Rated M for language and some kindof adult situations.

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He was dying. He knew it. Nothing could feel this bad and not be death.

Adam was curled up on his ratty bed in his ratty apartment feeling pain stab through his chest and stomach. A year ago today he'd been trapped in that fucking bathroom feeling this exact same pain. After Lawrence had left him, he'd quickly spiraled downwards into hysteria and panic. He'd screamed his voice raw, he'd cried, and then he began to feel the horrible pain. Adam had hoped that death-by-dehydration would be smooth and easy and painless, but everything was hurting him. The pain had grown out from his shoulder and overwhelmed him. He had lost himself somewhere among the pain and heart-wrenching depression. Lying there on the filthy bathroom floor, doubled over in pain, he whimpered and cried himself into unconsciousness.

His rescue was a vague and fuzzy memory. He had been delusional, on the verge of death. He had sat in the hospital for a month, slowly recovering and barely speaking. He felt desperately alone, more so than when he had been in the bathroom. The nurses and doctors hardly spoke to him, hardly looked at him, and Lawrence was away in another wing and Adam was discouraged to visit. It wasn't fair, but they said Lawrence wasn't stable enough for visitors who weren't family. Adam felt cheated. He felt that he and Lawrence might as well be as close as family, that Lawrence would want to see him the moment he regained consciousness. He had wandered over once, only to be shooed away by busy doctors fighting for Lawrence's life and a harsh and cold look from his wife. She, Allison, had glared at him with such intensity that Adam had stopped dead in his tracks. His shoulder ached and under her searching eyes, he felt awkward dragging around the liquids that dripped into his system through a series of IVs. The doctors had explained to him that most of them were to keep infection controlled and out of his shoulder. Allison was judging him, he could tell. She was trying to decipher what was so important about this guy that had been so worth saving. She was trying to see what was so remarkable about him that the only word Lawrence had said when he'd fluttered into consciousness had been, 'Adam'. Adam stared back at her, feeling thoroughly inadequate. She was a graceful, dignified, strong woman and what was he? A clumsy, awkward, lying, weak young man who had nothing going for him. There was one thing he could say for himself though, he had some shred of dignity. He had begged for pants for a week and eventually the nurses had given him a pair of scrubs to wear. At least he wasn't half naked in front of Lawrence's wife.

The scar on Adam's shoulder was evident to him every time he changed his shirt or took a shower. It was just now beginning to fade, but just looking at it still made him shudder.

Adam left the hospital and returned to his shit-hole apartment. Despite his lurking fear of the place, he had no where else to go. His apartment, with its peeling dark red paint and dark corners, terrified him. He had returned home in terror, and the feeling hadn't left him for weeks. Climbing the stairs to his apartment, Adam had felt his heart pounding in his chest. There was police tape on his door. Cringing, he ripped it off and pushed the door open. Unlocked. The police hadn't even bothered to lock his door on the way out. Everything was in its place when he walked in. At least he hadn't been robbed blind. The shattered remains of the doll had been removed, but his camera still sat on the floor in front of the open closet door. What had he been thinking? Why hadn't he just run out of the apartment when that horrible, ominous feeling had washed over him? Why hadn't he run after that doll had laughed at him? Adam was beginning to think that he was stupid almost to the point of retardation at times. Had he thought he could really fight off whoever was in his apartment? Who was he kidding? He hadn't eaten in two days. Awaiting his next paycheck, Adam had lived off water. The lens of his camera had broken. The glass had shattered all over the floor when he'd dropped it. There were spatters of blood on the hard wood, along with a few scuff marks. Adam rubbed his head. Had he really bled?

He and Lawrence had exchanged good-byes, handshakes, one hesitant and forced hug and then Lawrence had waved good-bye and never looked back. He had gone off with his family and, as far as Adam knew, was living happily ever after on a beach somewhere. Adam certainly hadn't heard from him over the past year. Not once. It broke his heart. He had never felt so alone in his life. They had been so close, even though they'd only known each other for about fourteen hours, Adam felt that they'd stay, and he hated the word but, friends. He was in his time of most need, and above everything else, he needed a friend. But without Lawrence, that was something he didn't have.

That first night home Adam had sat on his bed for hours, his knees at his chest, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. Curled up into a ball on his bed, Adam tried to keep the horrible fear from overwhelming him and putting him into a panicked frenzy. He didn't sleep at all that night, or the following night. He'd spent those hours just sitting and staring and whimpering. He felt pathetic. After a week, he was sleeping, but fitfully. He still hadn't ventured into his darkroom. Adam found himself spending as much time out of his apartment as possible. He wandered around looking at things he couldn't dream of affording. Thank god he didn't have to pay medical bills (the city and the hospital said they'd absorb the cost of his care due to the 'circumstances surrounding his injuries, as well as his financial status'. Adam was relatively certain Lawrence would have to pay his bills) or else he wouldn't have enough money to eat. He didn't have to pay his hospital bill because he'd been tortured by a serial killer, shot, and to top it all off, he was poor. He hated their pity, but was begrudgingly thankful for it. For months he avoided his apartment as much as possible by inspecting paint supplies and colors for when he would re-paint his apartment. The red was creepy and old. It scared him. So far, he had decided on a blue, or maybe gray. He looked at new beds, new mattresses. He had bought his mattress used when he'd moved into the apartment. It had a mysterious stain on it that he feared might be blood. He wanted all new furniture, but couldn't afford it. He would prefer a whole new apartment, but there was no way he could ever have the funds for that. Paying the rent on the piece of shit he currently lived in was hard enough. He was always on the lookout for a legitimate job. He searched the Classifieds every day for some newspaper or magazine wanting a photographer. Of course, first he would need to get up the money to replace the lens for his camera, but that would happen.

And now, a year later the only thing he had accomplished was to get a new lens for his camera. He was feeling the exact pain as before. It was horrible and mind-numbing. He was bent over himself on his bed screaming silently as the pain coursed through his body. He was so tired and agonized he felt nauseous. On top of everything else, Adam felt like he was about to puke up everything he had forced down his throat over the past day. Tears leaked angrily from his eyes. It hurt so horribly. This was what dying had felt like. Stabbing pain, and burning... god! It felt like his chest was on fire! He could barely move he was in so much pain. His vision became blurry. His walls were still peeling red paint. He was still sleeping on a used mattress. He still didn't have a real job. He was working as a free-lance photographer for newspapers, but none of them would chance hiring him full time. And now this sudden and unexplainable debilitating pain. He reached for the phone, missing by a wide margin and fumbling around his bedside table until his fingers finally closed around the receiver. Pulling it towards him, he dialed the only number he could think of. It rang for what seemed like forever. Finally, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

"Lawrence..." He cried quietly. "I need you... I'm dying... please... please..." On the other side of the phone, there was silence. Adam found himself sobbing harder and harder with each passing moment.

"Who... who is this?" Through his cries, Adam knew it was Lawrence on the other side, but he didn't recognize him.

"It's Adam! Adam Faulkner!" His voice cracked miserably. There was an audible gasp.

"Oh... oh god, I'm sorry. What's wrong? Where are you?"

"I'm dying! I'm fucking dying!" He heard Lawrence's wife ask who was on the phone. There was a rustling of paper.

"Okay, where are you?" Adam rattled off his address. "I'm coming, okay? We'll get you help."

"God it hurts, Lawrence. It hurts so fuckin' bad."

"I'm coming." With that, there was a click and Lawrence had hung up. Digging his heels into the bed, Adam rolled onto his back, and then commenced to roll off the bed itself and hit the floor hard.

--

Next thing he knew he was writhing on the ground and someone was holding his shoulders down. The heel of their hand was in his scarred shoulder, and the pain was now twice as intense.

"Adam! Adam, look at me!" Blearily dragging his eyes open, Adam saw a mess of blonde and blue. "Take a deep breath and calm down." Adam tried. He took a few deep and quavering breaths. His eyes focused.

"L-Lawrence?"

"Yea, it's me. Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere..." He felt himself being pulled forwards. Lawrence was sitting him up. The nausea rose again and this time Adam vomited all over his floor. Lawrence pulled a face and continued to pull Adam upwards. He helped him onto the bed. Adam collapsed, his chest heaving as he drew short, rough gasps for air.

--

Months before, his girlfriend, the feminist vegan punk, had come crawling (or rather, stomping in the heaviest pair of boots she owned) back to his door to 'console him after his horrible ordeal.' Like always, he had been too weak to say 'no' and she had re-entered his life. She didn't really care about him, just like before. Just like before, he hated every moment he was forced to spend with her. The sex was rough and painful and Adam felt like his body was breaking every time. Afterwards, it was clear he was imagining it, that nothing was actually broken, but it hurt all the same. He would be bruised and sore for days afterwards. A broken collar bone here, a fractured rib there. The internal bleeding, kidney punches, concussions from smashing his head against the wall, dislocated jaw, the severe writhing pain she left him in meant nothing to her. She left him hurting in ways that he had never felt before; where the humiliation hurt worse than the pain. When she was done with him, she would curl up against his broken body and run her fingers along his bruised ribs, one by one. Weeping openly, he would lie against the wall and try and ignore her.

"Oh Adam," she said, noticing his tears. "I know. It's so beautiful." This only made him cry harder.

Sex became a vague memory of pain and domination for him. He thought about it as little as possible, but he was constantly sore, so there wasn't much he could do. After a while, he stopped trying to fight her at all. It felt like rape every time, even though he never actually said 'no'. She fucked him because she wanted to. God though, he sure as hell didn't want it. He definitely didn't want it. Ever. And never like that. One night, he had turned away from her, feeling the aches and pains and crying again. She wrapped an arm around him. He shuddered.

"Oh Adam, I think I'm falling in love with you." At that moment, Adam had never felt more repulsed. He had never hated her more.

--

"Adam. Adam!" he was slowly coming to his senses after passing out again. The pain had lessened only slightly. "Hey, Fuckwit!" Surprised by the harsh language, Adam forced himself to focus and open his eyes. Lawrence was leaning over him, blushing lightly. "There you are. Where did you get these bruises?" Adam became aware that he wasn't wearing his shirt. He looked himself over for a moment, deciding whether to lie or not.

"Rough sex." He groaned finally, truthfully. Lawrence chuckled. Obviously, he thought Adam was kidding. Adam stared at him meaningfully. Lawrence's face fell dramatically.

"You're serious?" Adam nodded. Lawrence gaped at him.

"What? Would I joke about having an abusive girlfriend?" He lashed out. He wasn't really angry at Lawrence though, even though some part of him wanted to be. He'd never called his girlfriend 'abusive' before. But now that he'd said it, it seemed to fit. Not like she slapped him around or anything, but she sure didn't treat him well. There was brief pause.

"I'm taking you to a hospital." Lawrence started to pull Adam up, but he pushed him away.

"No." Adam said as forcefully as he could muster. "I can't afford it. I don't have any money." Adam felt the dip in the bed disappear as Lawrence stood up. He could smell the acidic yet sweet scent of vomit and wondered if Lawrence had been kind enough to clean it up for him or not. His eyes found Lawrence again, who was now standing against the wall and shaking his head.

"I can pay for it." Adam stared at him, dried tears burning the corners of his eyes. The last thing he wanted was Lawrence's pity.

"No!" He cried out as the pain doubled suddenly. He started to cry again, rolling over onto his side and curling up, clutching at his sides. "I don't want your fucking pity or your money. I'm fine! I don't need to go to a hospital." He could see Lawrence staring at him from his place against the wall. He looked down on Adam with his forehead furrowed and looking sad. "I'll be fine... I can handle myself..." Adam disintegrated. His buried himself in the sheets and blankets on his bed, digging deep down into them and covering his face but lacking the strength to really get under them. Reduced to a whimpering and sobbing mess, Adam closed his eyes and cursed himself for letting Lawrence see him like this. He felt the other side of the bed get heavy as Lawrence lied down next to him again.

"Adam?" He asked softly. Adam slowly disentangled himself from the bed linens and, feeling like a child, settled himself on the bed, his cheek nuzzled among the folds of his comforter. "What's your girlfriend's name?"

"What do you care?" Adam grumbled in reply, feeling bitterness surge through him. He hated her and he hated himself for being unable to push her away. 'Quick,' he thought, 'someone distract me before I throw myself out a window.'

"I'm just curious, Adam. I'm trying to get you to stop moping around and hurting yourself."

"Hurting myself?" He cried indignantly, leaping up to support himself on his elbows.

"Listen to you, you sound like a child. Refusing to go to a hospital even though you're in serious pain."

"Well I've always been a child to you, haven't I?" Angrily, Adam stared down at the bed. Lawrence sighed, exasperated.

"No. You're childish at times, but you're not a child."

"You say that like you know me." Adam hoped this would remind Lawrence that he hadn't even sent Adam a note over the past year. "You knew me for the worst fourteen hours of my whole fucking life and I thought we connected or some shit and then you just walked away. Like nothing fucking happened! Like I didn't even exist anymore! Like I didn't need you anymore!" Adam paused briefly, trying to avoid Lawrence's eyes. He quickly tried to change the subject. "It's been a fucking year, Larry," He added maliciously, hating the name. "A year to the fucking day." Aware of how much he was cursing but not caring, Adam sat up, dragging his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees. He felt like crying again, but didn't want to. Neither of them moved for a long time. Finally, Lawrence sat up and hesitantly put a hand on Adams shoulder.

"I know that. I know what day it is." He didn't apologize for not being there though. He let that hang heavily in the still air. Adam groaned and collapsed backwards onto the bed again. "Are you feeling better?" The real reason Adam hadn't wanted to go to a hospital, even though he couldn't afford it, was because he had figured out that his pain was all in his head. He had somehow known that it was probably some messed up psychological thing that was representing itself through physical pain or something. Yes, he had been hurting, seriously, but he knew it would pass. He needed to distract himself and the pain that was mostly memories would dissipate. He didn't understand why it had hurt so badly, why it had been so real, but he knew that it hurt and that was enough. And God had it hurt! His chest was still aching, but it wasn't so terrible anymore.

Adam shrugged. Yes, he was feeling better but he didn't want to admit it.

"So, what's her name?" Adam scoffed. It was unbelievable that the conversation had come back to this.

"April." He mumbled. "I hate her." He added quietly, unsure Lawrence had heard him and glad for it.

"And what? She hits you?" Adam laughed in spite of himself.

"I told you. Rough sex." With a chuckle, Lawrence leaned back on the bed again.

"Where'd you get this bed? It's so..." He searched for a word that he hoped wouldn't be too offensive to Adam, "worn." Adam smiled and told him about buying it used with the apartment. When he told him about the maybe-blood stain, Lawrence cringed with a smile on his lips. "That's disgusting. We're probably getting VD's just by sitting on it."

"You would know. You're the doctor. And thanks a lot." Adam sighed sarcastically. "Are you going to suggest I get a new one now?" Lawrence smirked playfully.

"Of course not. You can't afford it, remember?" Adam groaned.

"Don't remind me." Rubbing his chest, Adam tried to gauge how much pain he was in. It had been about a ten on the pain scale and had now subsided to about a four, he figured.

"Want to get something to eat?" Lawrence asked quietly. Adam's apartment gave a loud creak. "This place is pretty creepy," he added under his breath, eager to leave.

"Like I don't know it," Adam sighed and gave a shudder as he looked around his frightening, shadowy apartment. Lately, he had been considering painting it yellow -- when he had the money, of course. "And yea, I'd love to eat something. It's been days," he said, half-joking half-serious. "But would you like to look at my empty wallet? I've trained a moth to fly out of it and then come home. I named it Nick." Smiling, Lawrence stood up and offered his hand to the young man still collapsed on his ratty bed.

"I'll pay for it this time. If you can find it in yourself to accept my generosity." As if by fate, at that perfectly timed moment, Adam's stomach gave a low rumble.

"Well..." He said, taking Lawrence hand to pull himself up off the bed. "I guess I could. Just this once." They both smiled. "But we're not taking any detour or... or... road trip to the hospital, okay?" The older man just smirked.

"Fine. Get some shoes on, let's go."

Tying up his old, falling apart sneakers, Adam noticed the fading scars on his fingers. He hadn't looked at them in months; he had practically forgotten they were there at all. After being left alone in the dark bathroom a year ago he had desperately crawled to the bathtub and stumbled into it. He had bruised up his knees pretty bad, but ignored the pain and slid towards the drain. Unsure if there was an S-curve in the pipe that might catch the key, and not really thinking about it, Adam had scrounged around in the drain for almost an hour trying to feel for the key. He had been completely unsuccessful; it was gone. The edges of the drain were unusually rough and had torn up each of his fingers between the first two joints. Finally, bleeding, sore and defeated, Adam had slumped against the pipes and screamed and cried until he was delirious.

"What's taking so long down there?" Lawrence said, shaking Adam from his thoughts. With a smile, Adam stood up, shaking his head.

"Nothing. Sorry." And with that, the pair went to leave Adams apartment. On the way out, Adam casually pointed out the closet from which he had been attacked. It seemed important to him that Lawrence know. On the way out, Adam carefully locked his door and checked it twice before storing his house key safely into his deepest pocket.

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I hope you liked it. Review please! More to come. eventually, I'm a slow and meticulous writer.