—
Rody had always loved the thrill of the hunt, the camaraderie of his friends, and the quiet peace that the deep woods offered. But today, something felt different. The forest seemed darker, more oppressive, as if the shadows themselves were watching their every move.
Rody moved ahead of the group, following a trail of disturbed leaves and broken twigs. The forest was eerily silent, the usual sounds of birds and insects conspicuously absent. He pushed through a thicket, and that’s when he saw it-a pale figure crouched low, almost blending in with the mist that clung to the ground.
He held up a hand, signaling his friends to stop. They did so, reluctantly, murmuring their confusion. Rody squinted through the gloom. The figure wasn’t an animal but a boy, thin and ghostly white, with long, tangled black hair that covered most of his face. He was completely naked, his skin marred by dirt and small cuts, his body emaciated to the point of looking fragile. The boy was trembling, his sharp eyes darting around in a panic.
The boy’s head snapped up, and Rody’s breath caught in his throat. The boy’s eyes were wide, wild, and animalistic, filled with fear and something darker. His lips curled back, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, and he let out a low, threatening growl.
One of Rody’s friends took a step forward, raising his rifle. “What the hell is that?” he muttered, his voice trembling.
“Don’t,” Rody ordered, his voice firm. He felt a strange pull towards the boy, something protective and almost instinctual. “He’s just scared.”
The boy’s growl deepened, but his eyes locked onto Rody’s, and the aggression slowly faded. His head tilted to the side as he studied Rody, his nostrils flaring as if he were trying to catch a scent.
“Easy,” Rody said softly, taking a cautious step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The boy didn’t move, his eyes following Rody’s every movement. His body was tense, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger, but there was no anger in his gaze now-only a desperate, almost childlike fear.
Rody knelt down slowly, making himself as non-threatening as possible. He extended his hand, palm up, towards the boy. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soothing. “You’re safe.”
The boy hesitated, his eyes flicking between Rody’s face and his outstretched hand. Then, slowly, cautiously, he crawled forward on all fours, his movements more like a frightened animal than a human. He sniffed at Rody’s hand, his breath warm and shaky against Rody’s skin.
When he touched Rody’s palm with the tip of his nose, he flinched back, as if expecting pain. But when none came, he moved closer, his thin body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Rody gently brushed his fingers against the boy’s dirty cheek, and the boy leaned into the touch with a soft, almost purring sound.
“Good,” Rody murmured, his heart swelling with a strange mix of emotions. “You’re okay.”
The boy-Vincent, as Rody decided to name him-seemed to calm in Rody’s presence. His wild eyes softened, and his body relaxed slightly, though he kept a wary eye on the others. Whenever one of Rody’s friends made a sudden movement or came too close, Vincent’s demeanor shifted back to that of a cornered animal, his teeth bared, and a low growl rumbling in his throat.
“Let’s take him back,” Rody said quietly, his decision already made. “He needs help.”
“Are you sure about this, Rody?” one of his friends asked, glancing nervously at Vincent. “That thing looks dangerous.”
“He’s not a thing,” Rody snapped, surprising even himself with the sharpness of his tone. “He’s just… lost. And scared.”
The others exchanged uneasy glances but nodded. They had known Rody long enough to trust his judgment, even if they didn’t understand it.
—
Back at Rody’s small cabin on the outskirts of the village, Vincent clung to him like a frightened kitten, his thin fingers gripping Rody’s shirt as he refused to let go. He wouldn’t allow anyone else near him, his growls turning into hisses whenever someone tried to approach. But around Rody, he was a completely different creature-docile, almost affectionate.
Rody cleaned Vincent up as best as he could, carefully washing away the dirt and grime. The boy winced at the touch of the water but didn’t resist, his wide eyes fixed on Rody’s face the entire time. There was something almost pitiful about how he followed Rody’s every move, like a stray animal who had finally found someone to trust.
When Rody offered him clothes, Vincent stared at them blankly, as if he had never seen such things before. He fumbled with the fabric, clearly confused, until Rody stepped in to help. Vincent let out a soft, questioning sound, his head tilting as Rody dressed him in an oversized shirt and a pair of old sweatpants that were far too big for his skinny frame.
As the days passed, Vincent began to show signs of a disturbing possessiveness towards Rody. He would follow him everywhere, his eyes never leaving Rody for more than a moment. If Rody tried to step out of the room without him, Vincent would panic, scrambling after him with desperate little whimpers.
Whenever someone came to visit Rody, Vincent would immediately place himself between them, his body tense, and his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He would growl low in his throat, his gaze fixed on the intruder, as if warning them to stay away. Rody had to reassure him constantly, soothing him with soft words and gentle touches.
At night, Vincent would curl up next to Rody in bed, clinging to him like a lifeline. He would bury his face in Rody’s chest, his thin body trembling until Rody wrapped his arms around him. Only then would Vincent relax, his breathing evening out as he drifted off to sleep, his possessive grip never loosening.
Rody knew this wasn’t normal, that Vincent’s behavior was far from ordinary. But there was something about the boy-something fragile and broken-that made Rody want to protect him. Vincent’s innocent, almost childlike attachment to him tugged at Rody’s heart, making it impossible for him to push the boy away, even as the possessiveness grew.
—
One evening, Rody’s friends came by to check on him. They were concerned, worried that Vincent was becoming too dependent, too dangerous. Rody tried to reassure them, but Vincent’s presence made it difficult.
The moment they stepped inside, Vincent was there, placing himself between Rody and his friends. His eyes were narrowed to slits, his lips curled back in a silent snarl. He didn’t make a sound, but the threat in his posture was clear.
“Vincent,” Rody said softly, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s okay. They’re my friends.”
Vincent glanced up at Rody, his expression conflicted. He didn’t growl, but he didn’t move either, his body still tense as a coiled spring. He clung to Rody’s shirt, his fingers tightening around the fabric as if afraid that Rody would disappear if he let go.
Rody’s friends hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. “Rody, this isn’t right,” one of them said cautiously. “He’s too… possessive. What if he snaps?”
“He won’t,” Rody said firmly, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he believed it himself. “He just needs time.”
But even as he said the words, he knew that time might not be enough. Vincent’s behavior was becoming more erratic, his possessiveness more intense. He was like a wild animal that had been tamed, but only just-one wrong move, and the fragile trust they had built could shatter.
That night, as Rody lay in bed with Vincent curled up beside him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming. Vincent’s grip on him was tighter than usual, his breathing uneven as he nuzzled closer to Rody. The boy’s body was trembling, and Rody could feel the tension in his muscles, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.
Rody stroked Vincent’s hair, trying to calm him. “It’s okay,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince-Vincent or himself. “You’re safe. I’m not going anywhere.”
Vincent let out a soft, contented sigh, his trembling easing slightly as he drifted off to sleep. But even in sleep, his grip on Rody never loosened, as if he were afraid that Rody would vanish if he let go.
Rody lay awake long after Vincent had fallen asleep, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what the future held, but one thing was certain: Vincent needed him, and in a way he needed Vincent too, in a way that was as terrifying as it was comforting.
Rody wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke, it was to the sensation of something cold and damp against his neck. He groggily opened his eyes to find Vincent staring at him, his face inches away, his wide eyes gleaming in the dim light of dawn.
“Vincent?” Rody mumbled, still half-asleep. But there was something in Vincent’s expression that sent a chill down his spine-a wild, desperate look that hadn’t been there before.
Vincent didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed himself closer, his cold fingers clutching Rody’s shirt so tightly that his knuckles were white. His breath was shallow and ragged, as if he’d been running for hours. Rody could feel the rapid thud of Vincent’s heart against his chest, each beat frantic and uneven.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Rody asked, his voice low and soothing, trying to mask the unease creeping up his spine.
Vincent didn’t speak-he never did-but his eyes said everything. They were filled with a primal fear, a fear that Rody couldn’t quite understand. Vincent buried his face in Rody’s chest, his fingers tangling in the fabric of Rody’s shirt as if it were the only thing tethering him to reality.
Rody could feel Vincent’s body trembling against his own, and instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the boy, pulling him close. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his hand moving in slow, calming strokes through Vincent’s tangled hair. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
But Vincent didn’t relax. If anything, his trembling grew worse, his body coiled as if ready to spring at the slightest provocation. He clung to Rody like a lifeline, his breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.
Rody’s unease grew. Something had changed. Vincent’s possessiveness had always been intense, but this was different-this was desperation, fear that bordered on madness. And it was directed entirely at him.
The day passed in a blur. Vincent stayed glued to Rody’s side, refusing to let him out of his sight for even a moment. Rody had to coax him into eating, feeding him small bites like a nervous animal, all the while trying to ignore the gnawing worry in his gut.
By evening, Rody’s friends returned, their concern for him outweighing their fear of Vincent. They found Rody on the porch, Vincent nestled against him, his eyes half-closed but still watchful.
“Rody, we need to talk,” one of his friends said, his voice tense. He glanced at Vincent, who immediately stiffened, his eyes snapping open to glare at the intruder.
Rody sighed, brushing a hand through his hair. He knew this conversation was coming. “It’s okay, Vincent,” he murmured, trying to soothe the boy. “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”
But when he tried to stand, Vincent grabbed his arm, his grip like iron. A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
Rody froze. “Vincent,” he said softly, “I’m not leaving you. I’m just going to talk to them, okay? You can stay right here.”
But Vincent didn’t loosen his grip. His eyes were wide, filled with a raw, animalistic terror that Rody had never seen before. It was as if the very thought of Rody leaving him, even for a moment, was too much for him to bear.
Rody’s friend took a step forward, but Vincent’s growl deepened, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. He looked ready to spring, to tear into anyone who came too close.
“Rody, this isn’t right,” his friend said, his voice urgent. “He’s not safe. You need to get away from him.”
But Rody couldn’t-he wouldn’t. “I can’t do that,” he said quietly, meeting his friend’s eyes with a determined gaze. “He needs me.”
“Rody-“
“No,” Rody interrupted, his voice firm. “You don’t understand. He’s scared. He doesn’t know what’s going on. I’m the only person he trusts.”
But even as he said the words, a part of him wondered if he was making a mistake. Vincent’s grip was too tight, his eyes too wild. Rody could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap.
“Please,” Rody’s friend pleaded. “For your own safety, get away from him. We’ll help you.”
But Rody shook his head, his decision made. “No. I’m staying.”
There was a long, tense silence. Then, finally, Rody’s friends relented. “Fine,” one of them said, his voice heavy with resignation. “But if anything happens…”
“Nothing will,” Rody said firmly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince them or himself.
As his friends left, Rody turned back to Vincent, who was watching him with those wide, haunted eyes. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Vincent’s face. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Vincent let out a small, relieved sound-a soft, almost purring noise-as he buried his face in Rody’s chest again. His grip on Rody’s arm slowly loosened, but he didn’t let go entirely.
Rody spent the rest of the night holding Vincent close, his mind racing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, that Vincent’s desperation was more than just fear-it was obsession, a dangerous, consuming need that was only growing stronger.
As Vincent fell asleep in his arms, Rody stared at the ceiling, his thoughts swirling. He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever, that something had to give. But as he looked down at the boy’s peaceful face, he felt a surge of protectiveness, a fierce determination to keep Vincent safe, no matter what.
But deep down, Rody knew that keeping Vincent safe might mean letting him go. The thought filled him with a cold dread, but he couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.
Vincent wasn’t just possessive-he was dangerous. And if Rody wasn’t careful, he might not survive the storm that was coming.
As the days passed, Rody noticed the change in Vincent’s behavior growing more pronounced. He became increasingly possessive, never allowing Rody out of his sight. If anyone tried to approach Rody, Vincent would hiss and growl like a cornered animal, his skinny frame coiled with barely contained aggression.
It became difficult for Rody to go about his daily life. Simple tasks like running errands or meeting with friends were nearly impossible. Vincent would cling to him, his wide, wild eyes watching everything and everyone with distrust and barely masked hostility. His once kitten-like demeanor around Rody was now tinged with something darker-a fierce, almost predatory obsession.
One evening, when Rody’s friends came by to check on him, things took a turn for the worse.
“Rody, this has gone on long enough,” his friend Pierre said firmly. “You need to let us take Vincent somewhere where he can get the help he needs.”
Rody stood in the doorway, Vincent hiding just behind him, peering out at Pierre with narrowed eyes. The tension was thick in the air, and Rody could feel Vincent’s grip tightening on his arm.
“Pierre, I appreciate your concern, but I can’t do that,” Rody replied, trying to keep his voice calm. “He’s not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that!” Pierre shot back. “Look at him, Rody! He’s not stable. You can’t keep living like this. It’s not safe-for you or for him.”
Vincent growled, a low, threatening sound that made Pierre flinch. Rody instinctively moved his hand to Vincent’s shoulder, trying to calm him, but the boy’s eyes were locked on Pierre, filled with a raw, feral anger.
“Vincent, it’s okay,” Rody murmured, but his words had little effect. Vincent’s whole body was tense, like a predator ready to strike.
Pierre glanced at Vincent, then back at Rody, his expression a mix of frustration and fear. “Rody, listen to me-he’s dangerous. You can’t let this go on.”
Rody hesitated, torn between his concern for Vincent and the growing realization that Pierre might be right. But before he could respond, Vincent acted.
With a sudden, animalistic snarl, Vincent lunged at Pierre, his thin frame moving with terrifying speed. He shoved Rody aside, knocking him off balance, and then threw himself at Pierre, teeth bared in a vicious snarl.
“Vincent, no!” Rody shouted, scrambling to his feet.
But it was too late. Vincent had already pounced on Pierre, his skinny arms wrapped around the man’s neck in a chokehold. Pierre tried to push him off, but Vincent clung to him with a desperate, frenzied strength, his teeth snapping dangerously close to Pierre’s face.
Rody rushed forward, grabbing Vincent and trying to pull him off, but Vincent’s grip was like iron, fueled by a terrifying mix of fear and fury.
“Vincent, stop!” Rody pleaded, his voice trembling with panic. “Please, stop!”
For a moment, it seemed as though Vincent wouldn’t listen, but then Rody’s voice broke through the haze of his anger. Slowly, Vincent’s grip loosened, and he released Pierre, who stumbled back, gasping for breath.
Vincent turned to Rody, his wide eyes filled with confusion and a trace of guilt, as if he didn’t fully understand what he’d just done. Rody quickly pulled Vincent to him, holding him close, trying to calm the trembling boy.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Rody whispered, his own heart racing with fear. “You’re okay.”
Pierre, still catching his breath, stared at the two of them with a mixture of horror and disbelief. “Rody… you need to get him help,” he said, his voice shaky. “He’s dangerous.”
Rody knew Pierre was right, but the thought of sending Vincent away, of leaving him to the mercy of people who wouldn’t understand him, filled him with dread. Vincent was dangerous, yes-but he was also vulnerable, lost in a world he didn’t understand, with only Rody to guide him.
But how long could Rody keep this up? How long could he protect Vincent-and protect everyone else-from the boy’s growing instability?
Rody didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he couldn’t abandon Vincent, not when the boy needed him so desperately. But he also couldn’t ignore the truth that was becoming clearer with each passing day: Vincent’s obsession was spiraling out of control, and it was only a matter of time before something terrible happened.
That night, as Rody lay awake with Vincent curled up beside him, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of dread in his gut. He could feel the weight of Vincent’s dependency on him, the way the boy clung to him like a lifeline, and he knew that something had to change.
But what? What could he do when the person who needed saving most was the one who posed the greatest threat?
Vincent stirred in his sleep, his hand tightening around Rody’s shirt. Even in his dreams, he was holding on, refusing to let go. And Rody, despite the fear gnawing at him, couldn’t bring himself to pull away.
In the silence of the night, Rody made a decision. He would protect Vincent, no matter the cost. Even if it meant sacrificing everything-his safety, his sanity, even his life-he would keep Vincent safe.
But deep down, Rody knew that this path would only lead to darkness. He could already feel it closing in around him, like the shadow of the forest that had swallowed them both whole.
And as Vincent slept peacefully in his arms, Rody couldn’t help but wonder how much longer they had before the darkness finally consumed them both.
Rody’s sleepless nights grew more frequent as the days passed. Vincent’s behavior continued to deteriorate, his obsession with Rody intensifying to an alarming degree. Rody found it increasingly difficult to balance his responsibilities and his growing sense of dread about Vincent’s instability.
One afternoon, while Rody was attempting to make a quick trip to the grocery store, Vincent’s behavior took a troubling turn. Despite Rody’s insistence that he would be back soon, Vincent became agitated. He paced around the small house, his anxiety palpable. The moment Rody stepped out, Vincent’s wild eyes followed him, and he began to claw at the door, his frustration and fear mounting with every passing second.
When Rody returned with groceries, the sight that greeted him was unsettling. Vincent was in a frenzy, his hands bloodied from scratching at the doorframe, his face smeared with tears and sweat. The moment he saw Rody, his expression shifted from rage to desperate relief. He clung to Rody, his fingers digging into his arms, his breath ragged and uneven.
“Vincent, what happened?” Rody asked, trying to sound calm as he set the groceries down and gently pried Vincent’s hands off him.
Vincent didn’t respond with words. Instead, he buried his face in Rody’s chest, his body trembling violently. The deep, guttural growls and cries that escaped him were chilling, echoing his inner turmoil. Rody wrapped his arms around him, attempting to offer some comfort, but the sense of dread that clung to him only deepened.
That night, the situation reached a breaking point. Vincent, unable to sleep, began exhibiting increasingly erratic behavior. He wandered around the house, muttering to himself in a language that Rody couldn’t understand. His movements were jerky and unpredictable, and he would occasionally snap at any perceived threat, even though there was no one else around.
Rody tried to calm him, but Vincent’s responses were volatile. One moment he was clinging to Rody with desperate affection, the next he was growling and snapping at him, his eyes wild and unseeing.
As the night wore on, Rody’s exhaustion reached its limit. He tried to reason with Vincent, but the boy’s increasingly feral behavior made communication nearly impossible. The tension in the small house was suffocating, and Rody’s fear for both himself and Vincent grew with each passing minute.
Finally, Rody reached a breaking point. He had to do something to ensure both their safety. He made the difficult decision to seek help, knowing that it was the only way to manage Vincent’s escalating aggression and instability.
The next morning, with a heavy heart, Rody contacted a local mental health professional. He explained the situation, carefully omitting some of the more unsettling details but making it clear that Vincent needed urgent help. The professional agreed to visit that afternoon.
When the mental health worker arrived, Rody was a bundle of nerves. He had managed to get Vincent to sit in a corner of the living room, but the boy’s eyes never left Rody, his gaze filled with a mixture of confusion and betrayal. Rody felt a pang of guilt but knew it was necessary for Vincent’s well-being.
As the session went on, the professional’s concern grew evident. Vincent’s behavior was far beyond what Rody had anticipated. It was clear that Vincent needed more intensive care than Rody could provide. The recommendation was to admit Vincent to a specialized facility where he could receive the treatment he needed.
Rody felt a crushing weight on his chest as he listened. He didn’t want to abandon Vincent, but he knew that this was the only option for his safety and well-being. The thought of sending Vincent away was almost unbearable, but Rody was determined to do what was best for the boy.
Later that day, Rody prepared Vincent for the transition. He spoke softly, trying to reassure him as he packed a few belongings for Vincent. The boy watched with a mixture of sadness and confusion, his earlier aggression replaced by a vulnerable, almost childlike demeanor.
As they arrived at the facility, Vincent clung to Rody, his eyes wide with fear. Rody held him close, his own heart breaking as he whispered comforting words. The staff at the facility took over, guiding Vincent inside with gentle assurances.
Rody watched with a heavy heart as Vincent was led away, feeling as if he were losing a part of himself. The boy looked back at Rody one last time, his eyes filled with a desperate need for reassurance. Rody managed a weak smile, trying to mask his own grief.
When the doors closed behind Vincent, Rody stood alone in the parking lot, overwhelmed by a sense of profound loss. He knew he had done the right thing, but the emptiness left in Vincent’s absence was palpable.
The days turned into weeks, and despite the best efforts of the mental health professionals, Vincent’s condition showed no signs of improvement. He remained unable to understand human language, his communication limited to guttural noises and erratic movements. His aggression towards others had diminished, but his obsessive need to be close to Rody persisted.
Rody’s visits to the facility became a lifeline for Vincent. Each time he arrived, Vincent’s eyes would light up, his previously tense posture softening as he clung to Rody with a desperate affection. In the confines of the facility, Vincent was more subdued, but he remained an enigma, unable to grasp the complexities of human interaction.
One afternoon, as Rody sat with Vincent in a quiet room of the facility, the weight of their situation bore down on him. Vincent sat close, his skinny frame pressed against Rody’s side, his head resting on Rody’s shoulder. Despite the facility’s efforts to provide care, Vincent seemed lost in his own world, his attention solely fixed on Rody.
Rody gently stroked Vincent’s hair, trying to provide comfort. The boy’s eyes were closed, a serene expression on his face as he nuzzled closer. The contrast between Vincent’s fragile appearance and the intense, almost primal need he displayed was striking.
“It’s okay, Vincent,” Rody whispered, though he knew Vincent couldn’t understand him. “I’m here.”
Vincent responded with a soft purr, the sound more animalistic than anything resembling human comfort. He shifted slightly, curling into Rody’s side, his fingers gripping the fabric of Rody’s shirt with a possessive tightness.
The facility staff observed from a distance, their concern evident. They understood that Vincent’s attachment to Rody was a form of emotional stability, but it was also a complication. Vincent’s inability to communicate or understand human emotions fully meant that his attachment was both a source of comfort and a barrier to progress.
As Rody prepared to leave, Vincent’s reaction was heart-wrenching. The boy’s eyes filled with a pleading desperation, his fingers tightening around Rody’s arm as if trying to anchor him to the moment.
“Vincent, I have to go now,” Rody said softly, though he knew his words were futile. He gently pried Vincent’s hands off him, his heart aching with each movement. Vincent’s face contorted with a mix of confusion and distress, his gaze following Rody with a painful intensity.
The separation was always difficult. Vincent would watch from the doorway, his eyes following Rody until he was out of sight. The staff would then gently guide him back to his room, but Vincent’s gaze would remain fixed on the empty space where Rody had been, his quiet whimpers filling the silence.
—
In the mental health facility, Vincent’s condition worsened significantly. He refused to eat any of the meals provided, staring at the untouched trays with a vacant look. His obsession with Rody consumed him to the point where he would only eat if Rody were present. Every meal was a reminder of his loss, and the absence of Rody only deepened his despair.
Nurses and doctors tried to intervene, but Vincent’s refusal remained steadfast. His health declined as he grew weaker from starvation, driven by his fixation on the idea that only Rody could make him feel complete again. His mental state deteriorated alongside his physical health, leaving him increasingly isolated and despondent.
—
As days turned into weeks, Vincent’s fixation on Rody became more pronounced. His behavior grew erratic, marked by sudden outbursts and prolonged periods of silence. His refusal to eat led to a significant loss of weight and frailty, which only exacerbated his deteriorating mental state.
Despite the best efforts of the facility’s staff, Vincent’s obsession with Rody consumed him entirely. He would often mutter Rody’s name in a hauntingly soft tone, as though conjuring his presence could somehow restore what was lost. The staff noted that Vincent’s resistance to eating seemed to be more than just a physical manifestation; it was a deep-seated emotional turmoil that no amount of medical intervention could easily address.
Vincent’s interactions with others became increasingly hostile or withdrawn. His room, once meticulously maintained, fell into disarray, mirroring his mental chaos. He would often sit by the window, staring out with a vacant expression, waiting for someone who never came. The isolation and continuous focus on his lost connection with Rody turned into a spiral of deepening despair, with Vincent becoming a shadow of his former self.
The facility’s efforts to help him were met with limited success, as Vincent’s condition continued to decline. His fixation on Rody, combined with his refusal to eat, led to a tragic and inevitable outcome: a slow, painful deterioration, both physically and mentally.
Vincent became a shell of his former self, his once sharp mind dulled by hunger and obsession. His eyes, once so piercing, were now hollow and sunken, filled with a desperation that Rody couldn’t ignore.
Rody watched helplessly as Vincent’s condition worsened, feeling a mix of guilt, pity, and something else he couldn’t quite name. It was as if Vincent was disappearing right in front of him, fading into nothingness, and Rody found himself unable to look away. Rody felt a twisted sense of responsibility for Vincent, as if he were somehow the key to his survival-or his demise.
No matter how many times Rody begged. How many times he tried to reason with the facility. They wouldn’t let him take Vincent out of there.
All Rody could do was watch as Vincent slowly withered away in that facility. He regretted ever admitting Vincent there
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