We met under a disco ball — light fractured into a thousand lies, and Jimmy wore every one of them like truth. He smelled of cheap whiskey and good timing, a man who never earns his luck and calls it destiny. We burned the night down, floor to bed, laughter to sweat; while I dreamed in static he wandered drunk and charmed, tripping over fate itself until the door he wasn’t meant to open welcomed him in — and there it was, my purple masterpiece, glowing like temptation in glass — my greatest experiment, a potion braided from ancient recipes, myths, and state-of-the-art chemistry — not finished yet, only a beautiful, dangerous potential promise, or at least that's what i thought. He drank it, of course; Jimmy drinks what looks like a refill. I woke to an empty bed and the wrong kind of quiet, the sheets still warm, holding his absence like a lover that refuses to let go. I tore the mansion apart, door after door, heart a jackhammer, weapon in hand; he stumbled through the mansion, panic-drunk and chasing exits, he outrun me and managed to find the front door and ran as if luck could outrun consequence. I stood in the doorway, crumbled and furious, and screaming into the dark: YOU WILL DIE JIMMY! DIE!!!!!!
