Rody couldn’t help but feel lucky every time he looked at Vincent. The man was everything he had ever wanted in a partner-kind, patient, and endlessly thoughtful. Vincent had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, whether it was the way he brewed Rody’s morning coffee just the way he liked it or the way he’d surprise him with a freshly baked croissant on particularly stressful days. Vincent was the kind of person who spoke softly and carried a gentle warmth in his words, a man who would rather show his love through small acts of kindness than grand gestures.
For Rody, that was perfect. He loved everything about Vincent-how his dark hair fell messily over his forehead in the morning, the soft curve of his lips when he smiled, and the quiet affection in his eyes whenever they locked gazes across the room. Vincent was everything Rody had ever dreamed of in a partner and more.
It was hard to imagine how he had managed without Vincent for so long. They had been dating for almost a year now, and every day felt like a new reason to fall in love all over again. Rody never knew he could be so happy, so content. Every time Vincent made him breakfast, Rody’s heart would swell with affection. It wasn’t just the food-it was the care and love that Vincent poured into every dish. Vincent didn’t just cook; he crafted meals with the same precision and dedication that Rody imagined an artist used when creating a masterpiece.
Rody often found himself just watching Vincent in the kitchen, mesmerized by the graceful way he moved, the way he could turn simple ingredients into something magical. The way Vincent would smile when he caught Rody staring, a soft blush coloring his pale cheeks, was enough to make Rody’s heart skip a beat.
Vincent was soft-spoken and gentle, always quick to offer comfort and support. He never raised his voice, never lost his temper. Whenever Rody was upset, Vincent was there, soothing him with kind words and warm embraces. Vincent’s love was the anchor that kept Rody grounded, the steady presence that made him feel safe and secure.
But then, the nightmares began.
At first, they were vague and disjointed-flashes of unsettling images that would fade as soon as Rody woke up. But as the days passed, the dreams became more vivid, more disturbing. Rody would find himself standing in a dimly lit kitchen, the air thick with the scent of iron and smoke. In the dream, Vincent was there, but he was different. His soft smile was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating expression that sent shivers down Rody’s spine.
The kitchen was sterile and clinical, nothing like the cozy, lived-in space that Vincent loved so much. On the counter, there was a woman-her body butchered and prepared with the same meticulous care that Vincent used when cooking for Rody. Rody could see every detail-the blood pooling on the floor, the way Vincent’s hands moved with practiced precision as he sliced through the flesh.
In the dream, Vincent would turn to him, holding out a perfectly cooked hanger steak, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s for you,” he would say in that same soft voice, but it was twisted now, wrong. The dream would shift, and suddenly Rody would find himself taking the offered meat, lifting it to his mouth despite the revulsion that twisted his stomach. The taste was rich and savory, but Rody knew what it was, and it made him want to scream.
But the dream wouldn’t stop there. Vincent would lean in close, his breath warm against Rody’s ear, before biting down, tearing into Rody’s flesh. The pain was sharp and blinding, and Rody would wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his body trembling.
The nightmares haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to shake them off, they clung to him, casting a shadow over his waking hours. Rody would catch himself staring at Vincent, his mind replaying the dream over and over until he could hardly tell what was real anymore. The more he tried to push the nightmares away, the more they seemed to consume him.
He started avoiding Vincent, afraid of what he might see if he looked too closely. He didn’t want to believe that the man in his dreams was the same Vincent who loved him so dearly, but the fear gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day. Rody began to pull away, finding excuses to leave the room whenever Vincent started cooking, avoiding his touch, and dodging his concerned gaze.
Vincent noticed, of course. How could he not? The change in Rody’s behavior was subtle at first, but it grew more pronounced as time went on. Vincent’s gentle inquiries about Rody’s well-being became more frequent, his concern evident in the way he would gently press Rody for answers.
“Rody, mon amour, are you alright?” Vincent asked one evening, his voice soft as he placed a plate of freshly baked cookies in front of Rody. They were Rody’s favorite-chocolate chip with just a hint of sea salt, perfectly warm and gooey. Vincent had baked them just for him, hoping they might coax Rody out of the distant mood he had been in lately.
Rody looked at the cookies, the rich aroma filling the air, and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The nightmares had twisted something inside him, turning the things he once loved into sources of fear and disgust. He could hardly look at the food without thinking of the dream, of the woman’s butchered body and Vincent’s cold eyes.
“I’m fine,” Rody muttered, pushing the plate away without meeting Vincent’s gaze. He knew he was hurting Vincent, but he couldn’t stop himself. The fear was too much, too overwhelming.
Vincent frowned, his brow furrowing with concern. He reached out to touch Rody’s hand, but Rody flinched, pulling away before Vincent could make contact. The hurt in Vincent’s eyes was like a knife to Rody’s heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain, couldn’t tell Vincent about the nightmares that were driving him to the brink of madness.
“Rody,” Vincent began, his voice laced with worry, “please, let me in. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me. Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
But Rody shook his head, his thoughts too jumbled, too chaotic. “I just need some space,” he said, his voice strained. “I need to figure things out on my own.”
Vincent’s expression softened, his eyes filling with sadness. “I understand,” he said quietly, though it was clear he didn’t. How could he? He was the man in Rody’s nightmares, and yet he was still the same sweet, loving Vincent who had always been there for him.
Rody felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his own mind, the nightmares wrapping around him like chains, dragging him down into darkness. He wanted to reach out to Vincent, to let him chase away the fear and the doubt, but he couldn’t. The images in his dreams were too vivid, too real.
The days passed in a blur, each one a struggle to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Rody tried to go through the motions-he’d wake up, go to work, and come home to Vincent’s warm smile and loving embrace. But it felt hollow, like he was just playing a part in a life that no longer fit him.
The distance between them grew, a chasm that neither of them knew how to bridge. Vincent continued to try, his patience and love unwavering. He would leave sweet notes for Rody to find, little reminders of his affection tucked into Rody’s jacket pocket or left on his pillow. He made Rody’s favorite meals, even though Rody could hardly bring himself to eat them anymore. He would hold Rody close at night, whispering words of love and reassurance, even as Rody stiffened in his arms.
But the nightmares persisted, relentless in their torment. Every time Rody closed his eyes, he was back in that kitchen, watching Vincent butcher the woman, feeling the sharp sting of Vincent’s teeth sinking into his flesh. He would wake up gasping for air, the taste of blood on his tongue and the smell of burning flesh in his nostrils.
One night, after yet another nightmare, Rody couldn’t take it anymore. He left the bed, leaving Vincent’s warm embrace behind as he stumbled into the bathroom, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection pale and haunted, dark circles under his eyes from too many sleepless nights.
“What’s happening to me?” he whispered, his voice cracking. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him, the fear etched into his features, the desperation in his eyes.
He splashed water on his face, hoping to wash away the lingering remnants of the dream, but it did little to help. He could still feel the phantom pain of Vincent’s bite, the heat of the flames as they consumed everything.
When he returned to the bedroom, Vincent was awake, sitting up in bed with a worried look on his face. “Rody?” he called softly, his voice filled with concern. “Is everything alright?”
Rody hesitated in the doorway, his heart aching at the sight of Vincent. He wanted so badly to go to him, to let Vincent hold him and make everything better. But the nightmares had built a wall between them, one that Rody didn’t know how to tear down.
“I’m fine,” Rody lied, his voice hollow. “Go back to sleep.”
But Vincent didn’t move. Instead, he got out of bed and crossed the room to where Rody stood.
Rody couldn’t help but feel lucky every time he looked at Vincent. The man was everything he had ever wanted in a partner-kind, patient, and endlessly thoughtful. Vincent had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, whether it was the way he brewed Rody’s morning coffee just the way he liked it or the way he’d surprise him with a freshly baked croissant on particularly stressful days. Vincent was the kind of person who spoke softly and carried a gentle warmth in his words, a man who would rather show his love through small acts of kindness than grand gestures.
For Rody, that was perfect. He loved everything about Vincent-how his dark hair fell messily over his forehead in the morning, the soft curve of his lips when he smiled, and the quiet affection in his eyes whenever they locked gazes across the room. Vincent was everything Rody had ever dreamed of in a partner and more.
It was hard to imagine how he had managed without Vincent for so long. They had been dating for almost a year now, and every day felt like a new reason to fall in love all over again. Rody never knew he could be so happy, so content. Every time Vincent made him breakfast, Rody’s heart would swell with affection. It wasn’t just the food-it was the care and love that Vincent poured into every dish. Vincent didn’t just cook; he crafted meals with the same precision and dedication that Rody imagined an artist used when creating a masterpiece.
Rody often found himself just watching Vincent in the kitchen, mesmerized by the graceful way he moved, the way he could turn simple ingredients into something magical. The way Vincent would smile when he caught Rody staring, a soft blush coloring his pale cheeks, was enough to make Rody’s heart skip a beat.
Vincent was soft-spoken and gentle, always quick to offer comfort and support. He never raised his voice, never lost his temper. Whenever Rody was upset, Vincent was there, soothing him with kind words and warm embraces. Vincent’s love was the anchor that kept Rody grounded, the steady presence that made him feel safe and secure.
But then, the nightmares began.
At first, they were vague and disjointed-flashes of unsettling images that would fade as soon as Rody woke up. But as the days passed, the dreams became more vivid, more disturbing. Rody would find himself standing in a dimly lit kitchen, the air thick with the scent of iron and smoke. In the dream, Vincent was there, but he was different. His soft smile was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating expression that sent shivers down Rody’s spine.
The kitchen was sterile and clinical, nothing like the cozy, lived-in space that Vincent loved so much. On the counter, there was a woman-her body butchered and prepared with the same meticulous care that Vincent used when cooking for Rody. Rody could see every detail-the blood pooling on the floor, the way Vincent’s hands moved with practiced precision as he sliced through the flesh.
In the dream, Vincent would turn to him, holding out a perfectly cooked hanger steak, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s for you,” he would say in that same soft voice, but it was twisted now, wrong. The dream would shift, and suddenly Rody would find himself taking the offered meat, lifting it to his mouth despite the revulsion that twisted his stomach. The taste was rich and savory, but Rody knew what it was, and it made him want to scream.
But the dream wouldn’t stop there. Vincent would lean in close, his breath warm against Rody’s ear, before biting down, tearing into Rody’s flesh. The pain was sharp and blinding, and Rody would wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his body trembling.
The nightmares haunted him. No matter how hard he tried to shake them off, they clung to him, casting a shadow over his waking hours. Rody would catch himself staring at Vincent, his mind replaying the dream over and over until he could hardly tell what was real anymore. The more he tried to push the nightmares away, the more they seemed to consume him.
He started avoiding Vincent, afraid of what he might see if he looked too closely. He didn’t want to believe that the man in his dreams was the same Vincent who loved him so dearly, but the fear gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day. Rody began to pull away, finding excuses to leave the room whenever Vincent started cooking, avoiding his touch, and dodging his concerned gaze.
Vincent noticed, of course. How could he not? The change in Rody’s behavior was subtle at first, but it grew more pronounced as time went on. Vincent’s gentle inquiries about Rody’s well-being became more frequent, his concern evident in the way he would gently press Rody for answers.
“Rody, mon amour, are you alright?” Vincent asked one evening, his voice soft as he placed a plate of freshly baked cookies in front of Rody. They were Rody’s favorite-chocolate chip with just a hint of sea salt, perfectly warm and gooey. Vincent had baked them just for him, hoping they might coax Rody out of the distant mood he had been in lately.
Rody looked at the cookies, the rich aroma filling the air, and felt a wave of nausea wash over him. The nightmares had twisted something inside him, turning the things he once loved into sources of fear and disgust. He could hardly look at the food without thinking of the dream, of the woman’s butchered body and Vincent’s cold eyes.
“I’m fine,” Rody muttered, pushing the plate away without meeting Vincent’s gaze. He knew he was hurting Vincent, but he couldn’t stop himself. The fear was too much, too overwhelming.
Vincent frowned, his brow furrowing with concern. He reached out to touch Rody’s hand, but Rody flinched, pulling away before Vincent could make contact. The hurt in Vincent’s eyes was like a knife to Rody’s heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain, couldn’t tell Vincent about the nightmares that were driving him to the brink of madness.
“Rody,” Vincent began, his voice laced with worry, “please, let me in. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me. Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
But Rody shook his head, his thoughts too jumbled, too chaotic. “I just need some space,” he said, his voice strained. “I need to figure things out on my own.”
Vincent’s expression softened, his eyes filling with sadness. “I understand,” he said quietly, though it was clear he didn’t. How could he? He was the man in Rody’s nightmares, and yet he was still the same sweet, loving Vincent who had always been there for him.
Rody felt like he was suffocating under the weight of his own mind, the nightmares wrapping around him like chains, dragging him down into darkness. He wanted to reach out to Vincent, to let him chase away the fear and the doubt, but he couldn’t. The images in his dreams were too vivid, too real.
The days passed in a blur, each one a struggle to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Rody tried to go through the motions-he’d wake up, go to work, and come home to Vincent’s warm smile and loving embrace. But it felt hollow, like he was just playing a part in a life that no longer fit him.
The distance between them grew, a chasm that neither of them knew how to bridge. Vincent continued to try, his patience and love unwavering. He would leave sweet notes for Rody to find, little reminders of his affection tucked into Rody’s jacket pocket or left on his pillow. He made Rody’s favorite meals, even though Rody could hardly bring himself to eat them anymore. He would hold Rody close at night, whispering words of love and reassurance, even as Rody stiffened in his arms.
But the nightmares persisted, relentless in their torment. Every time Rody closed his eyes, he was back in that kitchen, watching Vincent butcher the woman, feeling the sharp sting of Vincent’s teeth sinking into his flesh. He would wake up gasping for air, the taste of blood on his tongue and the smell of burning flesh in his nostrils.
One night, after yet another nightmare, Rody couldn’t take it anymore. He left the bed, leaving Vincent’s warm embrace behind as he stumbled into the bathroom, his hands shaking as he gripped the edge of the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection pale and haunted, dark circles under his eyes from too many sleepless nights.
“What’s happening to me?” he whispered, his voice cracking. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him, the fear etched into his features, the desperation in his eyes.
He splashed water on his face, hoping to wash away the lingering remnants of the dream, but it did little to help. He could still feel the phantom pain of Vincent’s bite, the heat of the flames as they consumed everything.
When he returned to the bedroom, Vincent was awake, sitting up in bed with a worried look on his face. “Rody?” he called softly, his voice filled with concern. “Is everything alright?”
Rody hesitated in the doorway, his heart aching at the sight of Vincent. He wanted so badly to go to him, to let Vincent hold him and make everything better. But the nightmares had built a wall between them, one that Rody didn’t know how to tear down.
“I’m fine,” Rody lied, his voice hollow. “Go back to sleep.”
But Vincent didn’t move. Instead, he got out of bed and crossed the room to where Rody stood.
Vincent’s presence was a warm, gentle reminder of everything Rody loved, but now it felt suffocating, like a trap closing in around him. Rody’s pulse quickened as Vincent approached, the memories of the nightmare flickering in his mind like a warning.
“Rody, mon cÅ“ur, you don’t look well,” Vincent said softly, his hand reaching out to cup Rody’s cheek.
The tenderness in Vincent’s touch was unbearable. It was too close, too intimate, too reminiscent of the way Vincent had touched him in the dreams-only there, the touch was always a prelude to something darker, something terrifying. Rody recoiled instinctively, jerking away from Vincent’s hand as if it burned him.
“Don’t,” Rody snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He saw the hurt flash in Vincent’s eyes, but it only made the anxiety clawing at his chest grow worse. He couldn’t stand the thought of Vincent’s hands on him, not after everything he had seen in his nightmares.
Vincent stepped back, clearly startled by Rody’s reaction. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, laced with confusion and concern. “I just… I want to help you. Please, let me help.”
But that was the problem-Vincent was the source of his torment, the star of every nightmare that haunted Rody’s sleep. The more Vincent tried to comfort him, the more Rody felt like he was losing his grip on reality.
“I said I’m fine!” Rody shouted, louder than he intended, his voice cracking under the strain. He ran a hand through his messy auburn hair, tugging at the roots as if the physical pain could somehow distract him from the turmoil inside his head. “Just… leave me alone, Vincent. I need space.”
The words came out harsher than Rody meant, and he immediately regretted them when he saw the hurt deepen in Vincent’s eyes. Vincent’s shoulders slumped slightly, and for the first time since they had started dating, Rody saw a crack in the unshakeable calm that Vincent always maintained. It broke something inside Rody, but he couldn’t stop the downward spiral.
“Rody, please, I’m worried about you,” Vincent insisted, his voice trembling slightly. He took a cautious step closer, his hands held out in a gesture of peace. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever it is, we can face it together. I love you, Rody. I’ll always be here for you.”
The sincerity in Vincent’s words only made it worse. Rody’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with a mix of fear and guilt. The nightmares had driven a wedge between them, and no matter how much Vincent tried to bridge the gap, Rody felt like he was being torn apart. Every time Vincent said he loved him, Rody could only think of the cold, detached Vincent in his dreams, the one who butchered a woman without a second thought, the one who tried to force-feed him her remains.
“I can’t-” Rody started, his voice trembling. He looked at Vincent, really looked at him, and in that moment, all he could see was the Vincent from his nightmares. His mind flashed with images of blood, the glint of a knife, and Vincent’s expressionless face as he committed unspeakable acts.
Rody’s vision blurred with panic, and before he knew it, he was pushing Vincent away, shoving him hard enough to make him stumble. “Just stay away from me!” Rody yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.
Vincent didn’t fight back, didn’t get angry. Instead, he looked at Rody with such deep sorrow that it made Rody’s stomach twist in knots. Vincent reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he tried to touch Rody’s arm, desperate to comfort him despite the hurt in his eyes.
But Rody couldn’t handle it anymore. The nightmares, the guilt, the fear-it was all too much. In a moment of blind panic, Rody lashed out, his hand catching the edge of a small ceramic dish on the dresser. Without thinking, he grabbed it and hurled it at Vincent, his vision blurred with tears.
“Get out!” Rody screamed, his voice hoarse. “Just get out!”
The dish shattered against the wall beside Vincent, the pieces raining down onto the floor. Vincent flinched, his eyes wide with shock and pain, but he didn’t move, didn’t defend himself. He just stood there, staring at Rody as if he was trying to understand what was happening, as if he was trying to reach the man he loved buried beneath all the fear and anger.
“Rody,” Vincent whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you.”
But Rody couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see the man who had done nothing but love him. All he could see was the nightmare, playing out over and over in his mind, until it felt like he was drowning in it. He couldn’t separate Vincent from the monster in his dreams, and it was tearing him apart.
“Please, Vincent,” Rody begged, his voice cracking as he backed away, his hands trembling. “Just go. I can’t… I can’t do this.”
Vincent took a hesitant step forward, his expression pleading. “Rody, I love you. Please, talk to me.”
But Rody was beyond reason, his mind consumed by the images that haunted him. In his desperation to escape the nightmare, he grabbed a lamp from the nightstand, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he hurled it at Vincent with all his strength. Vincent barely had time to react, the lamp smashing into his shoulder before crashing to the floor.
Vincent winced in pain, clutching his shoulder as he took a step back, but his eyes never left Rody’s. Even in the face of Rody’s outburst, Vincent’s expression was filled with nothing but love and concern.
“I’m sorry,” Vincent whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I’m so sorry, Rody. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m not giving up on you.”
Rody’s chest tightened painfully at Vincent’s words, the guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. He had hurt Vincent-physically, emotionally-and yet Vincent was still there, still trying to reach out to him, still trying to love him.
But the nightmares had twisted something inside Rody, made him question everything he thought he knew. He didn’t trust himself anymore, didn’t trust his own mind. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t keep hurting the man he loved.
With a broken sob, Rody turned and fled from the room, his footsteps echoing through the empty apartment as he ran. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t care. He just needed to get away, to escape the nightmares that had taken over his life, to escape the fear and guilt that were tearing him apart.
Vincent called after him, his voice filled with desperation, but Rody didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The only thing he could do was run, and hope that somehow, some way, he could find a way to stop the nightmares before they destroyed everything he held dear.
Rody ran until his lungs burned, until his legs threatened to give out beneath him. The city streets were a blur of lights and sounds, but none of it registered in his mind. All he could hear were the echoes of Vincent’s voice calling after him, and the relentless pounding of his own heartbeat. He didn’t know where he was headed, but his instincts drove him as far away as possible from the apartment, from Vincent, from the source of his torment.
Eventually, he found himself in a dimly lit park, the night air cool against his sweat-soaked skin. He stumbled to a stop near an old bench and collapsed onto it, his hands shaking uncontrollably. The world spun around him, his thoughts a chaotic mess of fear, guilt, and confusion. The nightmares had blurred the line between reality and illusion, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was losing his grip on both.
Rody buried his face in his hands, trying to calm the storm raging in his mind. But every time he closed his eyes, the images came rushing back-the blood, the knife, Vincent’s cold, expressionless face as he committed unspeakable horrors. Rody’s stomach churned, and he fought back the urge to vomit. How could he reconcile the man he loved with the monster in his dreams? How could he trust Vincent, trust himself, when his mind kept showing him these horrible visions?
His phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him out of his thoughts. He fumbled for it, his fingers clumsy and numb, and when he saw Vincent’s name on the screen, a fresh wave of panic surged through him. He couldn’t talk to Vincent, couldn’t face him-not after what he had done, not after the way he had lashed out. He let the call go to voicemail, his heart aching with guilt and regret.
But the phone kept buzzing, relentless, as Vincent tried again and again to reach him. Rody wanted to answer, wanted to tell Vincent that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to hurt him. But the fear was too great, the nightmare too vivid, and he was terrified of what might happen if he let Vincent back in.
When the buzzing finally stopped, Rody felt a brief moment of relief, only for it to be shattered when a text message came through.
**”Rody, please come home. I’m worried about you. We can figure this out together. I love you.”**
Rody stared at the message, his vision blurring as tears welled up in his eyes. Vincent’s words were full of love and concern, the very things Rody had once cherished so deeply. But now, they felt like a weight on his chest, suffocating him under the pressure of his own fractured mind.
How could he go back? How could he face Vincent after everything? The nightmare had taken root inside him, poisoning his thoughts, turning the man he loved into something unrecognizable, something terrifying. He couldn’t trust his own feelings anymore, couldn’t trust his memories, his instincts. And the more he thought about it, the more he feared that the Vincent he knew-the sweet, loving man who had always been there for him-was just a façade, hiding something much darker beneath.
Rody’s thoughts spiraled out of control, his mind conjuring up all the worst possibilities. What if the nightmares weren’t just dreams? What if they were memories, suppressed and twisted by his mind? What if he was living with a monster and didn’t even realize it?
“No,” Rody muttered to himself, shaking his head violently as if trying to dislodge the thoughts. “No, that’s not… it can’t be true. Vincent isn’t like that. He wouldn’t…”
But the doubt lingered, festering in his mind, growing stronger with each passing moment. He needed to know the truth. He needed to find out if the Vincent he loved was real or if he was just lying to himself, hiding from the truth because it was too horrible to face.
Rody’s hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he made a decision. He couldn’t keep running away, couldn’t keep letting the nightmares control him. He had to confront Vincent, had to find out what was real and what wasn’t. It was the only way he could save himself-save them both-from the madness that was consuming him.
With a trembling resolve, Rody stood up from the bench, his legs shaky but determined. He glanced at his phone again, at the message from Vincent, and took a deep breath. He couldn’t let the fear win. He couldn’t lose Vincent to the shadows in his mind.
Rody started walking back toward the apartment, his pace quickening with each step as he steeled himself for what was to come. He didn’t know how he would face Vincent, didn’t know what he would say, but he knew that he couldn’t keep running. He had to confront his fears, had to confront Vincent, and find out the truth, no matter how painful it might be.
As he approached the apartment building, Rody’s heart pounded in his chest, his anxiety mounting with every step. He hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle as the weight of what he was about to do pressed down on him. But he forced himself to move, forced himself to push the door open and step inside.
The apartment was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Rody’s eyes darted around the dimly lit room, searching for any sign of Vincent. The atmosphere felt heavy, almost oppressive, and Rody’s nerves were on edge as he took a cautious step forward.
“Vincent?” Rody called out, his voice shaky. The silence that followed was deafening, and Rody’s stomach twisted with unease. He moved further into the apartment, his senses on high alert, every creak of the floorboards sending a jolt of adrenaline through him.
He found Vincent in the kitchen, standing by the counter with his back turned. Rody’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene-the familiar sight of Vincent’s slender figure, his soft, dark hair tousled slightly as he worked on something at the counter. It was a scene Rody had witnessed countless times before, a scene that had once brought him comfort and joy.
But now, all Rody could see was the nightmare. The blood-stained chef’s coat, the lifeless eyes, the cold, detached expression as Vincent carved into the meat with precise, almost mechanical movements. The knife in Vincent’s hand gleamed under the dim light, and Rody’s breath hitched as the memories of his nightmares flooded back with terrifying clarity.
Vincent turned around slowly, his face soft with concern, but to Rody, it was like watching the scene in his nightmares play out in real-time. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the terror gripping him as he saw the knife in Vincent’s hand. The knife wasn’t stained with blood, but in Rody’s mind, it was already covered in it.
“Rody,” Vincent began, his voice as soft and gentle as ever. “You’re home. I was so worried about you…”
Rody couldn’t hear the rest. His mind was too clouded with fear and confusion, the nightmare and reality blurring together until he couldn’t tell one from the other. He saw Vincent take a step toward him, the knife still in his hand, and something inside Rody snapped.
“No!” Rody cried out, his voice shaking with panic as he backed away, his eyes wide with terror. “Don’t come any closer!”
Vincent froze, his expression crumpling in confusion and hurt. “Rody, what’s wrong? It’s just me…”
But to Rody, it wasn’t just Vincent. It was the monster from his nightmares, the one who had haunted him night after night, the one who had made him question everything he thought he knew. He couldn’t take it anymore-he couldn’t let the nightmare become real.
Rody’s hand reached out desperately, fumbling on the counter for something-anything-that could protect him. His fingers closed around a wine bottle, and before he could think, before he could stop himself, he swung it with all his strength.
The bottle shattered against Vincent’s head, the impact sending shards of glass and wine splattering across the kitchen. Vincent stumbled back, his hand flying to his head as blood mixed with the red wine, staining his pale skin. He looked up at Rody, his eyes wide with shock and hurt, his hand trembling as he tried to steady himself.
Rody dropped the broken bottle, his own hands shaking violently as he realized what he had done. He had hurt Vincent-hurt the man he loved, the man who had done nothing but love him in return. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and the full weight of his actions came crashing down on him.
“Vincent…” Rody choked out, his voice trembling as tears streamed down his face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Vincent didn’t say anything, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain, confusion, and something else-something that made Rody’s heart shatter even more. Vincent took a step back, his hand still pressed to the wound on his head as he looked at Rody with an expression that Rody had never seen before-an expression that was somehow worse than all the nightmares combined.
Vincent’s voice was barely a whisper when he finally spoke, his words laced with heartbreak. “Rody… why?”
Rody collapsed to his knees, his sobs wracking his body as he realized just how far gone he was. He had let the nightmares consume him, let the fear and doubt destroy the one good thing in his life. And now, he had hurt the person he loved most in the world.
Rody’s sobs echoed in the quiet kitchen, each one tearing at the fragile remnants of his sanity. He clutched his head, pulling at his hair as if trying to rip the memories out, to make them stop. But the nightmares only tightened their grip, weaving themselves into the fabric of his reality until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
Vincent stood there, watching Rody crumble in front of him, his heart breaking with every passing second. The sharp pain in his head was nothing compared to the ache in his chest, the hurt of seeing the man he loved falling apart, consumed by something he couldn’t understand. The blood from the wound on his head dripped slowly down his neck, but he didn’t move, didn’t try to stop it. All he could do was stare at Rody, his mind reeling, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The sight of Rody, broken and lost, twisted something deep inside Vincent. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay. But he was scared, scared of pushing Rody further away, scared of doing something wrong. And as much as he wanted to believe that this was just a momentary lapse, a result of stress or something that could be fixed, the fear in Rody’s eyes told him otherwise.
“Rody,” Vincent said softly, his voice trembling as he knelt down beside him, careful to keep a bit of distance. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Rody didn’t respond, his body wracked with sobs, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Vincent, couldn’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, the pain that he had caused. He had wanted to protect himself, to protect them both from the nightmares, but all he had done was push Vincent away, push him into the very darkness he had been trying to escape.
Vincent hesitated, his hand hovering in the air before he slowly reached out, gently placing it on Rody’s arm. The touch was light, almost tentative, as if he were afraid of scaring Rody away. “Please, Rody, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on. I’m here for you, whatever it is.”
Rody’s sobs slowed at Vincent’s touch, but the pain inside him didn’t ease. He was torn, caught between the desire to reach out to Vincent, to let himself be held and comforted, and the overwhelming fear that he would hurt him again. The nightmare had tainted everything, and now he couldn’t even trust his own hands, his own heart.
But Vincent’s touch was warm, grounding, and it pulled Rody back from the brink of his despair. Slowly, he lifted his tear-streaked face, meeting Vincent’s eyes for the first time since the nightmare had taken hold. What he saw there wasn’t the cold, detached gaze from his dreams, but something infinitely softer, filled with concern and love.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Rody finally whispered, his voice broken and hoarse. “I’m so scared, Vincent. I’m scared of what I’m becoming.”
Vincent’s heart ached at Rody’s words, and without thinking, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Rody in a tight embrace. “You’re not alone, Rody,” Vincent murmured against his hair. “We’ll get through this together. Whatever it is, we’ll face it. I love you, and nothing will change that.”
Rody clung to Vincent, his body trembling as he buried his face in Vincent’s shoulder. For a moment, the nightmares receded, and all he could feel was the steady warmth of Vincent’s arms around him, the soft rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a fleeting reprieve, but in that moment, it was everything.
But even as Vincent held him, a shadow of doubt lingered in the back of Rody’s mind. The nightmare was still there, lurking in the corners, whispering that this peace wouldn’t last, that the darkness would find a way to destroy them both. Rody knew he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend that everything would be okay if he just held on a little tighter.
But right now, in Vincent’s arms, Rody allowed himself to believe, just for a little while, that maybe they could find a way out of the darkness together.
As the night wore on, they stayed like that, huddled on the kitchen floor, neither of them willing to let go. But as Rody’s tears finally began to dry and the exhaustion set in, he knew deep down that this was only the beginning. The nightmare had already taken root, and no matter how tightly he held onto Vincent, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before the darkness consumed them both.
Days passed, and Rody’s nightmares only grew worse. Every night, the visions became more vivid, more terrifying, until he was waking up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, unable to shake the feeling of dread that clung to him like a second skin. He tried to hide it from Vincent, tried to pretend that everything was normal, but the strain was starting to show.
Vincent noticed the changes in Rody, the way he flinched at sudden movements, the dark circles under his eyes, the way he avoided Vincent’s touch more and more. It was as if a wall had gone up between them, something invisible yet insurmountable. Vincent’s heart broke a little more each day, but he didn’t push. He didn’t ask Rody to explain, even as the distance between them grew wider.
Rody began avoiding Vincent as much as possible. He stayed late at work, made excuses to sleep on the couch, and when they were together, he kept conversations short and shallow, never letting Vincent too close. But the more he tried to distance himself, the more the nightmares seemed to take hold, bleeding into his waking hours. He saw flashes of Vincent in his chef’s coat, the knife glinting in his hand, the sickening sound of flesh being sliced.
The image haunted him, replaying in his mind every time he looked at Vincent. He couldn’t reconcile the gentle, loving man he knew with the monster from his dreams. It was driving him mad, the constant push and pull between love and fear. He began to doubt everything, wondering if the nightmares were trying to tell him something, something dark and buried deep within Vincent that he hadn’t seen before.
One night, after a particularly gruesome nightmare, Rody found himself staring at Vincent as he slept, the moonlight casting pale shadows across his face. Vincent looked so peaceful, so unguarded, and for a moment, Rody felt an overwhelming wave of guilt. He was tearing them apart with his silence, letting the nightmares poison everything good between them.
But then the images flashed before his eyes again-Vincent’s hands slick with blood, the knife plunging into flesh-and Rody recoiled, the fear gripping him tight. He couldn’t stay there, couldn’t risk hurting Vincent, so he slipped out of bed and crept into the kitchen, hoping the cold tile floor would shock him back into reality.
As Rody sat in the dark, head in his hands, the weight of it all pressed down on him. He felt like he was losing his mind, spiraling deeper into a pit he couldn’t claw his way out of. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep going like this, torn between his love for Vincent and the terror that had taken root in his soul.
The next morning, Vincent woke up to find the bed empty again. The ache in his chest had become a familiar companion, the constant knot of worry tightening with each passing day. He found Rody in the kitchen, staring blankly at a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Vincent’s heart twisted at the sight, but he kept his voice gentle as he approached.
“Rody?” Vincent asked softly, trying to mask the worry in his tone. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
Rody flinched at the sound of Vincent’s voice, his heart lurching as he looked up. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to explain the storm raging inside him. All he could see were the images from his nightmares, overlapping with the reality in front of him, twisting his perception until he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.
“I’m fine,” Rody muttered, his voice hoarse. “Just… didn’t sleep well.”
Vincent didn’t believe him, not for a second, but he didn’t push. He could see how fragile Rody was, like a piece of glass about to shatter, and he didn’t want to be the one to break him. But the helplessness was eating away at him, the fear that he was losing Rody and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Rody…” Vincent began, but his words faltered as Rody suddenly stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“I’m going for a walk,” Rody said abruptly, not meeting Vincent’s eyes. He needed to get out, needed to clear his head before the walls closed in on him completely. Before he did something he couldn’t take back.
Vincent watched him go, a deep sense of dread settling in his chest. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take-seeing Rody slip further away, knowing that whatever was haunting him, Rody wouldn’t let him in to help. It was as if Rody was battling something far beyond Vincent’s reach, and no matter how much love he poured into Rody, it wasn’t enough to pull him back from the edge.
As Rody walked through the city streets, the noise and bustle around him barely registered. His mind was a fog of fear and confusion, the lines between his nightmares and reality blurring more and more. Every person he passed felt like a threat, every shadow a reminder of the darkness waiting to consume him.
He couldn’t keep living like this, couldn’t keep running from the demons in his mind. But every time he thought about telling Vincent, about reaching out for help, the nightmares twisted into something worse, something he couldn’t bear to face.
He had to protect Vincent. He had to protect himself.
But as the days wore on, Rody found it harder and harder to hold on. The nightmares began seeping into his waking moments, flashes of violence and blood that made him flinch away from Vincent’s touch, made him see shadows where there were none.
One evening, as Vincent was cooking dinner, Rody stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him with a mixture of longing and dread. Vincent moved with such grace, such care, every movement deliberate and precise. It was beautiful, the way Vincent cooked, the way he poured his heart into every dish. But now, all Rody could see were the images from his nightmares-the flash of a knife, the gleam of blood, the horror of what Vincent could become.
Vincent looked up, catching Rody’s eye, and smiled softly. “Dinner will be ready soon. Why don’t you go relax for a bit?”
Rody felt his stomach churn. He wanted to be close to Vincent, wanted to bask in the warmth of his love, but the fear was too strong. It was as if something dark and terrible had taken root inside him, whispering that the only way to stop the nightmares was to act. To make sure they never became reality.
That night, Rody couldn’t sleep. The nightmares clawed at the edges of his mind, refusing to let him rest. He tossed and turned, his mind a whirl of fear and confusion, until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and walked to the kitchen, his heart pounding in his chest.
There, on the counter, was a bottle of wine Vincent had opened earlier. The corkscrew lay beside it, and something inside Rody snapped. His hand trembled as he reached for the bottle, the cool glass grounding him for a moment before the fear took hold again. The images flashed before his eyes-Vincent, bleeding, pleading, dying at his hands.
Rody stumbled back, gasping for breath, but the visions wouldn’t stop. He was losing control, the nightmares consuming him whole. He couldn’t escape them, couldn’t escape what they were telling him.
Vincent found him there, moments later, clutching the bottle as if it were a lifeline, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Rody, what are you doing?” Vincent’s voice was laced with concern, and he took a step closer, trying to understand what was happening.
“Stay back!” Rody shouted, his voice cracking. He could see it now-the nightmare playing out in real-time. The fear that had been festering inside him exploded into a blinding panic.
Vincent froze, his heart racing. “Rody, please, talk to me. Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
But Rody couldn’t hear him. The nightmares had taken over, drowning out reason and love. He saw the monster in his mind’s eye, and all he could do was react.
In a blind panic, Rody hurled the bottle across the room. It shattered against the wall, the wine splattering like blood. And before he could stop himself, he grabbed the corkscrew, the twisted metal cold in his shaking hand.
Vincent took a step back, his eyes wide with fear. “Rody, please… I love you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
But the words didn’t reach Rody. The nightmare was in control now, and all he could see was the monster, all he could feel was the terror that had gripped his soul.
With a guttural cry, Rody lunged at Vincent, the corkscrew poised to strike. But in that split second, just as he was about to plunge it into Vincent’s neck, something broke through the fog. A memory, a feeling, something so powerful it cut through the darkness and froze Rody in place.
He saw Vincent’s face, not as the monster from his nightmares, but as the man he loved. The man who had been nothing but kind and gentle, who had never given him a reason to fear. And suddenly, Rody realized what he was about to do, what he had almost done.
The corkscrew slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Rody stumbled back, horror-stricken, as the reality of what had just happened crashed down on him.
Vincent stood there, his heart pounding in his chestchest, eyes locked on Rody with a mixture of fear and sorrow. The kitchen was silent except for the harsh sound of Rody’s labored breathing and the occasional drip of wine from the broken bottle on the floor.
“Rody,” Vincent said softly, taking a cautious step forward. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he were afraid that any sudden movement might make things worse. “What’s happening to us?”
Rody looked at Vincent, tears streaming down his face, his entire body shaking. The love he felt for Vincent was like a faint, distant light, struggling to pierce through the dark fog of his fear and madness. He fell to his knees, his hands pressed to his temples, as if trying to hold onto whatever sanity he had left.
“I’m sorry,” Rody choked out, his voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Vincent. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I see these horrible things, and I can’t stop them.”
Vincent’s heart broke at the sight of Rody, so lost and desperate. He took another step closer, reaching out a trembling hand. “Rody, you need to let me help you. We need to face this together. You’re not alone in this.”
Rody looked up at Vincent, seeing the pain and love in his eyes, and the reality of what he almost did hit him with crushing force. He couldn’t believe he had come so close to hurting Vincent, the very person who had been his rock, his source of warmth and affection. The guilt and shame were overwhelming, threatening to drown him.
Vincent slowly knelt beside him, careful not to startle him. He placed a gentle hand on Rody’s shoulder, trying to offer comfort despite the fear that still gripped him. “I’m here. Whatever’s happening, we’ll figure it out. You don’t have to face this alone.”
Rody sobbed uncontrollably, the weight of his actions sinking in. He grabbed Vincent’s hand, clutching it tightly as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss. “Please, Vincent. Don’t leave me. I don’t want this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Vincent pulled Rody into a tight embrace, holding him close. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this. I promise you.”
For a long moment, they stayed like that, Vincent holding Rody close while he cried, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cold dread that had enveloped Rody. It was a fragile, tentative peace, but it was a start.
As Rody’s sobs slowly subsided, he pulled back slightly, looking into Vincent’s eyes. “I’m so scared. I don’t know how to fix this. I feel like I’m losing control.”
Vincent wiped the tears from Rody’s face with a trembling hand. “We’ll get through this. We’ll seek help if we need to. I don’t want you to go through this alone. I want to be there for you, no matter what.”
Rody nodded, his heart aching with a mixture of relief and continued fear. He wanted to believe Vincent’s words, to find solace in the promise of support, but the nightmares were a constant, gnawing presence, and he wasn’t sure how to escape them.
Vincent stood up, offering his hand to Rody. “Come on. Let’s clean up the mess and talk this through. We need to face this together.”
Rody hesitated but took Vincent’s hand, allowing him to help him up. As they began cleaning the broken bottle and spilled wine, Rody felt a glimmer of hope. It was a small, fragile thing, but it was there-a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could find a way through this darkness.
They worked in silence, the task grounding them both. When everything was cleaned up, Vincent led Rody to the couch and sat beside him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his own racing heart.
“We need to talk,” Vincent said quietly, his voice calm but firm. “We can’t keep pretending everything is okay. We have to face what’s happening, no matter how scary it is.”
Rody nodded, his eyes still red from crying. “I know. I’ve been so afraid of what might happen if I let myself really talk about it. I didn’t want to risk losing you.”
Vincent took Rody’s hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring. “You’re not going to lose me. We’ll face this together, no matter how difficult it gets. I love you, Rody. And nothing will change that.”
As the evening wore on, they talked. Vincent listened as Rody described the nightmares in as much detail as he could manage, his voice trembling with the effort. Vincent’s heart ached with each word, but he stayed by Rody’s side, offering comfort and understanding.
Together, they faced the fear and uncertainty, finding solace in their shared commitment to each other. It wasn’t an instant fix, and the nightmares didn’t disappear overnight, but the act of confronting them together brought a sense of relief.
In the days that followed, they sought help, finding a therapist who could help Rody work through his fears and anxieties. The process was long and difficult, but Vincent remained by his side every step of the way, offering unwavering support and love.
The road to recovery was not easy, but the strength of their bond helped them face the darkness. As they worked through Rody’s nightmares, they found new ways to connect, new ways to strengthen their relationship, and new ways to heal together.
Though the nightmares never fully went away, they became more manageable with time. And as Rody began to reclaim his sense of self, he found solace in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in his struggle. Vincent’s love and support became the guiding light that helped him through the darkest times, reminding him that no matter how deep the shadows, there was always a way to find the light.
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