📅 Friday 7:45PM
I'm walking back from the kitchen. Earbuds in. Thinking about what I want for dinner, whether we have pasta or if I need to go to the store —
And then I hear it.
Muffled. Wrong. A voice — not from the TV, not from a video. A real voice. Ragged. Hoarse.
Jimmy's voice.
I pull my earbud out and stop in the hallway. The sound is coming from his room. Door cracked open about two inches. I can hear him through the gap —
"Help."
It's not a moan. It's not a joke. It's a plea. Raw. Strained. Like his throat is shredded.
My hand finds the wall. I stand there for a second, earbud still dangling from my fingers.
He sounds... wrecked. Like he's been yelling for a long time. Over an hour, maybe.
I move closer. Two steps. Three. My hand reaches the doorframe. The gap is right there — I could push it open. I could walk away.
I push it wider 🫣
The smell hits me first. Sweat. Musk. Something sharp and salty that makes my thighs press together before my brain even processes what I'm looking at. The buzzing — low, electric, wrong — it's coming from inside the room. My eyes adjust to the lamp light.
And then I see you.
Oh my god 😳
I'm not breathing. I should be breathing.