Broken Loop

Chapter Five: Loop #2- Pills

The medicine cabinet stood open. On the sink's ledge, half a dozen pill bottles lay uncapped: antidepressants, anti-anxiety meds, the small white capsules he didn't recognize. He brushed past her and flipped on the bathroom light. The bulb overhead rasped and steadied, casting harsh clarity on a row of pills lined in a strict rank.

Jade perched on the edge of the bathtub, knees drawn to her chest, body folded into the porcelain's curve. She held a glass of water in one hand and a fistful of capsules in the other. Their terrified silence crackled like static.

He froze, heart hammering. "Jade—"

She inhaled, voice sharp. "Don't."

He stepped forward until he could see each capsule: white, stamped with medical logos, potent with risk. She counted them—eight, maybe ten. She closed her eyes and tipped them into her palm.

"Jade," he said, lungs trembling. "No."

She uncapped the glass and flicked back her head. Water sloshed against the porcelain as she tipped back the pills. He lunged, catching her wrist mid–tilt. Capsules spilled across the tiles, bouncing like marbles in the lamp light.

She gasped, half-swallowed. He hauled her upright, heart slamming. "Spit them out," he begged.

She blinked, panic flickering in her gaze. She spat into the sink, knocking her hand against the porcelain's edge. A small trickle of blood welled where she'd struck herself. He grabbed a towel and pressed it to the cut, voice cracking: "I'm not going to let you—"

She yanked her arm free, stumbling backward. Water dripped from her hair, mixing with her tears. She met his eyes, furious and broken. "You can't save me."

His chest tightened. "I'm saving you."

She shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Every day, you reset like nothing happened—"

He reached out, voice urgent. "I have a watch that—"

She laughed, short and brittle. "You and your impossible watch."

He dropped to his knees and gathered the capsules from the floor, fingering them as though they might shatter. "Please," he said, voice raw. "Please, stop."

She sank onto the tub's edge, hugging her knees. "It doesn't stop the pain."

He sat beside her, cold tile beneath his palms. "I know it doesn't," he said quietly. "But I'm right here."

She closed her eyes, head bowed. "Not forever."

He glanced at the bathroom clock: 10:15 PM. He swallowed. He'd promised one night to prove it. Tonight, he'd show her.

He slipped from his coat pocket the brass pocket watch—silver chain tangling in his fist. The cracked crystal caught the dim light, tiny fracture splitting the glow. He flicked it open and pressed the crystal.

The gurgle of the faucet stuttered and rewound: water vapor uncurled and hissed back up the pipe. The sink's drips reversed into water pooling around the drain. The fluorescent bulb above them flickered off, then on again. In the mirror, her reflection trembled.

When his vision steadied, the pills lay whole in her palm. The cut on her wrist had vanished. Her glass brimmed with water. The bathroom felt colder, sharper.

Jade stared at him—eyes wide, trembling. He exhaled, voice shaking: "It works."

She swallowed, voice small. "No."

He pressed the crystal again, heart hammering. The bathroom swayed one more time. He tried to steady himself, but the room rippled like a stone thrown into still water.

When it stopped, Jade stood in front of him—identical in every detail, yet alive in a peace he hadn't known was possible.

He rose, voice urgent. "We have time."

She backed away, disbelief etched on her face. "No... no, you can't—"

He closed the watch, encasing its promise. "This morning—"

She shook her head. "I'm not taking your pills."

He saw the clock: 10:15 again. Time had given him one more chance, one more breath to pull her back.

• • •

He guided her out of the bathroom into the living room, voice gentle: "Just breathe."

She perched on the sofa, quaking. He knelt before her. "I'll stay with you all night."

Her lip trembled. She glanced at the watch on the coffee table, turning the chain between her fingers. "Why do you keep doing this?"

His eyes stung. "Because I love you."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry."

He reached for her hand and cradled it between both of his. "I'll find a way to help you—no loops, no pills."

She opened her eyes. "How?"

He swallowed, hope and fear twisting in his chest. "We'll try therapy. More support."

She nodded, tears glistening. "I—"

Thunder rolled outside. They sat in silence as the apartment exhaled around them—the hum of the fridge, the soft drip of the radiator—and in that hush, Aiden vowed to trace Jade's spiral back to its source.

He slid the watch into his pocket, seconds ticking backward. Somewhere in those loops, he would find the answer to save her heart.