifted back to the beginning, to the days when he and Rody couldn’t keep their hands off each other, when they stayed up all night talking, laughing, making love until the sun came up. Vincent could still remember the first time he had laid eyes on Rody, the way his heart had skipped a beat, the way his breath had caught in his throat. Rody had been everything he had ever wanted-strong, handsome, kind, with a smile that could light up a room.
And Rody had loved him too. Vincent knew that, had felt it in every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of affection. Rody had been his, and he had been Rody’s, and nothing else had mattered.
But now… now everything was different. Rody was different. The love that had once burned so brightly between them had dimmed, and Vincent didn’t know how to reignite it.
The microwave beeped, pulling Vincent out of his thoughts. He grabbed the container and spooned the contents onto a plate, staring at the food with disinterest. It was a dish he had made a hundred times before, one of Rody’s favorites, but tonight it tasted like ashes in his mouth.
He forced himself to eat, one bite at a time, his mind wandering back to Rody. Where was he now? Who was he with? The questions gnawed at Vincent’s insides, but he pushed them down, trying to focus on anything else. He had to trust Rody. He had to believe that this was just a phase, that they would get through it, that the man he loved was still there, still the same Rody who had promised to love him for the rest of their lives.
But the doubt was always there, lurking in the back of his mind, whispering insidious thoughts that he couldn’t shake.
When the front door finally creaked open, Vincent was in the living room, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand. Rody walked in, looking tired, his clothes slightly rumpled, his hair a bit disheveled. Vincent’s heart skipped a beat, as it always did when he saw Rody, but the warmth that used to fill him was tinged with something darker now-fear, suspicion, doubt.
“Hey,” Vincent said softly, trying to keep his voice steady.
Rody glanced at him, offering a small, tired smile. “Hey. You’re still up?”
Vincent nodded, taking a sip of his wine to hide the tremor in his hands. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”
Rody didn’t respond, just nodded and headed toward the bedroom. Vincent watched him go, the wine in his glass suddenly tasting bitter. He wanted to call out to Rody, to ask him where he had been, who he had been with, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t want to be that person, didn’t want to be the jealous, insecure partner who couldn’t trust the man he loved. But the doubt was there, festering, growing stronger with each passing day.
When Rody disappeared into the bedroom, Vincent let out a shaky breath, his hand tightening around the glass. He downed the rest of the wine in one gulp, the liquid burning his throat as it went down. He didn’t bother pouring another glass. Instead, he set the empty one on the table and stood, his legs unsteady beneath him.
He didn’t go to the bedroom. Instead, he walked to the guest room, the room they had barely used in the ten years they had been together. It had always been just the two of them, and they had never needed the extra space. But tonight, Vincent couldn’t bring himself to share a bed with Rody, not when the distance between them felt so insurmountable.
He collapsed onto the bed, the sheets cool against his skin. His mind was racing, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this, how much longer he could pretend that everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. He felt like he was losing Rody, and the fear of that was more than he could bear.
Sleep didn’t come easily. When it finally did, it was fitful, plagued by dreams of Rody slipping away, of waking up to find him gone for good. When Vincent finally woke the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky, and the bed beside him was empty.
He sat up, his head throbbing, his body aching from the tension that had settled into his muscles. He could hear the sounds of Rody moving around in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, the low hum of the radio playing in the background. For a moment, Vincent allowed himself to imagine that everything was normal, that Rody would come into the room with a smile on his face, and they would share breakfast together like they used to.
But that fantasy shattered the moment Vincent remembered the distance between them, the nagging doubt that had taken root in his heart.
He forced himself out of bed, heading to the bathroom to wash up. When he finally made his way to the kitchen, Rody was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked up when Vincent entered, his expression unreadable.
“Morning,” Rody said, his voice lacking the warmth it once held.
“Morning,” Vincent replied, forcing a smile as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Vincent could feel Rody watching him, could sense the unspoken words hovering between them, but he didn’t know how to break the silence.
Finally, Rody spoke. “Vincent… we need to talk.”
Vincent’s heart skipped a beat, fear tightening its grip on his chest. He set his cup down, his hands trembling slightly. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rody took a deep breath, his eyes meeting Vincent’s for what felt like the first time in weeks. Vincent could see the hesitation there, the uncertainty, and it made his heart ache. Whatever Rody was about to say, Vincent knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“I… I don’t know how to say this, but I think you already know,” Rody began, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been seeing someone else.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, and Vincent felt the world drop out from under him. His hands went cold, his chest tightening as if someone had reached inside him and squeezed his heart until it burst. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All he could do was stare at Rody, trying to process what he had just heard.
“You’re… what?” Vincent finally managed to choke out, his voice trembling.
“I’ve been seeing someone else,” Rody repeated, his gaze dropping to the table. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Vincent, I swear. It just… it just did. I was feeling so distant from you, and I didn’t know how to fix it. And then this person came along, and I…”
Vincent didn’t hear the rest of Rody’s explanation. His mind was reeling, his thoughts spinning out of control. Rody was cheating on him. The one person he had always counted on, the one person he had always trusted, had betrayed him in the worst possible way. Vincent’s hands shook as he gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady himself, but nothing made sense anymore.
“How… how long?” Vincent asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Six months,” Rody admitted, his voice full of guilt. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn’t know how. I was afraid of hurting you, of what it would do to us. But I can’t keep lying to you, Vincent. You deserve better than that.”
Six months. Six months of lies, of pretending, of coming home to Vincent and acting like everything was normal. Vincent felt sick to his stomach, a cold, clammy sweat breaking out on his skin. The room seemed to tilt around him, and he had to force himself to breathe, to keep from breaking down in front of Rody.
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” Rody said, his voice cracking. “I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, I really do, but I… I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I don’t know if we can keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.”
Vincent’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. He could feel his heart breaking, could feel the pieces of it shattering inside him. The pain was unbearable, a sharp, searing agony that made him want to scream, to cry, to beg Rody not to leave him. But he couldn’t do any of those things. All he could do was sit there, numb and silent, as his world crumbled around him.
“You’re all I have, Rody,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”
Rody looked at him with pity in his eyes, and it only made the pain worse. “I don’t want to lose you either, Vincent. But I can’t keep living like this. I can’t keep hurting you, and I can’t keep lying to myself. We both deserve better than that.”
Vincent’s breath hitched in his throat, tears welling up in his eyes. He had never felt so helpless, so broken. The man he loved, the man he had built his life around, was slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Please,” Vincent begged, his voice cracking. “Don’t leave me. I’ll do anything, Rody, just don’t leave me.”
Rody’s face softened, and he reached out to take Vincent’s hand, but Vincent pulled away, the touch too painful to bear. Rody’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before he let it fall to his side.
“I’m not leaving you,” Rody said softly. “I just… I need time. We both do. I think we should take a break, figure out what we really want, what we really need. Maybe that’ll help us… maybe that’ll help me see things more clearly.”
Vincent shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “No, Rody, please… we can work this out. We can fix this. Just… just don’t go.”
But Rody stood up, his expression filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Vincent. I need to go. I need to clear my head, figure out what I really want. I think you need that too.”
Vincent watched as Rody walked away, the sound of the front door closing behind him echoing in his ears like a gunshot. The silence that followed was deafening, crushing, a void that swallowed him whole.
He was alone. Truly, utterly alone.
Vincent didn’t know how long he sat there, staring at the empty space where Rody had been. Time seemed to blur, to stretch out endlessly, each second an eternity of pain and despair. The world felt cold, empty, meaningless. He had lost Rody, the one person who had made his life worth living, and he didn’t know how to go on.
Eventually, Vincent forced himself to move, to stand up on unsteady legs. He stumbled to the bathroom, the sudden nausea too overwhelming to ignore. He barely made it to the toilet before his stomach heaved, the meager contents of his breakfast splashing into the bowl. He retched until his throat was raw, until there was nothing left, his body trembling violently.
When he finally pulled away, he felt like a shadow of himself, like a ghost haunting a life that was no longer his. His reflection in the bathroom mirror looked back at him with hollow eyes, eyes that had seen too much, that had felt too much. The man he saw there was a stranger, a pitiful, broken creature that bore little resemblance to the confident, passionate chef he had once been.
Vincent turned away from the mirror, unable to stand the sight of himself any longer. He sank to the floor, his back against the cool tile, his body shaking with silent sobs. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He didn’t know how to heal the gaping wound in his chest, the hole where his heart had once been.
All he could do was sit there, lost in his own misery, and hope that somehow, someday, the pain would fade. But deep down, Vincent knew that it wouldn’t. The love he had for Rody was too deep, too all-consuming, and now that it was gone, there was nothing left to fill the void.
Vincent had always struggled with self-esteem, had always felt like he wasn’t good enough, like he didn’t deserve the love and success he had found. He had battled with his body image, with his eating habits, with the gnawing insecurity that had plagued him since he was a teenager. Rody had been the one to help him through it, to make him feel worthy, to make him feel loved.
But now, that love was gone, and with it went everything Vincent had once believed about himself. He wasn’t good enough for Rody, wasn’t enough to keep him from straying, from finding someone else. And if he wasn’t enough for Rody, then who was he enough for?
Vincent sat on the bathroom floor for what felt like hours, lost in a sea of despair. He didn’t know how he was going to get through this, how he was going to face the world without Rody by his side. Everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever worked for, seemed meaningless now. The future he had envisioned for them, the life they had built together, was gone.
Vincent’s thoughts were filled with Rody-the man he had loved so deeply, so completely, and the emptiness that was left behind now that he was gone.
Vincent sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, his back against the wall, staring at the spot where Rody had once stood. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on him with the weight of his own despair. Rody was gone-he had walked out the door, leaving Vincent alone in the echo of what had once been their life together.
The pain in Vincent’s chest was unbearable, a gnawing, hollow ache that seemed to consume him from the inside out. He felt like he was drowning in it, like it was eating away at his very soul. His mind raced with thoughts of Rody and the six months of lies, of betrayal, of everything they had built together crumbling into dust. How had it come to this? How had he let this happen?
Vincent had always struggled with his self-esteem, always felt like he wasn’t enough. Rody had been his anchor, the one person who had made him feel loved, made him feel like he was worth something. But now, that anchor was gone, and Vincent was adrift, lost in a sea of his own insecurities.
The old, familiar voice in his head started whispering again, the one he had fought so hard to silence. *You’re not good enough,* it hissed. *You never were. He was always going to leave you. Who could ever love someone like you?*
Vincent clenched his fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He felt sick, a deep, twisting nausea that churned in his stomach, rising up his throat. He pushed himself up, stumbling to the sink, clutching the edge of the counter as he stared into the mirror. The face that looked back at him was pale, drawn, hollowed out by pain and exhaustion. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying, his lips trembling.
He felt a familiar urge, one he hadn’t felt in years. An urge to regain some control, to do something, anything, to stop the chaos in his mind. The voice was growing louder, more insistent. *You don’t deserve to eat. You don’t deserve to feel anything. You’re worthless.*
Vincent tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to him like a parasite, burrowing deeper into his mind. He could already feel the bile rising in his throat, the need to purge himself of the pain, the shame, the utter worthlessness he felt. Without thinking, he turned to the toilet, his body moving on autopilot.
As he knelt on the cold tile floor, Vincent felt a twisted sense of relief, a sense that this was something he could control. The nausea grew worse, and he retched, emptying his stomach in a violent heave. It burned his throat, bringing tears to his eyes, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the agony in his chest.
When he was done, he sat back on his heels, panting, his entire body trembling. But the relief was fleeting, quickly replaced by a crushing guilt that settled over him like a shroud. He knew what he was doing was wrong, that he was slipping back into old habits, but he couldn’t stop himself. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, and this was the only way he knew how to cope.
The days that followed were a blur for Vincent. He moved through them in a daze, barely eating, barely sleeping, just existing in a fog of grief and self-loathing. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the silence a constant reminder that Rody was gone. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to go into the kitchen, couldn’t bear the thought of food, of cooking, of anything that reminded him of the life he had lost.
He avoided his reflection, unable to look at the person he had become. The self-loathing grew worse with each passing day, festering inside him like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Vincent knew he was spiraling, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself out of it. The bulimia, which he had fought so hard to overcome, crept back into his life, insidious and unrelenting.
Vincent found himself purging more often, the need for control overtaking his rational mind. It became a vicious cycle: the hunger gnawed at him, but eating felt like a betrayal, a reminder of his own weakness. So, he starved himself, and when the hunger became too much to bear, he would eat, only to purge himself of the guilt and shame that followed.
Rody didn’t come back. Days turned into weeks, and Vincent’s world grew smaller and smaller, shrinking down to the confines of the apartment, the bathroom, the mirror he could no longer stand to look into. He stopped answering his phone, stopped responding to texts. His friends, few as they were, reached out at first, concerned about his sudden silence, but eventually, they gave up. Vincent couldn’t blame them; he wasn’t worth the effort.
The weight continued to drop off him, his clothes hanging loose on his thinning frame. He avoided going outside, terrified that someone would see him, would know what he was doing to himself. The idea of judgment, of pity, was unbearable.
One night, Vincent found himself sitting on the kitchen floor, staring at the empty fridge. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, the last time he had allowed himself more than a few sips of water. His hands were shaking, his vision blurring as he tried to focus. The hunger was a constant, gnawing ache, but it was better than the emptiness, better than the pain.
Vincent knew he couldn’t go on like this, knew that he was destroying himself, but the thought of stopping, of trying to heal, was too overwhelming. He was too far gone, too broken. Without Rody, without the love that had once filled his life, there was nothing left for him. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He didn’t want to feel anything.
As he sat there, his body weak and trembling, Vincent wondered if this was how it would end. If he would just waste away, his body giving out before his mind could catch up. It was a comforting thought, in a way. To just let go, to stop fighting, to let the darkness take him.
Vincent’s vision swam, the edges of his consciousness fraying as the exhaustion and malnutrition took their toll. He leaned back against the counter, his head lolling to the side as his eyelids grew heavy. The world was slipping away, fading into a dull, muted gray.
In that moment, as the last of his strength ebbed away, Vincent thought of Rody. He pictured his smile, the warmth in his eyes, the way he used to hold Vincent close, making him feel safe, loved. It was a memory he clung to, a flicker of light in the encroaching darkness.
But even that light was fading, growing dimmer with each passing second. Vincent let out a shuddering breath, his body going limp as the last of his energy drained away. There was no more pain, no more hunger, no more self-loathing. Just a deep, encompassing numbness that swallowed him whole.
And then, there was nothing.
—
Rody returned to the apartment weeks later, the guilt gnawing at him until he could no longer ignore it. He had left Vincent alone, had walked away when Vincent needed him most. The affair, the distance-none of it mattered anymore. All Rody wanted was to fix what he had broken, to try and salvage whatever was left of their relationship.
But as soon as he stepped inside, Rody knew something was wrong. The air was thick, oppressive, filled with a silence that pressed down on him like a weight. The apartment was dark, the curtains drawn, the only light coming from the faint glow of the kitchen. A putrid stench in the air.
Rody’s heart pounded in his chest as he made his way to the kitchen, dread settling in his stomach like a lead weight. He called out for Vincent, his voice shaky, but there was no answer.
When Rody rounded the corner and saw Vincent lying on the kitchen floor, his heart stopped.
“Vincent!” Rody cried, rushing to his side, dropping to his knees beside him. He shook Vincent’s shoulder, panic surging through him. “Vincent, wake up!”
But Vincent didn’t move. His skin was pale, almost translucent, his eyes closed, his body limp and unresponsive. Rody’s hands shook as he checked for a pulse, but he found nothing.
Rody fumbled for his phone, dialing 911 with trembling fingers, his voice breaking as he pleaded for help. But deep down, he knew it was too late. He had left Vincent alone, and now he was paying the price for it.
As he waited for the paramedics to arrive, Rody cradled Vincent’s head in his lap, tears streaming down his face. He whispered apologies, promises, anything he could think of, but none of it mattered. Vincent was gone, and there was nothing Rody could do to stop it.
When the paramedics finally arrived, Rody was shoved aside, forced to watch as they worked frantically to revive Vincent. But he could see it in their faces, in the way they moved, that it was a losing battle. The damage was done, and no amount of medical intervention could undo it.
Vincent was gone.
The paramedics loaded Vincent’s lifeless body onto a stretcher, covering him with a sheet as they wheeled him out of the apartment. Rody followed in a daze, numb with shock and grief, unable to comprehend what had just happened. It felt like a nightmare, one he couldn’t wake up from.
In the days that followed, Rody was consumed by the overwhelming grief and guilt that now defined his every waking moment. The apartment, once filled with warmth and love, had become a mausoleum-a place where the ghost of Vincent’s presence lingered in every corner. The silence was oppressive, suffocating him as he moved through the empty rooms. He could still see Vincent in every detail, hear his voice in the quiet moments, feel the echoes of their life together in every mundane object.
Rody couldn’t escape the memories, the relentless flood of guilt that washed over him with every breath. He saw Vincent’s lifeless body every time he closed his eyes, the image seared into his mind. He heard Vincent’s voice, soft and broken, in those last moments they had shared before everything fell apart. *”I love you, Rody.”* The words haunted him, tearing him apart with the weight of their sincerity, their desperation.
Rody had tried to distract himself, to find some way to numb the pain, but nothing worked. The affair, the lies-none of it mattered now. All that was left was the unbearable knowledge that he had betrayed the one person who had loved him unconditionally, the one person who had needed him the most. He had pushed Vincent away, had let his own fears and insecurities drive a wedge between them, and now it was too late to make things right.
The funeral was a blur, a surreal experience that Rody stumbled through in a daze. He barely registered the faces of the people who came to pay their respects, their expressions a mix of pity and sympathy. Vincent had always been a private person, with few close friends, and the small gathering only served to highlight the isolation that had marked his life. Rody stood by the graveside, his hands trembling as he clutched the single white rose he had brought, his vision blurred by tears he could no longer hold back.
As the coffin was lowered into the ground, Rody felt a part of himself die with Vincent. The finality of it was crushing, an unbearable weight that settled in his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. He wanted to scream, to cry out in anguish, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the grief that threatened to consume him whole.
When the last shovelful of earth was placed on the grave, Rody found himself alone, the other mourners having quietly departed, leaving him to his solitary vigil. He knelt by the freshly turned soil, his fingers digging into the dirt as if he could somehow reach Vincent, pull him back from the abyss. But there was nothing he could do, nothing that could undo the past, nothing that could bring Vincent back to him.
Rody stayed by the grave until the sky darkened, the world around him fading into shadows. He spoke to Vincent, his voice raw and broken, begging for forgiveness, for a chance to make things right. But the only answer was the cold wind that whispered through the trees, a chilling reminder of the emptiness that now filled his life.
In the days that followed, Rody withdrew from the world, retreating into the shadows of the apartment he had once shared with Vincent. He couldn’t bring himself to leave, couldn’t face the outside world without Vincent by his side. The guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his failures, of the life he had destroyed with his own hands.
Food became an afterthought, something he barely registered in his grief-stricken state. The once vibrant, bustling kitchen was now silent, its counters bare, the stove cold and unused. Rody couldn’t bear to cook, couldn’t bear the thought of eating, of nourishing a body that felt like a prison, a hollow shell without Vincent.
As the days bled into weeks, Rody’s health deteriorated, the weight he had once carried melting away until he was little more than skin and bone. He moved through the apartment like a ghost, his eyes hollow, his face gaunt. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal, couldn’t remember the last time he had felt anything other than the crushing weight of his guilt.
The mirrors in the apartment reflected a stranger’s face back at him, a face he could barely recognize. He saw Vincent in the sharp angles of his own cheekbones, in the dark circles that had taken residence beneath his eyes. The resemblance was a cruel mockery, a constant reminder of the man he had lost, the man he had failed.
One night, as Rody sat in the darkness of the living room, a glass of whiskey cradled in his trembling hands, he found himself staring at the stack of old photographs that lay on the coffee table. Pictures of happier times, of moments frozen in time when they had been together, when they had been happy.
He picked up a photograph, his fingers tracing the edges of the image. It was a picture of them on their wedding day, Vincent’s smile wide and genuine as he held Rody close, his arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace. Rody’s own smile in the photo was radiant, his eyes filled with love and hope for the future. But now, those emotions felt like a lifetime ago, a distant memory that no longer felt real.
Rody’s hand shook as he set the photograph back down, the glass of whiskey slipping from his grasp and shattering on the floor. The sound echoed through the empty apartment, a harsh reminder of the loneliness that now defined his life. He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with silent sobs as the grief he had been holding back finally broke free.
He had nothing left. No future, no hope, no reason to keep going. Vincent had been his everything, the center of his world, and without him, there was nothing. Rody knew, deep down, that he couldn’t continue like this, couldn’t keep living in this limbo, this purgatory of guilt and sorrow.
The pain in his chest grew sharper with each passing day, a constant reminder of the life he had lost, of the love he had destroyed. Rody couldn’t escape it, couldn’t numb it, couldn’t push it away. It was a part of him now, an inescapable reality that he would carry with him for the rest of his days.
As he sat in the darkness, the shattered remains of the glass glinting in the faint light from the street outside, Rody made a decision. He couldn’t keep living like this, couldn’t keep punishing himself for his mistakes. But he also couldn’t move on, couldn’t imagine a life without Vincent. The pain was too much, too overwhelming, and he was too tired to fight it anymore.
Rody rose from the couch, his movements slow and deliberate as he made his way to the bedroom. He opened the closet, his hands shaking as he reached for the box that sat on the top shelf. Inside were the remnants of a life that no longer existed, memories that had been tarnished by betrayal and loss.
He pulled out Vincent’s favorite shirt, a soft, worn flannel that still carried the faint scent of his cologne. Rody held it close, burying his face in the fabric as tears streamed down his cheeks. The scent was faint, almost gone, but it was enough to bring back a flood of memories, each one sharper and more painful than the last.
Rody moved to the bed, sitting down on the edge as he clutched the shirt to his chest. He could feel the weight of the decision he was about to make, the finality of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The world had grown too dark, too cold without Vincent, and Rody was too tired to keep going.
He reached into the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out the bottle of sleeping pills he had kept there for years but had rarely used. His hands shook as he twisted off the cap, the sound of the pills rattling in the bottle loud in the stillness of the room. He poured them into his hand, staring down at the small, white tablets for a long moment.
Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he hesitated, his mind racing with thoughts of what he was about to do. But the pain, the guilt, the overwhelming emptiness-they were too much to bear. He couldn’t keep living like this, couldn’t keep carrying the weight of his own failures.
With a final, shuddering breath, Rody swallowed the pills, washing them down with the last of the whiskey from the bottle he had brought with him. He lay down on the bed, clutching Vincent’s shirt to his chest as he closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness to take him.
As the world around him began to fade, Rody’s last thoughts were of Vincent, of the life they had shared, of the love he had lost. He whispered a final apology, a desperate plea for forgiveness, as the darkness finally closed in, taking him into its cold embrace.
And in that moment, Rody found the peace that had eluded him for so long.
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