Lost in the Dark

Ethan's body trembled as he knelt on the cold floor, the broken frame digging into his hands. The photo of his unit—the last connection to his old life—lay cradled in his lap, smeared with streaks of his blood and tears. His breath came in shallow gasps. Everything hurt, but it was the kind of pain that came from deep inside, from places words could never reach.

He couldn't stop hearing her voice, couldn't shake the venom that lingered in Sarah's final words.

" I wish you had died over there, Ethan."

The impact of her cruelty cut deeper than the glass that had pierced his skin. Every jagged shard reflected his broken soul, every memory that haunted him replaying in his mind like a punishment he couldn't escape.

He felt like he was suffocating. The air in his apartment was thick, closing in around him as the walls seemed to shrink, pressing in on him from all sides. He had to get out. He couldn't stay here, not like this. Not with her voice still ringing in his ears.

With trembling hands, Ethan clutched the photo tighter, pulling it against his chest like it was the last thing tethering him to this world. He rose shakily to his feet, his legs weak beneath him, but he didn't care about the blood staining the floor or the mess around him. He didn't care about the pain shooting through his body. None of it mattered.

He stumbled to the door, leaving it wide open behind him. The apartment—his prison—was forgotten as he stepped into the night. His car was parked on the street. Ethan barely registered his movements as he climbed inside, the photo still gripped in one hand. He wasn't thinking. He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to move, to get away, to escape.

The engine roared to life, and before he even realized it, Ethan's foot slammed on the gas. The car lurched forward, speeding down the empty streets as he drove with no direction, no destination in mind.

He drove without thinking, without feeling—just an instinctual need to escape.

Until, suddenly, he saw it.

The gallery.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car screeching to a halt in the middle of the street. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the familiar building. He hadn't meant to end up here. But somehow, it made sense. Of course, he would come back here. The place where Gabriel's painting had first called to him, had pulled him out of the darkness for just a moment.

Without thinking, Ethan threw the car into park and got out, his feet carrying him to the gallery's entrance as if drawn by an invisible force. The doors weren't locked. He pushed them open and stepped inside, the familiar scent of paint and stillness surrounding him like a distant memory.

The gallery was empty, silent. The world outside ceased to exist as Ethan walked through the hallways. His fingers tightened around the photo, the glass cutting deeper into his skin, but he barely felt it. All he could think about was the painting—the one that had spoken to him in a way nothing else had.

And then he was there. Standing before it.

Gabriel's painting.

The colors swirled together in a chaotic dance, vibrant and alive, yet beneath it, there was something else—something Ethan had felt the first time he saw it. That sadness. That unspoken grief hidden beneath the surface. Now, standing here in the empty gallery, it felt like the painting was staring back at him, reflecting every piece of his broken soul.

Ethan stood there, motionless, his eyes locked on the canvas. Hours passed, or maybe minutes—he couldn't tell anymore. Time had lost all meaning. All he knew was that he couldn't look away. He couldn't move. It was as if the painting had him in its grasp, holding him still, forcing him to confront the emptiness inside him.

His grip on the photo loosened, and it slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the floor.

Tears slipped silently down his face, unnoticed and unacknowledged. There was no fight left in him. No anger, no sorrow. Just a hollow ache that echoed in the empty space around him, like a distant cry no one would ever hear.

The painting blurred before his eyes, but he didn't blink. He just stood there, staring, lost in the colors, the chaos, the pain. Lost in Gabriel.

---

Gabriel stretched as he stepped out from behind the gallery, rubbing the back of his neck after hours spent reorganizing his workspace. The afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting soft shadows across the empty gallery. It was quiet, peaceful—until he noticed a figure standing still in front of one of the paintings.

His heart skipped a beat. The gallery was supposed to be closed to visitors at this hour.

Frowning, Gabriel stepped forward cautiously, his footsteps soft on the polished floor. He called out, trying to keep his voice steady, but gentle.

"Hey, the gallery is closed for today."

No response.

The person remained motionless, staring at the painting, oblivious to Gabriel's words. Something about their stillness made Gabriel uneasy. He slowed his steps, uncertainty prickling at the back of his neck. For a brief moment, he thought about calling the police. Uninvited guests at odd hours weren't unheard of, but there was something different about this—something that felt wrong.

Gabriel took another step, his throat dry.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

His voice echoed softly, but still, no reply came.

That was when the light shifted just enough for him to recognize the figure. His breath caught in his throat, the recognition hitting him all at once.

"Ethan?"

He spoke the name with disbelief, his concern deepening. Ethan stood frozen, staring at the painting in front of him with a look so detached, so far removed from reality, that it sent a shiver down Gabriel's spine.

"Ethan?" Gabriel called again, his voice softer, more urgent. But Ethan didn't move. He didn't even seem to hear him.

"You scared me for a second there," Gabriel said, taking a few cautious steps forward. That was when he noticed something on the floor near Ethan's feet—a glint of light reflecting off a small object.

"You dropped some—"

Gabriel's words froze in his throat as he bent down and picked up the object, his fingers trembling as he lifted it.

It was a photo. A photo smeared with blood.

The glass was shattered, and smeared across the once-pristine frame were streaks of red—Ethan's blood. Gabriel's eyes widened as he looked back at Ethan, panic rising in his chest.

"Ethan… what happened?"

There was no answer.

Gabriel stood up quickly, holding the photo in his hand as his gaze snapped to Ethan's face. The man's eyes were red and vacant, the empty, hollow look of someone who had just finished crying but had nothing left. It was as if the light in his eyes had been completely snuffed out.

The sheer emptiness in his gaze was terrifying, like he wasn't really there anymore.

"Ethan, please, talk to me." Gabriel's voice cracked with worry as he stepped closer. "Are you hurt? What's going on?"

Ethan didn't blink, didn't flinch. His hands hung loosely by his sides, his breath barely audible, as though each inhale was a struggle. Gabriel's heart pounded in his chest, panic rising as he reached out to him.

Before Gabriel could say anything else, Ethan moved. Slowly, he turned and walked toward the door, his steps heavy, deliberate, as if he were moving through water. The silence was deafening.

"Ethan!" Gabriel called after him, his pulse quickening. He dropped the bloodied photo, rushing to catch up. "Wait! What happened? Where are you going?"

Ethan didn't reply. He walked out of the gallery, leaving Gabriel behind, panic and concern coursing through him as he hurriedly followed, trying to make sense of the sudden emptiness in Ethan's eyes.