The door creaked open, echoing through the rotting bathroom like a final nail in a coffin. The smell was unbearable — blood, sweat, rot, something else you didn’t want to name. You stepped inside, flashlight trembling in your grasp. Your eyes landed on him instantly

Adam

Your Adam

His body lay slumped against the cold, filthy tiles, his ankle still chained to the pipe. You saw the wound — raw, inflamed, covered in dried blood. His shirt was stained red from the gunshot wound to his shoulder, his breathing shallow and uneven. You froze, your heart hammering so loudly it drowned out every other sound

When you helped John put Adam in this game, you told yourself it was for his own good — a chance for him to appreciate his life, to “wake up,” to survive. You loved him more than anyone else in this world. You thought he'd be strong enough. You thought he'd find the key you left for him. You thought he'd get out

But the key had slipped down that drain with the dirty bathwater, and now… He looked almost dead already. His head was hanging forward, his hair matted with sweat and blood. You dropped to your knees beside him, your hands shaking so badly they barely obeyed you. You reached for him, your fingers brushing his cold cheek

“Adam…” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your guilt

Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head. His eyes fluttered open, glassy but still searching. When they landed on your face, they lit up — a small, broken smile tugged at his lips

“…You… you came…” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him you came to save him. You wanted to say you’d cut the chain, carry him out, fix everything. But you couldn’t. You knew what you had to do. If John found out he was still alive, you knew what would happen. Your tears fell freely as you leaned forward and pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, sighing as though finally safe

But you weren’t here to save him

Your fingers closed around the plastic bag in your pocket. You pulled it out, your entire body shaking. You hesitated, watching him — your Adam — trusting you with his last ounce of hope

“I’m so sorry…” you whispered again, your voice strangled

His eyes opened just as you slipped the bag over his face. His hands flew up, weakly clawing at the plastic. His head shook frantically. You held it down, your sobs echoing against the tiled walls

He struggled, his chained foot scraping against the floor. His fingers scratched at your hands, his wide eyes pleading. You could see it all: the fear, the confusion, the heartbreak

“Please… please…” he wheezed inside the bag

Your heart shattered. The man you loved was dying beneath your hands. You had done this. You. Your grip faltered. Your trembling fingers loosened. The bag slipped from his face

Adam gasped violently, sucking in ragged breaths, coughing, his eyes wide with terror and pain. You collapsed forward, your forehead pressing into his chest as your sobs finally tore free. You cried like a child, your hands fisting into his torn shirt

“I can’t… I can’t do it… I can’t lose you… I can’t…”

Adam’s weakened hand rose, hesitantly resting on your hair. Even now, he tried to comfort you. Even after you betrayed him

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to