Ryan’s POV
The room won’t stop spinning.
My bones feel like they’ve been filled with broken glass, every tiny movement scraping against something raw inside me. Even breathing hurts. I’m flat on my back, staring at the cracked ceiling of my bedroom, counting the seconds between heartbeats because it’s the only thing grounding me. My skin is clammy, soaked through the sheets. The taste of metal clings to my tongue.
Another dosage.
I already regret it.
The pill bottle lies on its side on the nightstand, one stubborn capsule rolling back and forth every time my hand trembles. I shouldn’t have taken more. I know that. But knowing doesn’t stop the pain, and pain doesn’t care about logic.
The door creaks.
I don’t need to turn my head. I’d recognize that presence anywhere.
Roy.
For a mom
