Exit Music (For A Film)
The first rays of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a soft, golden light across the room. The air was still, heavy with the remnants of the night before, filled with the scent of sweat and skin. Barty stirred, his eyes fluttering open to the unfamiliar warmth of another body beside him. It took him a moment to remember where he was, the haze of sleep blurring the edges of his thoughts. But then he felt the weight of an arm draped across his chest, the warmth of Evan’s breath against his neck, and the memories of the previous night came rushing back in vivid detail.
He turned his head slightly, catching sight of Evan still asleep, his face relaxed in the dim morning light. Evan’s dark skin seemed to glow in the soft light, his bright locks splayed out across the pillow in a wild halo. Barty couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions as he looked at him—something close to contentment, tinged with an edge of unease he couldn’t quite shake. The night had been intense, their connection undeniable, but there was something lurking beneath the surface, something that had been nagging at Barty ever since they’d started spending more time together.
Carefully, Barty slid out from under Evan’s arm, moving slowly to avoid waking him. As much as he wanted to stay, to savour the rare comfort of another’s warmth, there was a restlessness inside him that wouldn’t let him. He needed to move, to clear his head, and maybe, just maybe, to get some distance from the feelings that had started to creep up on him.
The floor was cool beneath his feet as he padded quietly across the room, gathering his clothes from where they’d been discarded in a trail leading to the bed. He dressed quickly, his movements quiet and practised, like a man used to sneaking out before dawn. He paused as he reached for his jacket, glancing back at Evan, who was still lost in sleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
For a moment, Barty hesitated. He wasn’t sure what it was that made him linger—maybe it was the way Evan looked so peaceful, so unguarded in sleep, or maybe it was something deeper, something Barty wasn’t ready to name. But as he stood there, an unexpected surge of guilt washed over him, mingling with the unease that had been gnawing at him since he’d woken up.
Shaking his head, Barty forced himself to turn away. He needed to clear his head, to put some distance between himself and the tangled mess of emotions that were threatening to pull him under. But as he moved toward the door, something caught his eye—something small, but unmistakable, peeking out from the edge of the dresser near the door.
At first, Barty wasn’t sure what it was. It looked like just a crumpled piece of paper, half-hidden under a stack of books and a few scattered belongings. But there was something about it that drew his attention, a nagging curiosity that made him pause in his tracks.
Barty leaned down, reaching out to move the books aside, his heart picking up speed for reasons he couldn’t quite place. As he did, the piece of paper came fully into view, along with what was lying beside it—a small, unassuming plastic bag filled with a fine white powder. Cocaine.
For a moment, Barty just stared at it, his mind racing. The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut, sending a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. He felt a wave of something close to anger, mixed with a sick sort of fascination. He knew he shouldn’t be surprised—Evan had always been a bit of an enigma, a man with secrets Barty could only guess at—but this... This was different. This was real.
His fingers itched with the urge to touch it, to pick it up and hold it in his hands, to feel the weight of it, both literally and metaphorically. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew this was crossing a line he couldn’t come back from. But the impulse was strong, stronger than he’d expected, and Barty had never been one to resist his impulses.
Carefully, as if in a trance, Barty reached out and picked up the small bag. The weight of it in his hand felt almost surreal, a tangible symbol of everything that had been lurking beneath the surface between them. He knew he should put it down, leave it there and walk away, but something inside him wouldn’t let him. It was like a switch had been flipped, the reckless part of him taking over, the part that craved the thrill of danger, of doing something he knew he shouldn’t.
Barty took a deep breath, his mind racing as he weighed the bag in his hand. A part of him wanted to wake Evan, to confront him, to demand answers. But another part of him, the part that had always lived on the edge, was more intrigued than anything else. He wanted to know what it felt like, to have this little piece of Evan’s secret world in his hands, to take a part of it with him when he left.
Without really thinking about it, Barty slipped the bag into the pocket of his jacket, his heart pounding in his chest. It was a small act, but it felt monumental, like he’d just crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He could feel the adrenaline thrumming in his veins, the rush of excitement mingling with the unease that had been lurking since he’d first laid eyes on the bag.
He stood there for a moment longer, his hand resting over the pocket where the bag was hidden, his mind racing. He knew he should leave, should get out before he did something even more reckless, but the pull of the moment was too strong. It was like a drug in itself, the thrill of the unknown, the rush of doing something he knew was wrong but couldn’t resist.
Finally, Barty tore himself away from the dresser, his decision made. He glanced back at Evan one last time, feeling a pang of something close to regret, but he pushed it down, burying it deep inside where it couldn’t reach him. He needed to get out, to get some air, to clear his head. He needed to get away from the thoughts that were swirling in his mind, the questions he didn’t want to face just yet.
As he slipped out of the room, the morning light seemed harsher, more glaring, as if the world outside was a stark contrast to the darkness he’d just uncovered. Barty took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill his lungs, grounding him. But even as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was carrying more than just the small bag in his pocket. He was carrying the weight of something that would change everything, something that would only grow heavier with time.
And as he made his way down the empty streets of London, the city still waking up around him, Barty couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—what it would mean for him, for Evan, and for whatever it was that had been growing between them. For now, though, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the cool morning air, the steady rhythm of his footsteps, and the small, forbidden thrill of the secret he now carried with him.
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Barty made his way back to his apartment, his heart still pounding from the adrenaline of what he’d just done. The streets of London were coming alive around him, the early morning sun casting a soft, golden glow over the city, but he felt disconnected from it all, like a ghost drifting through a world that wasn’t quite real. His mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions—curiosity, guilt, and a simmering, insistent craving for something to take the edge off the gnawing unease that had taken root deep inside him.
By the time he reached his flat, the sun was fully up, its pale light creeping through the gaps in the curtains. Barty stood in front of his door for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob as he took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. The familiar scent of his apartment greeted him as he stepped inside—stale smoke, spilled alcohol, and the faint, lingering trace of cologne that clung to his clothes. The space was cluttered, chaotic, a reflection of the storm brewing inside his own mind. But it was his, and it was the one place where he could let his guard down, where he could be alone with the thoughts he usually tried so hard to drown out.
He shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall onto the worn-out couch, the small bag of cocaine hidden in its pocket. For a moment, Barty just stood there, his eyes fixed on the spot where his jacket lay, as if it were something dangerous, something forbidden. He knew he shouldn’t have taken it—knew this was a line he had no business crossing—but the pull was too strong. It was like an itch he couldn’t ignore, a temptation that whispered promises of relief from the constant, unrelenting pressure in his chest.
Before he even realised what he was doing, Barty was sitting on the couch, the small bag now in his hands. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in shallow, shaky gasps as he stared at the white powder inside. The sight of it sent a thrill through him, a heady mix of fear and excitement that made his hands tremble. It had been years since he’d touched anything like this, but the familiarity of it all came rushing back, as if no time had passed at all.
With shaky, but practised hands, Barty carefully poured the powder onto the coffee table in front of him, dividing it into neat lines with a sense of purpose that was almost mechanical. He hesitated for just a moment, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him like a physical force. But then the craving surged up again, drowning out the doubt, the guilt, and before he could second-guess himself, Barty leaned down, inhaling the first line in one swift motion.
The effect was instantaneous, a rush of euphoria exploding in his mind, flooding his veins with a warmth that chased away the cold, the fear, the guilt. The world around him sharpened, the colours more vivid, the sounds crisper, as if a veil had been lifted from his senses. The tension that had been coiled tight inside him for days melted away, replaced by a blissful calm that spread through him like a wave of relief.
Barty leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes as he let the high wash over him. His body felt light, almost weightless, as if he were floating above it all, untethered from the worries that had plagued him for so long. The doubts, the regrets, the gnawing sense of unease—they all faded into the background, drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of bliss that coursed through his body.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Barty could breathe again, the tightness in his chest finally releasing its grip. The world seemed brighter, more manageable, as if he could take on anything and come out on top. He knew it wouldn’t last—knew this was just a temporary escape, a fleeting moment of relief—but right now, he didn’t care. All that mattered was the here and now, the way his mind felt clear, sharp, his body humming with energy.
He lay there for what felt like hours, lost in the sensation, letting it carry him away. The high was everything he’d hoped for and more, a perfect antidote to the storm that had been raging inside him for so long. But just as he was beginning to feel at peace, just as the world was beginning to fade into a hazy, dreamlike state, the harsh sound of his phone ringing shattered the calm.
Barty’s eyes snapped open, the jarring sound pulling him back to reality with a force that left him momentarily disoriented. His phone continued to ring, the sound sharp and insistent, cutting through the remnants of his high like a knife. It was like being plunged into cold water, the euphoria draining away as the harsh reality of the moment came crashing back.
Groggily, Barty reached for his phone, his hands still unsteady as he fumbled to answer it. He didn’t recognize the number at first, his brain sluggish, struggling to process what was happening. But as he pressed the phone to his ear, the voice on the other end sent a chill down his spine, slicing through the lingering fog of the cocaine.
“Barty, what the fuck did you do?”
It was Evan. His voice was sharp, laced with a cold anger that Barty had never heard from him before. The words cut through the remnants of Barty’s high, sending a jolt of panic through him. He tried to respond, but his thoughts were still slow, muddled, his brain struggling to catch up with the sudden turn of events.
“What… what are you talking about?” Barty finally managed to say, though his voice sounded distant, as if it were coming from someone else.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Evan snapped, his tone icy, unforgiving. “You took it, didn’t you? You took the coke.”
Barty’s heart skipped a beat, the adrenaline from earlier returning with full force, flooding his system with a cold, creeping dread. His mind raced, scrambling for an excuse, a lie, anything to deflect the accusation. But before he could come up with something, Evan continued, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something else—something that sounded like fear.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Evan’s voice cracked slightly, the anger giving way to a rawer emotion that made Barty’s stomach twist with guilt. “That wasn’t just for fun, Barty. I need that. You can’t just—” He broke off, his breath hitching, and Barty could hear the strain in his voice, the panic lurking beneath the surface.
The guilt hit Barty like a sledgehammer, the weight of what he’d done crashing down on him with a force that left him reeling. He knew Evan was right—knew he hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t considered what it might mean for Evan, for whatever fragile connection they’d been building. He’d acted on impulse, like he always did, and now it was all coming apart at the seams.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” Barty finally managed to stammer, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with regret. “I didn’t know… I just thought—”
“You didn’t think!” Evan cut him off, his voice rising with fury. “You never fucking think, do you? It’s always about you, about what you want, what you need. Did it even cross your mind that I might have had a reason for keeping it hidden?”
Barty felt a wave of shame wash over him, the guilt gnawing at him like a festering wound. Evan was right—he hadn’t thought, hadn’t considered anyone but himself. He’d been selfish, reckless, letting his impulses get the best of him, and now he was paying the price.
“Evan, please… I’m sorry,” Barty said again, his voice pleading, desperate. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Evan interrupted, his voice colder than Barty had ever heard it. “Just… get rid of it. Don’t come near me again until you do.”
The line went dead before Barty could respond, the sound of the call ending ringing in his ears like a death knell. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at his phone in stunned silence, the guilt and regret closing in around him like a vise. The high that had felt so perfect, so liberating just moments ago, was gone, leaving behind nothing but a hollow emptiness and the cold, stark reality of what he’d done.
He looked down at the coffee table, at the remaining lines of cocaine still sitting there, taunting him with their presence. The sight of it made his stomach churn, the guilt twisting inside him like a knife. He knew he should get rid of it, flush it down the toilet, and do anything to erase the evidence of his mistake. But even now, even with Evan’s words echoing in his mind, the craving was still there, whispering insidiously in the back of his mind, tempting him to take just one more hit, to drown out the guilt and shame for just a little while longer.
But Barty knew he couldn’t. Not this time. He’d already crossed a line, and the thought of losing Evan—of destroying whatever it was they’d had—was enough to make the craving shrink back, if only a little.
With a heavy heart, Barty stood up, his legs unsteady as he made his way to the bathroom. He stared down at the bag in his hand, the weight of it suddenly feeling much heavier than it had before. And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he emptied it into the toilet, watching as the white powder dissolved into the water, taking with it the last remnants of his high, the fleeting sense of peace he’d felt.
As he flushed it away, Barty felt a pang of regret, but it was quickly swallowed up by the overwhelming guilt and shame that had been gnawing at him since Evan’s call. He knew he’d screwed up, knew he’d hurt the one person who’d managed to break through his defences in ways he hadn’t expected. And now, all he could do was hope that he could find a way to make it right, to fix the mess he’d made before it was too late.
But as Barty stood there, staring down at the swirling water, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something between him and Evan that couldn’t be undone, no matter how much he wanted to. And that thought, more than anything else, filled him with a deep, gnawing dread.