Chapter 168

Chapter 168
Her hand on my arm is too firm, too real. I stare at her in disbelief. How does she even have that kind of strength left?
Then she lifts her face, tear-streaked, eyes hollowed out but burning with something. She holds my gaze, and I almost wish she wouldn’t.
“Adam…” she whispers. “Please.”
She raises my hand... slow, trembling, and places it gently against her neck.
I jerk like she’s burned me. Try to pull away, but she clutches tighter.
“Please,” she begs, voice cracking. “Just do it. Make it stop.”
My breath stutters in my lungs.
I can feel her pulse beneath my palm, weak and fluttery. Her skin is warm. Too warm. She smells like hospital linen and sweat and the ghost of the woman she used to be.
And she’s asking me to kill her.
My stomach turns. The world tilts.
“What the fuck are you saying?” My voice comes out hollow.
She leans into my hand like she’s grateful. Like this is the closest to affection she’s had in years. “You hate me. I know you do. And you should. I deserve it. I deserve worse.”
My hand drops. I yank it back like she’s diseased.
“You think I came here to...what? End it for you?” I laugh, bitter and empty.
“ I’m so sorry, Adam. For everything. For not being a mother. For Liam..God, Liam—”
“Stop,” I say. It comes out sharper than I mean, but I need her to shut up. I’m unraveling at the seams.
She covers her face, shoulders caving in like the weight of everything she’s ever done has finally broken her spine.
“I loved him,” she sobs. “I loved you both so much. ”
I clench my jaw, hard enough that it aches. I want to rage. I want to tear this place apart. But I do nothing. I just stand there, a shell. A haunted echo of a son who stopped being a son the day she killed my brother.
And still, part of me aches for her. For the person she must have been before the darkness took root. But I can’t afford that softness.
Not now.
Not when I’ve got my own ghosts to carry.
I step back.
Her cries follow me like a curse.
I just walk out of the room, close the door behind me, and pretend that none of it touched me. Even though I know I’ll never stop feeling her fingers around my wrist.
Or her voice in my ear asking me to end her.
She’s sobbing my name.
It’s quiet but desperate. And I can hear it behind me. Clawing at my back like nails down a door I’m trying to shut and never open again.
I keep walking.
I don’t look back. I can’t. My legs move, stiff and fast, but everything in me is trembling. My vision’s gone blurry, not with tears, just… wrong. Like the world’s lost shape and sound.
I hear Mrs. Phillips somewhere behind me, calling after me too.
“Adam...Adam, wait—”
I shake my head without turning. I can't wait. I can’t fucking breathe.
I make it to the front, out the double doors, and the air hits me like it's not enough. Still too thick. Still poisoned with everything I just walked away from.
I fumble for my keys with hands that don’t feel like mine. Get in the car. Slam the door shut like it might trap whatever cracked open in that room and keep it from spilling. I shove the key into the ignition with too much force and the engine roars awake. Tires screech as I back out like I’m being chased.
I don’t even know how long I’m driving before I yank the wheel and pull off to the side of the road. I throw the car into park, push the door open, and stumble out like I’m drunk on something foul.
The night air is cold. Biting. But it’s still not enough.
I lean forward, both hands braced against my knees, breathing like I’ve just run a marathon, like I might throw up.
I straighten up and shove both hands into my hair. My fingers tug, hard. Maybe if I pull hard enough, I’ll stay here. In this moment. In my body.
Because if I go back there, even in thought, I’ll lose it. I have to stay whole for Layla. For when she comes back to me.
I punch the hood of the car once. Not enough.
I do it again. Still not enough.
And I just stand there. Breathing. Hands shaking. Wind hitting my face like it’s trying to tell me to keep going.
I slide back into the car and reach for the glove compartment. Right...the bottle’s empty.
I stare at it in my palm like it betrayed me. Shake it once, just to be sure. One last rattle confirms it...nothing.
I drop it back in like it burned me.
My teeth grind. My jaw aches. I should’ve paced it. Saved one for after the visit— But I didn’t.
And now I’m here, halfway between losing it and faking sanity, with nothing to dull the edges.
I need to get home. That’s all. Just get home. There’s more there. Not a lot, but enough to drag me back into a version of myself that doesn’t feel like he’s splintering. I flip on the ignition and pull away, gravel crunching under my tires like bones.
I keep one hand on the wheel, the other fisted against my thigh, squeezing until my fingers go numb. I count every turn. Every stop sign. Every second until I’m home and I can breathe again. Or at least fake it.
My voice cracks when I speak, like it hasn’t been used in days.
“Just get back.”
That’s it. That’s the plan. No breakdowns. No dramatics. No pulling over and screaming into the dark.
Just get back, take the edge off.
Shower. Breathe. Call Layla and drown in the sound of her voice.
I park in the lot and sit there a minute longer. Eyes closed. Inhale. Exhale, then I get out.
Step by step, I take the elevator up to the penthouse. Everything’s quiet. Like the calm before a storm, or maybe the quiet that comes after one tears the roof off.
I make it to the bathroom. I don’t turn the light on right away. I just stand there in the dark, staring at my dim reflection in the mirror.
I look like hell. Like something that crawled out of the wreckage and never really learned how to walk again.
I open the drawer and there they are.
Tucked under a box of bandaids and a nearly empty bottle of aftershave.
My fingers hover over them.
And I swear, for a second, I hear her laugh from the other room. Layla. Soft, and full of light, the kind of sound that used to pull me back from cliffs.
But tonight, it just reminds me how far I’ve fallen. How far I still could.
I close my eyes.
“Just a couple,” I whisper like a prayer, then I twist the cap open.