He didn't know how long he had been staring at the door, lost in a haze of doubts, until he blinked and felt a light breeze brush against his skin, stirring the air in his room. The sound of footsteps downstairs and familiar voices brought him back to the present providing a stark contrast to the heavy silence that enveloped the room

"Why do you have to be so sentimental about everything? It's just sex."

Quinn's irritated voice resounded in his head, a haunting reminder of their heated argument. He sank back onto the bed, the weight of his emotions pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket. Was he too sentimental for her? His parents had always encouraged him to express his feelings openly, to communicate with honesty and vulnerability. They had instilled in him that trust and communication were the cornerstones of any healthy relationship.

"I thought you wanted this. You're a guy, right?"

Her accusatory words rang in his ears, a sharp pang of hurt lancing through him as he recalled her accusation. Isaac understood where she was coming from, but the sting of her assumption cut deep, leaving a wound that festered with self-doubt and insecurity. It stung that she had assumed he was like one of those guys who only used girls for their own pleasure.

"But you are a couple, and couples have sex. It's just sex." a mocking voice taunted him, dredging up feelings of guilt and self-doubt.

Was he holding her back? Was he not fulfilling her needs as a boyfriend? The thought gnawed at him, twisting his stomach into knots as he grappled with his insecurities. Perhaps she had been ready to take that step in their relationship, and his hesitation had only served to hurt her further.

"Fuck you and fuck this, " Quinn's sharp voice seeped back into Isaac's head like a bitter poison, each word slicing through his thoughts with razor-sharp precision. Had they broken up?

He didn't feel ready to have sex with her, but he had been willing to do it if it was what she needed. After all, it was just sex, right? It was normal to have sex with your girlfriend, wasn't it?

"If you don't give her what she wants, how will she love you?" the voice taunted him mercilessly, its words like venomous daggers stabbing at his already wounded heart. "You're no good, Isaac. You're like a broken record, always trying to please others and still not enough. You're not enough."

Isaac's hands flew to his ears, as if trying to block out the insidious voice. "Shut up, it's not true!" he shouted, his voice tinged with desperation, but the voice only grew louder, its relentless tirade echoing through the depths of his tortured mind.

"You're broken and no one wants a broken toy. You are a burden to others. To her."

"Shut up! It's not true. She loves me."

"Oh really? The only thing you give is pity. Nothing more."

"SHUT UP!," he pleaded, his voice cracking with anguish as he curled into a ball on the bed, his body trembling with the weight of his own self-loathing. "Shut up, please," he whispered brokenly, his eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of cruel words that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. "Please."

" That love that you think you deserve? You don't deserve it, you're not worth it."

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his body trembling with each ragged breath as panic clawed at his insides, threatening to suffocate him in its relentless grip and his heart hammered against his ribcage like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing in with suffocating weight as he struggled to draw air into his constricted lungs. Every breath felt like a battle, a desperate struggle against the invisible hands that clenched around his throat, choking off his air supply.

Outside his closed bedroom door, the muffled sounds of heavy knocking echoed through the stillness of the house. Worried voices called out to him, their tones laced with concern and urgency, pleading for him to open the door and let them in but Isaac remained frozen in place, his body paralyzed by the relentless onslaught of panic and despair that threatened to consume him whole.

"Isaac, open the door! Are you okay? What's happening in there?"

His fingers clutched at the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white with the strain of his grip as he fought to anchor himself to reality amidst the swirling chaos of his own mind. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, blurring his vision as he struggled to make sense of the overwhelming flood of emotions. His thoughts raced in a dizzying whirlwind of fear and confusion, a relentless torrent of self-doubt threatening to drag him under.

"You're not worth it," he whispered hoarsely, the words falling from his lips like a broken prayer. "You're not worth it."


Sabrina and Mason sat at the table, their gazes fixed on their son as he ate his breakfast in silence. It was a rare sight, one that filled them with a deep sense of unease. Their children had informed them of Isaac's peculiar behavior the previous Friday night. He had locked himself in his room, refusing to open the door even when they had tried to coax him out. It was a behavior completely out of character for their usually open and communicative son, even on his worst days.

They watched him rise from the table and silently retreat to his room and come back with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his sports bag in hand. This wasn't like Isaac, not at all. Before he could disappear behind the closed door of his room, Sabrina called out to him, her voice gentle but firm.

"Honey, come here for a moment."

He paused, his steps faltering as he turned to face them. His eyes betrayed a whirlwind of emotions—fear, vulnerability, and a hint of pain. Her heart clenched at the sight, her maternal instincts urging her to reach out and comfort him.

"You're not in trouble," she reassured him, "Your father and I just want to talk about what happened this weekend."

Isaac clenched his jaw, his gaze dropping to the floor as he nodded jerkily. With his shoulder tense, he reluctantly sank back into his seat at the table unwilling to meet their gaze.

""Buddy, talk to us," her husband began, "What happened?"

"I just had a bad day. Nothing more."

"You locked yourself -" Sabrina's voice quivered with a mixture of concern and frustration, her words laced with an unconscious edge as she began to address her son, only to feel her husband's hand gently urging her to temper her tone.

"I-Isaac, you're not in trouble," she continued, "but we're worried. You didn't leave your room for two days. This has never happened before."

"There's always a first time, right?" he snapped, his tone bitter and resentful as he met his parents' gaze with a defiant glare. But as quickly as his outburst had come, it seemed to crumble under the weight of his own guilt, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he cast his eyes downwards in shame.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he apologized softly, the words heavy with remorse. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

"I'm not angry but I need you to tell me what's wrong so I can help you."

"It's no big deal," Isaac muttered, his voice tinged with a sense of resignation. "It's not worth it."

She felt a surge of frustration welling up within her, a desperate desire to break through the walls that her son had erected around himself. She wanted to reach out to him, to offer him the support and guidance that he so desperately needed, but she knew that she couldn't force him to open up if he wasn't ready.

"Can...Can I go?" he asked quietly, his voice tinged with defeat as he turned towards the door. "I'm going to be late for class."

Sabrina's heart ached at the sight of her son's crestfallen expression, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his burdens. With a heavy sigh, she nodded, her own heart heavy with worry and helplessness as she watched him walk out the door.


Quinn stood by her locker, her fingers absently tapping on the screen of her phone as she debated whether or not to reach out to her boyfriend after their recent fight. The events had left her with a lingering sense of guilt, a nagging realization that her actions had been unfair and unjustified. She owed him an apology, a chance to explain herself and make amends for her mistakes. After all, he had only been trying to look out for her, as any caring boyfriend would.

Lost in her thoughts, she barely registered Sam's approach until his voice broke through her reverie, pulling her back to the present. Startled, she looked up to find the boy leaning casually against the lockers, a cocky grin playing at the corners of his lips that she found both irritating and oddly appealing.

"Hey, Quinn," he greeted her, his tone laced with a hint of flirtation. "Looking cute today."

"Sam," she replied tersely, her brow furrowing in annoyance. "What do you want?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to paint coasters at Color Me Mine."

Her lips tightened into a thin line, a flicker of annoyance flashing in her eyes at his persistence. She had made it clear to the boy on numerous occasions that they were just friends, and his attempts to flirt with her only served to frustrate her further.

"Sam, I have a boyfriend. I've told you that you and I are just friends."

"Come on." he persisted, inching closer to her with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. "It'll be fun."

Quinn held up a hand to halt his advance, "Please move away, you're making me uncomfortable. I'm not going with you anywhere. I have a boyfriend. Stop insisting." Her resolve hardening as she gently pushed him away to create a barrier between them. "Sam, you should look at another girl. I love Isaac and I'm not going to make the same mistake I made with Finn."

"But I don't want any other girl, I want you."

"But I don't." she snapped back, her words sharp and cutting. "Don't you understand that? I made it clear to you after the wedding that we were nothing more than friends. I don't like you."

Sam recoiled as if struck, his wounded expression morphing into one of resentment as he turned away from her with a huff of indignation, his pride wounded.

"Now I understand why they call you the Ice Queen," he spat, his voice dripping with scorn. "You do nothing but play with people's feelings. What's your problem? One day it's hot with you and another, cold. If that's how you treat Isaac, I feel sorry for him."

With a final glare, he stormed off. In the distance, she caught a glimpse of a mop of brown hair that looked oddly familiar, but she quickly dismissed it as her imagination over guilt about the fight she had had with Isaac.


Isaac navigated the halls of McKinley High, his heart pounding as he clutched a bouquet of roses in his trembling hand. With each step, he mentally rehearsed the words he planned to say to his girlfriend, hoping against hope that this small gesture, coupled with the date he had meticulously planned, would be enough to earn her forgiveness for his harsh reaction on Friday.

If Quinn desired to take their relationship to the next level, he was prepared to meet her halfway, despite his own reservations. After all, if it meant keeping her by his side, what was a little discomfort compared to the happiness she brought him?

As he rounded the corner, his heart skipped a beat at the sight of Quinn standing beside her locker. Her presence alone was enough to send a surge of warmth and longing coursing through his veins. He took a deep breath and his lips curved into a tentative smile, a flicker of optimism shining in his eyes as he drew closer.

But he faltered as his gaze fell upon Sam, who approached his girlfriends with an air of flirtation that made Isaac's stomach churn with unease. His grip tightened around the bouquet, the thorns digging into his skin as he watched her hand on his chest.

"Fuck you and fuck this."

The bouquet suddenly felt like a cruel mockery. With a mixture of sadness and anger, he cast a final glance at it, and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

"You're pathetic," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with self-loathing. With one last glance at them, he turned on his heel and walked away feeling more alone than ever before, the distant sound of his name falling on deaf ears.


"Hey, Hayes, where's your boyfriend?"

Jayden furrowed his brow, a hint of unease tugging at the corners of his expression. "I don't know, Coach." he admitted, his voice laced with worry. "No one has seen him in class today. I've texted him, but he hasn't answered yet."

The man's demeanor shifted, his tone growing more serious as he addressed. "Look, Isaac is one of the best players I've seen in a long time but the state competition is coming up, and there will be important scouts in attendance. I know your dream is to reach the professional league, but if he misses training, that won't make a good impression. I wouldn't want him to miss that opportunity because he missed practice, okay? Talk to him. Good job today, keep it up."

Jayden nodded and as he left the coach's office, he glanced at his phone once more but there was nothing—no missed calls, no text messages. Snatching up his gym bag, he made his way through the emptying halls of the school, where he found Gabrielle and Asher waiting for him.

"Has anyone seen Isaac? Has he called you or sent a message?" he asked as they made their way to his parked car.

His girlfriend shook her head, "No," she admitted with apprehension. "Mom sent me a message saying they tried to talk to him this morning. He just said he had one of his bad days, and that's it."

"And he's never locked himself in his room before," Asher chimed in, his brows furrowing with concern. "What do you think happened to him? I got a little scared when I heard him scream. He seemed very overwhelmed and scared."

Jayden's grip tightened on the steering wheel as they pulled up to his house, "His car isn't here," he observed, his jaw tight. "Where is he?"

"I'm not liking this at all."

"Let's try to stay calm. He always comes back."


Isaac sat behind the wheel of his car, the soft glow of the dashboard illuminating his troubled features as he navigated through the dimly lit streets. His mind was consumed by a relentless barrage of memories, each one more painful than the last.

The image of Quinn with Sam haunted him, replaying in his mind like a broken record. Anguish twisted in his chest, his hands clenching around the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. A bitter curse escaped his lips, the words dripping with self-loathing. "Fuck," he spat, the words came out as a harsh growl as he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "How can I be so stupid?"

The voice in his head was relentless, "I already told you, you're not enough," it whispered, its tone dripping with malice. "No matter how hard you try, you're not enough. Everything you do is useless. Stop trying."

"FUCK YOU!" he screamed, a strangled cry of anguish escaping his lips as tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. Desperation clawed at him, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest as he struggled to drown out the voice.

"SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

Then he spotted it—a distant glow, a flicker of light amidst the shadows. The pulsating thump of music drifted through the night air like a siren's call. He knew he was making a mistake, that drowning his sorrows in alcohol was not the answer but he needed to forget, to numb the ache in his heart, if only for a few hours.

Pulling up to the curb, he found himself face to face with a nightclub, its neon sign casting a vibrant glow against the darkness of the night. As he approached, the bouncer assessed him with a critical eye. "ID?" he demanded, his voice gruff but not unkind.

With a sense of resignation, he fumbled for his wallet, producing his identification with trembling hands. With a curt nod after verifying his identity, he swung open the door, granting him entrance. Isaac was immediately enveloped by a sensory explosion. The air thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and alcohol, mingling with the smoky haze that hangs in the dimly lit space as strobe lights flash in sync with the pounding beat of the music.

The dance floor was a whirlwind of movement, bodies swaying and gyrating to the rhythm, while laughter and chatter filled the space. Pushing through the crowd, he made his way to the bar. He leaned against the counter, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"What can I get you?" the bartender asked, his voice barely audible over the music.

"Can I get some shots? Like, something strong."

He watched as the small shot glasses, filled to the brim, lined up before him. Without hesitation, he tossed back the first shot, feeling the fiery burn as it trailed down his throat. But one shot was never enough, so he quickly downed another, and then another until the edges of his consciousness began to blur.

Feeling the alcohol coursing through his veins, he pushed himself away from the bar, his movements becoming increasingly unsteady as he made his way to the dance floor. As the night wore on and the alcohol continued to flow, his movements grew more erratic, his laughter bordering on manic as the faces around him blurred into a sea of anonymity, their cheers and laughter merging with the cacophony of the nightclub until everything became one indistinguishable blur.


The tension in the living room was palpable, a heavy cloud of worry hanging over the family like a shroud. Sabrina paced back and forth, her fingers pressed against her temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the ache that throbbed behind her eyes.

"How come he hasn't gone to class? This morning he took his backpack and his sports bag. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Jayden's voice cracked as he tried to offer an explanation, the strain evident in his words. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "He wasn't at thought he'd come back, he always does."

The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly, its hands inching closer to 2 a.m. with each passing moment and still, there was no sign of him. Despite the late hour, sleep was a distant prospect for the worried family gathered in the room. They had tried calling Isaac all afternoon, their desperation rising with each unanswered call. The real worry had set in when he failed to show up for dinner.

"He can't have disappeared off the face of the Earth," Alec snapped, his frustration boiling over into anger. "How come no one knows where he is, goddammit?"

"I just called Sue, and she says she hasn't seen him at McKinley or the hospital." Shelby offered, her voice trembling with anxiety as her eyes darted towards the door as if willing his nephew to appear before them.

Sabrina sank into a nearby chair, her resolve crumbling as tears spilled down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands, overcome by a sense of helplessness. Mason moved to her side, enfolding her in a comforting embrace, his own distress evident in the furrow of his brow.

"Something happened to him on Friday, Sonny. Where is our son?"

"Charlotte told me that she hasn't seen him either in Carmel or at the studio," Gabrielle confessed, her words heavy with despair as she shared her own fruitless efforts to locate her missing brother. "I don't know who else to call."

"Oh god, have you found him?" Kurt, his usually composed demeanor shattered by worry, entered the living room with hurried steps, his face contorted with anguish as he joined the group on the the answer was a collective shake of heads and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Suddenly, his phone rang, the shrill tone cutting through the tense silence like a knife. All eyes turned to him expectantly, but his expression fell as he glanced at the caller ID.

"It's Santana," he announced, rising from his seat and retreating to the relative privacy of the guest room to take the call.

"Kurt, start talking. What do you mean he's missing?" her voice echoed through the line, sharp and urgent and he winced at the forcefulness of her tone, holding the phone slightly away from his ear.

"I don't know," he admitted, his words heavy with uncertainty. "Jayden sent me a message half an hour ago, asking if I had seen Isaac or if my father had seen him in the garage. When I told him no and asked why, he said they couldn't find him and were running out of people to call."

"Britt and I just arrived. Open the door."


As Isaac stumbled out of the club, the pulsating bass of the music still throbbed in his ears, and the neon lights from the entrance seemed to blur before his half-open eyes. His steps were unsteady, weaving a path through the throngs of people spilling out onto the sidewalk, their voices blending into an indistinct murmur.

But just as he rounded the corner of the building, his bleary gaze caught sight of a troubling scene. In the dimly lit alley adjacent to the club, three men had backed a girl against the wall, their aggressive postures and leering expressions sending alarm bells ringing in his mind.

He paused for a moment, trying to focus his senses despite the alcohol-induced haze. "Hey!" he slurred, his voice cutting through the night air with surprising clarity. "Leave her alone!"

The three men turned to face him, their expressions shifting from predatory to hostile as they sized him up. One of them, a burly figure with a sneer plastered across his face, stepped forward. "You wanna be a hero, tough guy?" he growled, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol.

"She's not your plaything, assholes."

Without warning, the brute launched himself at Isaac, his meaty fist swinging toward his face with lethal intent. In a split-second blur of motion, he managed to duck and weave, his own fist connecting with a satisfying thud against the brute's jaw.

Pain exploded in his knuckles, but he barely registered it as adrenaline surged through his veins. But for every blow he landed, he received two in return, the force of the impacts sending shockwaves of agony rippling through his body until the world spun dizzily around him.

He felt the ground lurch beneath him, his legs giving out as darkness closed in around the edges of his vision as he crumpled to the ground, his consciousness slipping away like sand through his fingers. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he caught a glimpse of the girl, her eyes wide with fear and gratitude.

"You're going to be okay," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "You're going to be okay. Thank you."

Summoning the last reserves of his strength, he managed to muster a weak smile through bloodied lips. "Worth it," he managed to choke out, his words punctuated by coughs and splutters of blood. "Don't... don't cry." Isaac muttered hoarsely, as he succumbed to the darkness, his body slumping to the ground in a heap of bruised and bloodied flesh.