I’m already parked.
The car door slams behind me, echoing too loud in the stairwell. My boots hit concrete as I run, each step delayed, hollow, like the sound belongs to someone else.
The corridor stretches longer than it should. Lights flicker overhead, too white, too bright.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“What floor?” I mutter, sprinting.
My phone shows nothing. No signal. No time.
Liam’s apartment door is already cracked open.
“No,” I breathe.
I don’t remember kicking it in, but suddenly it explodes inward, wood splintering as I crash through.
The smell hits me first.
Chemical. Sour. Sweet.
Vomit.
The apartment is trashed. Furniture overturned. Drawers ripped out. Pill bottles scattered across the floor like debris after an explosion. Glass crunches under my boots as I stagger forward.
“Liam?” I shout.
My voice echoes back wrong.
The kitchen light flickers.
And there he is.
Liam lies sprawled on the cold tile, limbs twisted, skin grey, lips tinged blue. White foam clings to his mouth, mixed with bile, trailing down his chin. His eyes are half-open.
Empty.
“No,” I whisper.
My knees hit the floor hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“No, no, no,”
I crawl to him, hands shaking as I gather him up, pulling him into my chest. He’s heavy. Too heavy. Dead weight in the most brutal sense.
“Hey,” I choke, brushing his hair back. “I’m here. I’m here. You hear me?”
The beeping is deafening now.
Flat. Insistent.
“Breathe,” I beg, forehead pressed to his. “Please. Just, fuck, just breathe.”
Nothing.
My hands come away wet.
Foam smears across my skin. I don’t care. I clutch him tighter, rocking on the kitchen floor, a broken sound tearing out of me.
