A/N: Hey hey, everybody! Now, about this fic... Well, it's a sequel to my one-shot, I Wouldn't Change A Thing, so take my advice and read that one first. This first chapter is really short, and it's very Adam-centered, and very angsty, hence the lenght. Angst is better in short forms! (I just came up with that!)

1: When All You Have Is Words

Ggggrrrrroooonnggggrrrreeeeekkkkk

These words. Even in the black, red blurr that covers it all.

---

And now words.

Callallallall

No...

Titititititit

Don't...

Mamamamamamay-y-y-y-y-yneedededededtoeateateateateateatEATEATEAT

"Don't..."

At first, Adam had wanted words to slip out from the soar caverns of his mind.

He'd hoped that they'd eventually turn into something real, something he'd be able to put his hands on and form into something concrete, something he could claim as his own even though right now, he was barely able to do that with his own body.

He'd hoped he'd be able to brand the words as things he could control.

But life isn't that kind.

And if his life has never been that kind, how can he expect this to be, how can he ask something good to come from something so dreadful that he actually wants death to set him free from it?

So the words haven't become real.

As an opposite, they started as things that at least were fragments of real sentences, things he could at least put his hands around even if they just slipped between his fingers.

But now, Adam has lost tracks on how long he's been in this bathroom. And the sentences are now red, hot, steaming, melted words, they arise from nowhere and just float around, mean nothing and do nothing, only devour the last real memories Adam has and only make his headache worse.

CALLITMYNEEDTOEAT!

"No..."

Adam whines, pathetic, so pathetic, and presses his hands against the sides of his head.

Real words. They were there for a while. Almost. But now, he doesn't even want them there anymore.

Because they're only words like those.

They're words that not only mean someting, aren't just liquid remains of real thoughts, but also taunt, echo from the infected windings of his bran about what he said, what he himself fucking said without even fucking knowing how true it was!

"I need to eat..."

And then, a sharp stab in his stomach.

Taunting. Adam rolls up into a ball, presses his lower arms against his abdomen.

Or maybe someone else does. It doesn't feel like his arms.

But then again, the rest of his body doesn't, either.

"I need to... Eat..."

"Adam, you already look like a goddamned skeleton! You're going to finish your dinner, and then go see your lady friend. Or I'll castrate you, and then you won't get much use out of her, anyway."

The sobs that drop from Adam's lips are high-pitched and squealing, howling and burning.

"Mom... I'll finish my dinner, I promise... Heather can wait, she can wait in the hallway, I'll take her out some other time but you've got to let me finish my dinner because I need to eat I need to eat..."

Why won't she listen to him?

Why can't she let him eat? He's said that he'll take Heather out some other time, he's said it now, so why can't he fucking eat?

"Bitch," Adam hisses when he's glaring at the square of light that forms the door, it floats in and out of his vision. "I left home for a reason, you know. You're always like this. I say I'll finish my dinner, and you just... You won't fucking listen! Why can't you do that, what the fuck did I do to you?"

She doesn't answer.

No wonder. Adam has no idea why he tries to talk to her, he saw her leaving the bathroom a few hours ago.

Or days.

Adam has no idea what is real. Since Lawrence left, he's talked to or seen basically every person he's ever met in his life, or people he's just heard of or seen in a picture. The guy he took pictures of before Lawrence, his dad's mistress, The Hulk, Orlando Bloom. They've all come and gone, drowned in his mentality and he's never missed them after that.

They were just even more taunting. Just stared at him, a circle of faces closing around him, examining him thoroughly but not helping, not doing a damn thing.

He doesn't miss anything anymore. Nothing out in the real world can be good enough to be worth the memories of this.

The light light from the closed door gets even more blurred when Adam thinks this.

He's been through so much shit. And he's never given into it, never even thought about taking any kind of easy way out, because that's not him. He is that strong.

But not anymore.

This is Adam now. This is who Jigsaw turned him into.

He's turned him into someone who wants to die just to get away from it, wants to die just because he can't fight anymore.

But there's one thing.

One real thing.

One reason to why Adam doesn't grab the gun he tried to hit Jigsaw with and just ends it all.

One name that glows in neon through the darkness. Dazzles. Comforts.

Lawrence...

One memory.

One memory of a hand on his cheek, a warmth of another body, a shallow breath into his mouth.

Adam bites his lips when he rolls over to his back. Tries to feel the presence of Lawrence on them.

Not a trace of that kiss is left.

I know what you're going to say: There are enough fics about a dramatic rescue of Adam out there. Well, I guess all I can hope for is that I'll be a step ahead of the other writers that do that (if you forget for a second that I've written half of those fics... XD) Anyway, please review!