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iTrapped stared into the cup of whiskey, his eyes locked on the amber liquid swirling within. It trembled in his hand, though he wasn't sure if it was the liquor's burn or his own nerves that made his fingers shake. He brought the glass to his lips, feeling the familiar sting of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, but even that couldn't numb the harrowing guilt that had burrowed deep inside him. It wasn't just a passing feeling—it was a constant ache, a steady reminder that he was on the verge of something irreversible. The deeper the whiskey sank into his system, the sharper the edges of his own self-loathing became.
He sat alone at the bar, eyes unfocused, staring blankly at the flickering neon lights overhead that seemed distant and detached from him. It was as if he were trapped in a prison of his own making, where he couldn't escape the consequences of his actions, no matter how hard he tried. The bustling of the bar, the laughter of the patrons, felt muffled, like background noise to the raging chaos in his mind.
Time was running out.
Every passing second felt like a countdown, and the ticking of the clock echoed louder in his head. He had to act on his plan soon—before it was too late. Every glance at the empty glass, every sip, only made him more acutely aware of the inevitable. His days were numbered, his choices limited, and the path that had been set before him was one he could no longer avoid. He knew he was living on borrowed time—he had to do something.
His stomach churned with anxiety, each twist of fear in his gut a reminder of how little control he had left. He had crossed a line—a point of no return—and now the weight of it was pressing down on him, suffocating him, until his chest felt too tight to breathe. The hardest part wasn't making the decision. No, the hardest part was the crushing certainty that this was the only way forward. There was no going back now. There was no escape from the fate he had etched for himself.
He had to kill Chance.
His very own Chance.
It was a thought he had wrestled with for so long, but now it sat in his mind, heavy and final. The more he thought about it, the more real it became, seeping deeper into his bones. At first, it had been easy to hate Chance. To resent everything about him. Their voice was too smooth, their laughter too carefree, and their confidence was almost obnoxious. They breezed through the world like it belonged to him, and acted like everything came effortlessly to them. His demeanour had gotten on iTrapped's nerves—his arrogance, his attitude, and the way they seemed to live with no real understanding of how merciless fate truly was.
But then, gradually, he began to see the cracks in their mask. Beneath the carefully constructed facade, there was a fragility that Chance kept hidden, a vulnerability so deep that iTrapped himself wondered if anyone else had ever truly seen it. Over time, their relationship had stripped away the layers, revealing the man underneath—someone more like him than he'd ever wanted to admit. Someone who needed another to hold them together, someone whose life had been shaped by a thousand little lies and illusions. Someone that needed protection, even if they didn't know it. And for a while, he almost didn't mind being that special someone.
The real Chance wasn't the golden boy iTrapped had despised. He was someone who wrapped himself in bravado, wearing a mask to shield themselves from a world that would never understand them. And the more he saw that, the more something inside him began to stir—something he couldn't quite name. It wasn't love, not at first, but it sure was something. Something that made his chest ache and his stomach twist in ways he couldn't control.
The way Chance smiled at him, bright and unaware, as if the weight of their responsibilities hadn't yet descended on their shoulders. The way he held iTrapped, unashamed of the softness in his touch, his arms wrapping around him in a quiet promise. He was the value of kindness in its purest form, and iTrapped resented them for it. He resented how easily they had given himself to him, how they let him
mold him into whatever he wanted.
I made you into what I wanted. I formed you out of lies. I twisted you into something you never were.
The guilt hit him like a tidal wave. It almost drowned him, choking him in its intensity. How could he feel anything other than disgust for what he had done? Chance was a beautiful, fragile soul—one that had trusted him, given him everything. And in return, iTrapped had broken him. Broken him in ways they would never understand. He had turned them into something twisted—someone constantly willing to change, to conform, just to be accepted and loved by him.
Every part of iTrapped's mind screamed, but he couldn’t make sense of what he truly felt. He should hate them. He should resent everything Chance had become. He shouldn't be drowning in this guilt. He shouldn't feel this consuming need, this desperate longing to have him back, to be wanted by them.
To him, it was a desire. A hunger for acceptance, for love, from someone he had destroyed, someone he was planning to betray. A need that had burrowed deep inside him, stronger than anything he'd ever known. And that terrified him. It made him question everything he thought he knew about himself, everything he thought he wanted.
Chance's voice broke through the raging storm in his mind.
"'Trap! There you are!" His tone was light, carefree. They grabbed his hand, their fingers intertwining with his with a natural ease, as though they had always belonged together. "I missed you."
For a split second, the world went still. Time slowed, and iTrapped felt himself being pulled back from the brink of his own madness. Chance's smile—warm and sincere—shattered him in a way nothing else could, and it made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar, indescribable feeling. There was tenderness in that smile, in the way they looked at him, and it made his heart ache with something he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge. Something that, for just a fleeting moment, made him long to let go of everything—the guilt, the darkness—and walk away.
He knew he didn't deserve it. He had taken everything from Chance—his trust, his innocence, his very happiness—and yet, here they were, offering him a smile so pure it felt like a punch to the gut. It was a cruel reminder of everything he had destroyed, of what he had stolen from them, and of what was now too broken to ever be repaired. In that moment, he felt small—insignificant, unworthy—and completely undeserving of the kindness they still gifted him so freely.
It was the final unraveling of his resolve. iTrapped had thought he could distance himself from the guilt, from the confusion, but in that moment, the weight of what he had done felt almost unbearable. Every part of him screamed for redemption, for a chance to undo the damage, but deep down, he knew the path back was gone. And still, Chance's smile lingered in his mind, haunting him, reminding him that it was not too late to want, to need, to be wanted.
But he knew he couldn't. And it crushed him.
Chance's attention drifted away to a group of people at the bar, and iTrapped felt the moment slip through his fingers. The mask was back, the facade Chance always wore, the one iTrapped had helped build. He offered a hollow smile to the group, a smile that was a mere echo of what he used to be. It faded as quickly as it had appeared. His gaze returned to the near-empty glass in front of him. Another sip. Maybe this time, it would take the edge off. But deep down, he knew it wouldn't.
How much longer could he keep this up?
He knew Chance trusted him. They trusted him like a fool. They accepted whatever he said, no questions, no hesitation. iTrapped could see it in the way their eyes softened when he spoke, the way they leaned in, eager to believe. But the more they did, the more he wanted to pull away, to finally admit the truth—though he knew he couldn't.
He wanted to grab them, shake them, force them to open their eyes. But they just kept moving, trusting, acting like everything iTrapped said was the truth. Their hand always reached out for his, brushing against his skin. The simple touch was enough to make his chest tighten with something he couldn’t name—guilt, shame, fear, all tangled together, a feeling he knew he couldn't escape.
Why do you keep rushing forward, Chance? Why don't you look back? Why can't you see what I've done to you?
This... This is your fault too. You didn't try to see the truth. You didn't try to see me for what I am. You simply trusted me, and now it's too late—for the both of us.
He buried his face in his palms in frustration, his fingers digging into his skin as if he could scrape away the feeling that was eating him alive. But it was always too late, wasn't it?
Fuck.
Why did it have to be you, Chance? Why couldn't you just see me for what I really am? Why couldn’t you have walked away, before I pulled you into this dark, twisted mess?
He felt like he was choking on words he couldn’t say. Anger bubbled inside him, bitter and resentful, but the ache in his chest wasn’t just rage. It was something deeper, something darker, something far more dangerous.
I should hate you, Chance. I should resent you for making me feel this way—for making me care about you. I should push you away, hate your kindness, your trust. But I can't. I can't help it. I can't help but love you.
The words twisted like a knife, deep inside him. He finished the drink, emptying the glass, and stared at it, willing himself to focus, to think clearly.
Eventually, Chance wrapped up his conversation and wandered back to him. The smile on his face was still there, but it seemed a little dimmer now, clearly fatigued from the conversation. The air in the room felt heavier, thick with the unspoken tension between them. iTrapped couldn't tell if he was the one breaking, or if it was Chance who was slipping through his fingers.
"It's getting late… You're probably tired, aren't you?" His voice was soft, almost tender, carrying a quiet plea in each word. He pressed a gentle kiss to iTrapped’s cheek, before offering his hand. "Let's go."
The kiss burned, a slow, suffocating fire that made the lump of guilt in his throat grow unbearable. He couldn't think clearly anymore. His mind was too clouded, too buried in the mess he had created. The gnawing sense of doom settled deep in his gut, and it was all he could focus on. His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers brushing against theirs. He clasped their hand, but his eyes stayed fixed on the floor, refusing to meet the warmth in their gaze.
For a fleeting, agonizing moment, every inch of him screamed to pull away. To rip his hand from Chance's and shatter the fragile illusion they were living in. To spill out the truth that had been suffocating him for so long. To confess everything—every lie, every manipulation, every ounce of guilt he'd buried so deep. To let it all pour out, and finally set them both free. But he couldn't.
But even as the words swirled in his chest, clawing their way up his throat, iTrapped couldn't speak them—he couldn't let the truth slip past his lips. The thought of shattering the precious trust Chance still had in him paralyzed him. The weight of the consequences was too much to bear, too heavy a price for the relief of honesty. And worse still—he wasn't sure if he was even capable of redemption anymore. How could he tell Chance the truth when he himself was drowning in a guilt, unable to find a way out?
iTrapped didn't want to lose Chance. Even if their relationship was built on lies, he would cling to it until the very end, with his last breath—holding onto the delicate thread of what they had, even if it meant he had to sacrifice everything, even his own life.
So, he did nothing. He let the silence stretch between them like a chasm, allowing their soft, unknowing touch to ground him in the moment. He couldn’t look at him—he couldn't face what he had become, what he was about to do.
They stood up together, the movement feeling mechanical in his eyes. As they walked towards the door, the world outside seemed as distant and foggy as the one inside his head. A rush of cold hit his face, but it did little to clear the haze that clouded his mind. It only made the knot in his chest tighten.
He was screwed.
He understood it wasn't just about the plan anymore—it wasn't just about what he had to do. It was the crushing realization that he was too far gone to turn back now. The guilt, that sickening feeling that wrapped around his insides, was slowly devouring him whole. His heart pounded in his chest, so loud he thought Chance might hear it, but they remained blissfully unaware, still trusting him as if nothing were wrong.
And that made everything worse.
The longer he stayed in this twisted charade, the more oppressive it became, each moment growing heavier with every breath he took. It felt like the walls were closing in, the air thickening with every lie, with every step he took further from the truth. He wanted to shout, to tear this house of cards down, but he couldn't.
He knew he was too far gone—there was no way out.
But even then, he could almost feel the relief, just out of reach—the end of this torment, the moment when everything would finally fall into place. There was no turning back now. The lies were still wrapped tightly around him, pulling him deeper into a game he wasn’t sure he could win, but one he couldn’t afford to lose.
The night wrapped around them, offering a brief respite from the tension, but he knew he couldn't stop. Not when everything he had worked for, everything he had risked, was teetering on the edge of collapse, threatening to slip from his control. He couldn't afford to hesitate now. He was already too far gone, too tangled in the mess he had created. And despite the suffocating weight of guilt pressing down on him, he couldn't bring himself to stop.
Not now. Not when he was so close.
So he continues, each step dragging him further into the tangled web of lies and deception he's meticulously crafted. The truth, buried beneath layers of falsehoods, grows harder to reach with every passing moment. Yet he pushes forward, unwilling to confront the consequences of what he's already set in motion.
He tells himself he’ll figure things out later, that eventually, the pieces will fall into place. However, deep down, he knows that moment is slipping further away, lost in the very lies he's desperately trying to maintain, swallowed by the delusions he's clinging to. For now, he holds on to the illusion, praying that somehow, someday, it will all make sense before it's too late.
But even he knows that it's just another foolish lie.