November 10, 2020—Seattle, Washington—Two Years Later #4
He gasped for breath, each inhale a struggle as his chest heaved and panic gripped his lungs, clutching at him like a vice.
Stumbling toward the kitchen, he sought refuge, space, air, something, anything to mend this turmoil.
Reason had slipped from his grasp entirely, leaving him adrift in a sea of instinct.
With every frantic grasp, he reached out for solutions, however irrational they seemed.
Zack had claimed he’d tossed it away at the bar, but that detail drowned in the torrent of his racing thoughts, the cacophony of his unraveling mind echoing louder than the world around him.
His bare feet slapped against the floor as he tore into the kitchen.
He yanked open the trash can, the sound of the lid slamming against the counter echoing in the apartment.
His hands dug into the empty bag, the absence of anything there hitting him like a punch to the gut.
The stark emptiness of the trash was a mirror to the hollow void yawning inside him.
“No, it’s not there!” Zack’s voice called from behind him, heavy with guilt and worry. “Logan, it’s not here. I emptied the trash at the bar a few hours ago!”
But Logan barely registered the words. He couldn’t stop.
He tore through the kitchen, his mind breaking into frantic shards.
His breaths came in shallow gasps, his hands shaking as they gripped countertops and cabinets.
He was still naked, but the vulnerability of his body was nothing compared to the vulnerability of his soul as it cracked open and spilled out into the room.
Images of Adrian assaulted him. The day he finally had told Logan the true meaning of the bracelet. “It was my mother’s,” Adrian had said, his gaze fixed on the thread as though it carried her spirit. “I was six… Six years old, and she… she took it off and placed it in my hands.”
Logan recalled how Adrian’s voice had momentarily faltered, a subtle crack in the otherwise steady veneer of his composure.
The weight of his memories pressed into the present, a silent testament to the unforgotten history.
He could still remember Adrian’s gaze then, tender, unguarded, filled with an honesty that cut straight to the soul.
The palimpsest of their connection remained vividly etched in his mind, translucent yet indelible, like a manuscript that had been layered over time.
The fractures within his heart threatened to resurface, delicate and fracturing, as if the very fabric of his emotions was giving way once more.
Logan could still feel the weight of the charm, the way it had always been a part of him, an anchor to the only man he had ever truly loved.
And now it had vanished into the ether. The final remnant of Adrian, the last thread binding them to the life they could have shared, slipped away, all because Logan had succumbed to the ephemeral embrace of another’s warmth, momentarily escaping the reality of his loss.
Logan stormed back into the main area of the loft, his steps heavy with rage and desperation.
His hands trembled as he grabbed his clothes, yanking them on with frantic, jerky movements.
“You’re taking me there,” he growled, his voice bleeding and cracking.
“Wherever you put it, wherever the hell you threw it!”
“Logan—” Zack started, his voice hesitant, but Logan cut him off with a shout that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than his chest.
“I need it!” Logan’s voice broke, the words rising like a howl, not directed at Zack but at the universe itself.
“I must find it! I—” He couldn’t finish the thought.
The ache in his throat swallowed the words before they could form.
His hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, his chest heaving with breaths he couldn’t control.
“Lo—” Zack tried again, softer this time.
“Shut the fuck up!” Logan snapped, his voice venomous, his body vibrating with the effort of holding himself together.
He jabbed a trembling finger toward Zack, his voice laced with fury and heartbreak.
“You had no right to throw it away! You know what it means to me. You’ve seen me wear it every single day!
How could you look at it and think, ‘Yeah, I’ll just throw away the most precious thing in Logan’s entire fucking life’? Like you don’t know!”
Zack’s face contorted in agony, his jaw clenching at the sharpness of Logan’s words.
He stepped back, his eyes wide with disbelief, as hurt danced across his features like a flickering flame.
Yet, Logan remained oblivious, unable to spare a glance.
His universe was disintegrating around him, fragment by fragment; Zack’s emotions had grown insignificant against the backdrop of chaos.
Everything felt void and empty without that fragile remnant of Adrian, the delicate thread he had clung to for what seemed an eternity.
I need you. I need you. Please. The silent cry echoed in Logan’s head, stabbing at the corners of his consciousness.
He blustered out of the apartment, barely registering Zack’s presence as he raced down the stairs and into the freezing morning air.
The cold nipped at his skin, yet Logan remained oblivious, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts, his body thoroughly numb.
He hurried toward the building’s garbage room, his heart pounding insistently in his chest, as if determined to keep him alive through sheer will, despite Logan feeling like he had stopped living a long time ago.
With a powerful shove, he flung the door open, the sharp sound echoing in the confined space. His breath caught in his throat, his chest constricting painfully as he surveyed the scene. The room was immaculate. Abandoned.
The trash was gone.
“No, no, no, no, no—please, no!” Logan’s voice cracked, the plea tearing through the stillness like a wounded animal’s cry.
He stumbled forward, staring at the pristine floor as though willing the bracelet to appear.
His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold, hard surface, his hands hanging limply at his sides.
The weight of the emptiness around him pressed down on his chest, crushing him.
He was drowning again, but this time, there was no Adrian to pull him out.
His heart felt hollow, his mind spinning with despair.
He clenched his wrist, his fingers digging into the bare skin where the bracelet had rested for years, the absence of it so wrong, so alien, it felt like a part of him had been amputated.
Hot tears began to spill down his cheeks, carving burning paths down his face. He didn’t try to stop them. The grief was too big, too consuming. He sobbed openly, his body wracked with tremors as the weight of his loss crushed him.
The bracelet wasn’t just a piece of metal and thread—it was his lifeline.
The anchor that had kept him tethered to the memory of Adrian, the only man who had ever truly loved him, the only man he had ever truly loved.
It had been his solace, his comfort, the one thing that made his empty, miserable life bearable.
And now it was gone.
Logan closed his eyes, the sharp and sour smell of garbage still clinging to the air, but he didn’t care. The world around him seemed to fade into nothingness as he sat there, his mind racing, his heart shattered.
Where do I go from here?
Logan drove back to the house, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The nausea churned in his stomach, a violent undercurrent that made him want to pull over and retch on the side of the road.
His throat felt tight, his chest heavy. He wanted to scream, to run, to do anything to escape the crushing weight inside him.
It was too much—everything was too much—and he wasn’t strong enough to handle it.
Not anymore.
He found himself submerged, enveloped by the vast ocean, being drawn and pulled into an all-consuming void.
Desperately, he attempted to breathe, but every effort was futile; his lungs screamed for air yet received only silence.
The powerful undercurrent tugged at him, pulling him further into the abyss.
He flailed his limbs, a frantic dance in an attempt to ascend to the surface, longing for that sweet breath of life.
He wanted to scream, to release the terror locked within him, but from the depths, no sound escaped his lips.
All the while, he sank deeper, swallowed by the water’s cold embrace.
The streets blurred around him, his mind barely registering the turns, the intersections.
His body was on autopilot, his thoughts consumed by the relentless pain.
A part of him wished for a car to swerve into his lane, for the impact to shatter him and bring an end to the torment.
Anything, anything to quiet the storm inside.
By some miracle, he made it to the driveway.
He parked the car, though he didn’t remember how.
He stepped out of the car like a man surfacing from deep water, lungs burning, body heavy, each movement syrup-slow, as if the air itself had thickened.
The house stood before him, lit from within, quiet as a lie.
He stared at the structure in front of him, his stomach twisting at the sight.
It wasn’t a home. It never had been. It was a shell, a facade, an eidolon, a monument to a life he didn’t want and a man he wasn’t.
It was a stage dressed in beige and symmetry, the illusion of warmth curated down to the last throw pillow, a museum of someone else’s dream.
Its windows blinked at him like blind eyes, all reflection, no depth.
He stared at the front door, that silent witness to years of pretending, and something curled inside him, something old and sharp, like rusted wire twisting in his chest.