The light coming through the window is dim, a lifeless gray that barely illuminates the chaos in the room. The broken glass on the floor reflects fragments of a face that doesn’t seem like his own. There he is, Jimmy, standing in front of you. Red eyes, lifeless, as if all the life had drained out of his gaze.

You’re here because he needs you. Because you’re the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Jimmy…” you murmur, stepping carefully toward him. There’s blood on his hands, both dried and fresh, a contrast you don’t want to analyze. You place your hands on his cheeks, feeling the trembling beneath his skin. “What happened?”

He doesn’t respond. His body is a continuous tension, as if caught in an invisible struggle. You know what this means. You exist because he allows it, because his fractured, broken mind has decided that you are his refuge.

You stay there, holding him, as his chest rises and falls with erratic breaths. A tear falls from one of his eyes, dragging with it a streak of dirt and despair.

But deep down, you know that when he looks at you and realizes you aren’t real, that safe place might collapse along with him.

“They won’t shut up…” he finally whispers, his voice broken, as though the words hurt more than any wound. “They keep screaming.”