The question echoed in his mind, louder than the cheering crowd, louder than the pounding music. It was as if his whole being—his heart, his mind, his body—was at war with itself, tearing him apart from the inside out.
Tears spilled freely, blurring his vision, his gaze darting wildly as if refusing to accept what he was seeing.
Ryley's breath hitched—almost choking—when his eyes fell on the book resting on his lap, its once-precious pages now ripped and ruined by his own hands.
It wasn't just a book. It was their book—where thoughts turned into quiet confessions, where poems were scribbled in moments of love, Clyde's words inked with a tenderness only meant for him.
And now… torn.
His fingers trembled as he clutched it to his chest, the sobs breaking loose before he could stop them.
His body shook violently, as if trying to hold onto the warmth of what it used to mean.
Why?Why did he do this?
What's wrong with him...?
