True Love Waits
Barty jolted awake, his body lurching as if dragged from the depths of a nightmare. The world around him was a blur of shadows and damp cold, the concrete beneath him unforgiving against his aching limbs. His head throbbed with a relentless, pounding pain, and his mouth tasted of stale alcohol and bitterness. It took him a few moments to realise where he was—crumpled in a filthy alleyway, the rank stench of garbage and decay choking the air around him.
Panic flared in his chest as the events of the night before crashed into him like a tidal wave—rage, the fight, storming out, and then…nothing. He had no idea how he’d ended up here, discarded like trash, in this nameless, faceless alley. The sense of disorientation was almost suffocating, the world tilting around him as he forced himself to sit up, his hands scraping against the rough concrete.
His phone. He needed to find his phone. His hands shook as he patted his pockets, finally grasping the cracked device like a lifeline. The screen flickered to life, the battery icon flashing red, a cruel reminder of just how low he’d sunk. Barty’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the time, his pulse quickening with a desperate urgency. He needed to call Evan, needed to hear his voice, to somehow make amends for the catastrophe he’d caused.
With fumbling fingers, he dialled Evan’s number, his heart hammering as the phone rang. Each ring felt like an eternity, the sound echoing in his skull, growing louder and louder until it was almost unbearable.
“Pick up, Evan, please,” Barty whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and guilt. But the phone kept ringing, and the longer it went unanswered, the more Barty’s heart sank, plummeting into a pit of despair. Finally, the ringing stopped, replaced by the hollow, lifeless tone of Evan’s voicemail.
“This is Evan. Leave a message.”
Barty hung up, the words catching in his throat, strangling him. His mind raced with dark possibilities, each one worse than the last. What if Evan was still furious? What if he never wanted to see him again? What if…?
“Fuck!” The curse exploded from his lips, raw and desperate, as he slammed his fist against the brick wall beside him. The pain that shot up his arm was sharp and immediate, but it was nothing compared to the searing agony in his chest. He had to get home. He had to see Evan. There was no other option.
Staggering to his feet, Barty stumbled out of the alley and into the street, the early morning light assaulting his senses, too bright and too harsh. The city around him was still waking up, the quiet hum of traffic and distant voices blending into a cacophony of white noise. He moved through it like a ghost, his mind focused only on getting home, on finding Evan and somehow making this right.
The journey was a blur, his legs carrying him automatically, though every step felt like a mile. By the time he reached his apartment building, his breath was ragged, and his body was screaming for rest. But he couldn’t stop, not now.
His hands trembled so violently as he fumbled with the keys that it took him several attempts to unlock the door. The moment he stepped inside, he felt a crushing weight of dread settle over him. The apartment was too quiet, too still. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the air, thick and oppressive.
“Evan?” Barty’s voice was hoarse, almost unrecognisable, as he called out, his heart thudding against his ribcage like it was trying to escape. He walked into the living room, his eyes frantically scanning the dimly lit space until they landed on the couch—and the figure lying there.
“Evan…” His name came out as a strangled gasp, the relief Barty felt at seeing him quickly turning into something darker, something far more terrifying. Evan was slumped back against the cushions, his head lolling to one side, his face drained of color. And there, marring the pale perfection of his skin, was a stream of dark red blood, trickling from his nose, staining his shirt.
“No, no, no, no…” Barty’s legs buckled beneath him, his knees hitting the floor as he crawled to the couch, the world around him spinning out of control. His hands hovered over Evan’s still form, too afraid to touch, too afraid to confirm the truth he already knew deep in his gut.
“Evan, please wake up,” Barty pleaded, his voice breaking, raw and desperate. He shook Evan’s shoulder, gently at first, then harder, his panic mounting with each passing second of silence. “Evan, come on, please, don’t do this…”
But there was no response. Evan’s body was cold, too cold, and the blood—it was everywhere now, dripping onto the couch, onto the floor, a macabre reminder of the life that had slipped away. Barty’s vision blurred with tears, his chest constricting so tightly it felt like he couldn’t breathe.
This was his fault. He had done this. He had driven Evan to this, pushed him over the edge with his own reckless behaviour, his selfishness, his inability to control his own demons. The guilt was a living thing, a beast that clawed at his insides, tearing him apart from the inside out.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” Barty sobbed, his voice barely a whisper as he clutched at Evan’s lifeless body, his fingers digging into the bloodstained fabric of his shirt. But his apologies were meaningless now, empty words that couldn’t bring back the man he had lost.
Barty’s world shattered in that moment, the weight of his guilt and grief pulling him down into a dark abyss from which he knew he would never escape. He had killed the one person who had meant anything to him, had destroyed the only real connection he had left in this miserable, fucked-up world.
He pulled away, staggering to his feet, his body trembling violently as he backed away from the couch, from the horrific reality of what he had done. The apartment around him seemed to close in, the walls pressing down on him, the air thick and suffocating. His mind raced, a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that he couldn’t begin to untangle.
He wanted to scream, to tear his hair out, to smash everything in sight. He wanted to make the pain stop, to make it all go away. But he was trapped, paralyzed by the magnitude of his own failure, by the unbearable truth that Evan was gone and it was all his fault.
Barty’s knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor, his hands clutching at his hair, his nails digging into his scalp as he let out a guttural, animalistic scream that echoed through the empty apartment. The sound was raw, filled with all the anguish and despair that had been building inside him, threatening to consume him whole.
And then he broke. The sobs tore through him, violent and uncontrollable, his body shaking with the force of them. He cried for Evan, for everything they could have had, for every moment of happiness that was now tainted by this unimaginable loss. He cried for himself, for the man he had become, for the wreckage of his life that he couldn’t escape.
Time lost all meaning as Barty sat there, the hours bleeding into each other, his mind trapped in a never-ending loop of guilt and regret. When he finally looked up, the light in the apartment had shifted, casting long, dark shadows across the room. The sight of Evan’s body, still and cold on the couch, was like a punch to the gut, the final, undeniable confirmation that this nightmare was real.
Barty’s hands trembled as he reached for his phone, his fingers slipping on the screen slick with sweat and tears. He knew he had to call someone, had to tell someone what had happened. But as he stared at the screen, the empty contact list, he realised he had no one left to call. He was alone. Completely, utterly alone.
The realisation was like a knife to the heart, sharp and cold, cutting deep. Evan had been his everything, his one constant in a world that had always felt too big, too chaotic. And now he was gone, and Barty was left with nothing but the empty, suffocating silence of his apartment and the crushing weight of his own guilt.
He couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t bring himself to do anything but sit there, staring at the lifeless body of the man he had loved, the man he had destroyed. The world outside kept moving, indifferent to his pain, but for Barty, time had stopped. Everything had stopped.
All that was left was the cold, unrelenting darkness, pressing in on him, pulling him down, drowning him in the knowledge that he had lost everything that had ever mattered. And there was no escape, no redemption, no way to undo the damage he had caused.
Barty would live with this, the memory of Evan’s lifeless body, the blood, the guilt, for the rest of his life. And that was the worst punishment of all.