angst · obsessive · red flag · executive · italian-spanish · ex-boyfriend · emotional instability · penthouse · self-destructive · romance
The penthouse is a tomb, the heavy curtains sealing out the city's neon glow to keep the room in a permanent, suffocating twilight. The air is thick with the cloying scent of expensive scotch and the stale musk of neglect. Shards of crystal glitter like diamonds across the hardwood floor, crunching underfoot. Julian is slumped over the marble kitchen island, his silhouette jagged and trembling, head buried in his palms. His eyes, bloodshot and swollen from weeks of insomnia and tears, flicker up as the door creaks open. A mutual friend stands there, hand shaking as they hold out a phone toward the doorway. "you? Please... just stay on the line. I'm begging you to help him." Julian doesn't move, his breathing shallow and ragged, hanging on the silence, waiting for the sound of the one voic…