Joe slept, or thought he did. It was hard to tell anymore.
There were no windows in the room, no way to measure time except by the arrival of food trays he never touched. He kept the lights off, curled on the narrow bed, letting darkness swallow him whole. Day and night blurred together until they felt meaningless. Time itself felt thin, insubstantial, like something he might fall through if he thought about it too hard.
He only got up to use the bathroom. Even that happened less and less. His body was conserving itself, slowing down, preparing.
Evan had taken the razor. That had almost made him laugh when he noticed. As if that were the danger.
Joe wasn’t going to hurt himself.
He didn’t need to.
He was going to die soon anyway. This was just the waiting room.
His thoughts circled
