The floor was cold through his shirt.
Liam had stopped noticing it around eleven. Had been sitting with his back against the foot of his bed for two hours, one knee drawn up, phone in hand, the particular stillness of someone who had given up the pretense of sleep without fully deciding to stay awake.
The pill bottle was on his nightstand.
He could see it from where he sat—the small amber cylinder, cap on, exactly where Dr. Kim's prescription said it should be. As needed. He'd been not taking it for forty minutes while the need made itself very apparent.
Not tonight.
He looked back at his phone.
Aurora's Instagram.
