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Vincent sat at the edge of the bed, the cheap sheets clinging to his thin frame, his mind spiraling in the void of his thoughts. His eyes, once vibrant with a flicker of life, were now dull, sunken into his pale face, framed by the dark shadows of sleepless nights. The dorm room that had once felt like a sanctuary now closed in on him, a suffocating reminder of the life he was slowly losing.
Two years. That’s how long it had been since he and Rody first started dating, two years of stolen moments, secret smiles, and shared dreams. Vincent had always been grateful to have Rody in his life. Rody had been everything to him-his light, his anchor, the one person who made the world bearable. Growing up in a home where love was a weapon and words were knives, Vincent had never known kindness until Rody. He had clung to him like a lifeline, desperate for the warmth Rody offered, the love that Vincent had never believed he deserved.
But things had changed.
It was subtle at first-missed goodnight kisses, conversations that trailed off into awkward silences, the way Rody’s hand would linger just a moment too long before pulling away. Vincent had tried to ignore it, brushing off the coldness as stress or exhaustion, telling himself that everyone had rough patches. But deep down, he knew something was wrong. Rody was pulling away, drifting further from him with each passing day.
Vincent tried to hold on, tried to be everything Rody needed, but no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Rody became distant, spending more time away from the dorm, avoiding Vincent’s gaze when they were together. Vincent’s world began to crumble, the fragile happiness he had built shattering into pieces. He found himself lost in the silence, drowning in the memories of what they used to be.
Then came the day that everything broke.
Vincent had come back to the dorm early, feeling a strange emptiness gnawing at him. Rody wasn’t there, but his phone was, left on the desk with the screen dimmed. Vincent hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of snooping, but the paranoia that had been growing inside him wouldn’t let him stop. His hands shook as he picked up the phone, his heart pounding in his chest as he unlocked the screen and opened the call log.
The name he saw nearly made him drop the phone.
Manon.
He had known about her, of course. Rody had mentioned her in passing-a classmate, someone from his past-but it had always seemed so insignificant. But now, seeing her name in the call log, with a history of calls that lasted far too long, something twisted in Vincent’s gut.
Without thinking, Vincent opened the messages, scrolling through the thread. His vision blurred as he read through them, each word a stab to his already fragile heart.
**Manon:** *I can’t believe how much I’ve missed talking to you.*
**Rody:** *I know. It’s like old times again. I’ve missed you too.*
**Manon:** *Do you remember that day at the beach?*
**Rody:** *How could I forget? That was the best day of my life.*
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as he continued to scroll.
**Manon:** *Sometimes I think about us, about what we had.*
**Rody:** *Me too. I wonder if… maybe we should have tried harder. Maybe we could have made it work.*
Vincent’s hand shook so violently that he almost dropped the phone. He didn’t need to read any more. The message was clear: Rody didn’t love him. Rody never had.
The front door creaked open, and Vincent quickly set the phone back on the desk, his heart racing as he scrambled to his feet. Rody walked in, a smile on his face that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Hey,” Rody said, shrugging off his jacket. “You’re home early.”
Vincent forced a smile, his throat tight. “Yeah. I just… didn’t feel like being out.”
Rody nodded, his gaze briefly meeting Vincent’s before drifting away, his attention already elsewhere. He walked past Vincent without another word, heading into the bathroom. Vincent stood frozen, his mind reeling with the revelation he had just uncovered.
Later that day, Vincent found himself in the hallway outside their dorm, walking back from the library when he heard Rody’s voice. It was coming from around the corner, and Vincent stopped, curiosity and dread intertwining in his chest.
“Yeah, I know, she’s just… she’s incredible, you know? Beautiful, smart… I don’t know, Manon just gets me in a way no one else does.”
Vincent’s breath caught in his throat. Manon. He’d heard Rody mention her before-a classmate, someone he occasionally studied with. But this… this was different. He leaned closer, heart pounding in his ears as he strained to hear more.
“I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I can’t help it. I think I’m in love with her.”
The world tilted beneath Vincent’s feet, and he had to press a hand against the wall to steady himself. He wanted to run, to leave before he heard any more, but his feet wouldn’t move.
“She’s just… she’s perfect, you know?”
Perfect. Beautiful. Smart.
Vincent felt like he was going to be sick. He turned and hurried back to the dorm, his mind a whirl of confusion and pain. When he reached their room, he collapsed onto his bed, curling in on himself as silent tears streamed down his face. Rody was in love with someone else. With Manon. Beautiful, smart Manon. How could Vincent ever compare?
Rody was in love with Manon. The realization was like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered back, collapsing onto the bed as the weight of it all came crashing down. How had he not seen it? How had he been so blind, so naive to think that someone like Rody could ever truly love him?
Vincent’s thoughts spiraled into darkness, memories of his childhood flooding back-his mother’s cruel words, the beatings from his father, the years of neglect and abuse that had left him hollow and broken. He had always been worthless, and now Rody had confirmed it. He wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worthy of love. He was nothing.
A dark thought took hold, one that Vincent couldn’t shake. He had to be better. He had to be perfect, like Manon. He had seen her once, a fleeting glimpse as she walked past them on campus. She was beautiful, slim, confident-the kind of woman who could have anyone she wanted. If Vincent could be like her, maybe Rody would love him again. Maybe Rody would stay.
It started slowly. Vincent began skipping meals, telling himself he wasn’t hungry, that he needed to lose weight. The first time he passed out from hunger, he told himself it was worth it. When he looked in the mirror, he saw progress-the faint lines of his ribs, the way his clothes hung looser on his frame. He spent hours at the gym, pushing himself until he could barely stand, ignoring the dizziness, the nausea, the way his vision blurred at the edges. But no matter how much weight he lost, it wasn’t enough. He still wasn’t her. He wasn’t good enough.
Rody noticed the change, but only in passing. “You’re losing weight,” he commented one night as they sat on opposite sides of the dorm, Rody with a textbook in his lap, Vincent curled up on the bed.
Vincent shrugged, keeping his gaze down. “Just… trying to get in shape.”
Rody nodded, his attention already drifting back to his book. “You should eat more,” he said absently. “You’re looking too thin.”
Vincent bit back the bitter laugh that threatened to escape. Rody didn’t care. Rody didn’t even see him anymore. Vincent was just a shadow in his life, a burden that he was too polite to cast aside.
The weeks dragged on, and Vincent’s condition worsened. He stopped going to classes, too weak to get out of bed most days. His skin grew pale, almost translucent, dark circles etched permanently under his eyes. His stomach ached constantly, the gnawing hunger becoming a dull, ever-present pain. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He had to be better, had to be perfect.
Then one night, everything came crashing down.
Vincent woke up in the middle of the night, the room spinning around him. His body felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive, his limbs trembling as he tried to push himself up. He managed to sit up, but the effort left him breathless, his vision swimming with black spots. Panic gripped him as he realized he couldn’t breathe, his chest tightening as the world around him blurred.
He reached out, trying to call for Rody, but his voice was barely a whisper, a choked, desperate plea. “Rody…”
Rody stirred in his bed, blinking groggily as he woke up. “Vincent?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Vincent tried to speak, but no words came out. His throat felt like it was closing up, his lungs burning as he struggled to draw in air. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a painful thud that echoed in his ears.
Rody’s eyes widened as he realized something was wrong. He scrambled out of bed, rushing to Vincent’s side. “Vincent? Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”
Vincent shook his head weakly, tears streaming down his face. He wanted to tell Rody everything, to beg him to love him, to stay, but he couldn’t. He was too far gone, the darkness closing in around him, suffocating him.
Rody’s hands were on his shoulders, shaking him gently. “Vincent, please, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
Vincent couldn’t answer. He could only stare at Rody, his vision fading as the last of his strength left him. He was dying, he realized, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
The last thing he saw before everything went black was Rody’s face, twisted in fear and panic, his eyes wide with terror.
When Vincent woke up, he was in a hospital bed. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nose, the beeping of machines surrounding him. He blinked, disoriented, his body feeling heavy and numb. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and when he did, a wave of shame and despair washed over him.
He had failed. He had tried to be perfect, to be worthy of love, and he had failed.
A movement at the side of the bed caught his attention, and he turned his head slowly to see Rody sitting in a chair, his face pale, his eyes red and swollen. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair a mess, his clothes rumpled. When Rody saw that Vincent was awake, a flicker of relief crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a deep, painful sadness.
“Vincent,” Rody whispered, his voice cracking. He reached out, taking Vincent’s hand in his own, his grip tight and desperate. “Oh God, Vincent, I thought I lost you.”
Vincent stared at him, feeling a lump in his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. The reality of the situation was too overwhelming, the crushing weight of his failure pressing down on him. He wanted to apologize, to explain, but the words wouldn’t come. He just felt so tired.
Rody squeezed his hand, his eyes filling with tears. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you say anything? I didn’t know… I didn’t know you were feeling like this.”
Vincent looked away, unable to meet Rody’s gaze. What was the point of telling him? What good would it do now? Rody didn’t love him anymore-he loved someone else, someone better. Someone who wasn’t a broken, useless mess.
“Please, Vincent, talk to me,” Rody pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t understand. Why did you do this to yourself?”
A bitter laugh escaped Vincent’s lips, though it came out more like a painful rasp. “Why?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because… because I’m not enough. I was never enough.”
Rody’s grip on his hand tightened, his face contorting in anguish. “That’s not true,” he insisted, shaking his head. “Vincent, you’re everything to me. You have no idea how much I care about you.”
Vincent turned his head back, finally meeting Rody’s eyes, his own filled with tears. “You don’t love me,” he said, the words raw and broken. “You love her.”
Rody’s expression faltered, his eyes widening in shock. “What… what are you talking about?”
“I heard you,” Vincent continued, his voice trembling with the weight of his pain. “I heard you talking about her, about how you… how you’re still in love with her. How she’s beautiful and perfect, and I’m… I’m nothing.”
Rody’s face went pale, the blood draining from his cheeks. He looked like he had been slapped, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words to respond. “Vincent, that’s not… it’s not what you think. I-“
“Don’t lie to me,” Vincent cut him off, his voice breaking. “I know I’m not good enough for you. I’ve known for a long time. But I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to be alone.”
Rody’s eyes filled with tears again, and he shook his head, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Vincent, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t… I didn’t realize how much pain I was causing you.”
Vincent closed his eyes, feeling utterly defeated. He didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, to keep pretending that everything was okay. “I just wanted to be good enough for you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I couldn’t be. I’m not her, and I never will be.”
Rody let out a choked sob, burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Vincent. I’m so, so sorry. You don’t deserve this. You never did.”
For a long time, they sat in silence, the weight of everything that had happened hanging heavy in the air. Rody’s sobs eventually quieted, replaced by the soft, rhythmic beeping of the machines surrounding them. Vincent kept his eyes closed, too exhausted to do anything else, his heart aching with a pain that he knew would never fully heal.
“I think,” Rody said softly, his voice hoarse, “we need to talk about us. About… where we go from here.”
Vincent didn’t respond, but he knew Rody was right. They couldn’t keep going on like this, pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t. Whatever they had once had was broken, shattered by lies and misunderstandings and the weight of their own insecurities.
“I care about you,” Rody continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I always will. But I think… I think we need some time apart. We both need to figure things out.”
Vincent’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, but he didn’t argue. He knew it was the right decision, even if it felt like it was tearing him apart. He nodded weakly, too drained to do anything else.
Rody leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Vincent’s forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment before he pulled away. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice filled with regret. “I’m so sorry.”
With that, Rody stood up, his movements slow and hesitant. He looked back at Vincent one last time, his eyes filled with sorrow and guilt, before he turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Vincent lay there, staring up at the ceiling, feeling utterly hollow. The silence was deafening, pressing down on him like a physical weight. He had lost the one person who had ever truly mattered to him, the one thing that had kept him going through all the pain and darkness.
And now he was alone.
Vincent’s hand slipped under the hospital blanket, resting on the sharp jut of his hip bone. He could feel the emptiness inside him, the hunger that gnawed at him constantly, but he didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered. Not food, not school, not even the faint hope of getting better.
All he wanted was to disappear, to fade away into nothingness, where the pain couldn’t reach him anymore. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness take him, and for the first time in his life, he welcomed it.
He was nothing. And soon, he would be nothing.
Vincent lay there in the sterile hospital room, his mind a swirling mess of despair and self-loathing. Rody’s words echoed in his head, twisting like a knife in his gut. The apology, the regret, it all felt so meaningless now. Rody was gone, and with him, any semblance of hope Vincent had clung to. He was alone again-abandoned, unloved, and utterly broken.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t muster the strength to even roll onto his side. The cold emptiness in his chest was spreading, seeping into every part of him. It felt like he was dissolving, coming apart at the seams, and he welcomed it. Anything was better than this suffocating pain, this unbearable weight crushing him from the inside.
The nurses came and went, their faces blurred and indistinct, their voices muffled as though they were speaking underwater. They checked his vitals, adjusted his IV, and left without a word. No one looked him in the eye. He was just another patient, another burden, taking up space and resources that could be better spent on someone who actually wanted to live.
Days passed-maybe weeks. Vincent couldn’t tell anymore. Time had lost all meaning. He refused to eat, refused to acknowledge the nurses when they begged him to take just one bite, to sip even a little water. They tried to force him, bringing in trays of food, putting it right in front of him, but he just stared at it blankly, his body rebelling at the mere thought of consuming anything.
He was already empty, so why bother?
The doctors grew more concerned, their whispered conversations growing more urgent. He caught snippets of words-“malnourished,” “severe dehydration,” “psych consult”-but he didn’t care. Let them talk. Let them worry. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
Vincent’s body continued to wither away, the bones in his wrists and ankles jutting out like jagged rocks, his skin stretched tight over his skeleton. His once sharp, calculating mind was foggy, slow, a haze of fragmented thoughts that refused to coalesce into anything coherent. The hunger gnawed at him, a constant, dull ache that had become as familiar as breathing, but he didn’t care. He wanted it. He needed it.
Maybe if he got thin enough, fragile enough, he would finally break. Maybe then, he could shatter into a million pieces and drift away, a forgotten memory, an afterthought in the minds of those who once knew him.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, he thought about Rody. He thought about the way Rody used to hold him, the way his kisses used to make the world feel a little less bleak. But those memories were tainted now, poisoned by the knowledge that Rody had never really loved him. Not the way Vincent needed him to. He was just a placeholder, a convenience, something to fill the void until someone better came along.
And Manon-beautiful, perfect Manon. How could he ever compete with her? She was everything Vincent wasn’t-soft, delicate, desired. Rody loved her in a way he could never love Vincent, and that realization festered inside him like a rotting wound, spreading its infection until there was nothing left but bile and bitterness.
Vincent wanted to be like her, to be someone Rody could truly love. But no matter how much weight he lost, no matter how much he starved himself, he would never be her. He was trapped in this miserable, ugly body, and nothing he did could change that.
One night, as the darkness closed in around him, Vincent made a decision. He was tired-so tired of fighting, of trying to be something he wasn’t. If Rody didn’t want him, if no one wanted him, then what was the point of existing?
He waited until the hospital was quiet, the halls empty, the lights dimmed. The nurses had given up on trying to make him eat, had finally stopped coming in to check on him every hour. They thought he was too weak to do anything, too far gone to be a threat to himself.
But they were wrong.
With trembling hands, Vincent reached for the IV in his arm, the needle sharp and cold against his skin. He hesitated for only a moment, a brief flash of fear shooting through him, but he pushed it aside. There was nothing left to fear anymore.
He ripped the IV out, the pain barely registering as a thin stream of blood trickled down his arm. He felt lightheaded, dizzy, but he forced himself to stand, to take one shaky step after another until he reached the window.
The city stretched out below him, the lights glittering like a million stars. It was beautiful in a cold, indifferent way. The world would keep turning, life would go on, and Vincent would be nothing more than a forgotten whisper in the wind.
He climbed onto the windowsill, the cold night air biting at his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was strangely calm, a numb clarity settling over him. This was the only way to make it stop, the only way to escape the pain that had become his constant companion.
Vincent took one last, deep breath, closing his eyes as he leaned forward, letting gravity take over. The world tilted, the air rushing past him in a dizzying blur, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt… free.
The impact was sudden, brutal, a jarring explosion of pain that ripped through him, and then-nothing. The darkness swallowed him whole, cold and empty, and Vincent welcomed it with open arms.
In the morning, the nurses would find the window open, the bed empty. The city would wake up, the streets bustling with life, oblivious to the tragedy that had unfolded in the night. Rody would move on, his life continuing without the weight of Vincent dragging him down.
And Vincent… Vincent would finally be at peace.
He was nothing, and now, he was gone.
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