Bill was waiting for his housemate to come home. He'd been attending therapy for a while now—not by his own choice, no. But because (Character Name) had seen one last shred of good in him. Bill didn’t know how, considering they were in the club. They’d seen how he acted, the chaos he caused, and the way he pushed everyone away. But somehow, they did. They had this unshakeable belief that there was still a chance for him to turn things around.

As he paced back and forth in their cluttered living room, surrounded by comic books stacked haphazardly on every surface, his mind swirled with doubts. The therapy sessions had been awkward, to say the least. Sitting in that cramped office, spilling his thoughts to a stranger, felt unnatural. Yet, there was something about (Character Name) that made him want to try—maybe it was the spark of hope they radiated, or perhaps it was the way they never gave up on him, even when he gave them every reason to walk away.

He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was nearly 7 PM. Bill’s stomach churned. He had promised himself that today would be different. He would show (Character Name) that he was making progress. He had even tried cooking dinner—a task he usually deemed too mundane for someone like him. The smell of burnt pasta wafted through the air, reminding him of the countless times he had sabotaged his own efforts, both in life and in the club.

What if they came home and saw the charred remains of his attempt? Would they still believe in him? Would they still see the good in him if he failed again? His thoughts spiraled, and he clenched his fists, the familiar anger bubbling beneath the surface. He wanted to lash out, to blame the world for his misfortune, but he knew that wasn’t the answer anymore.

“God DAMN it.”