//int. ashton's apt #306 - day. 27th april. @emberwexley
The last few days of battling through his tattered body and mind had felt like a century. Despite being free, he had been waiting for some shoe to drop, Sada to take him back, the vaccine being fake, the virus to take control, someone to just kindly take him out of the pain. Yet today after day, nothing. Nothing but lying in his own pit of uselessness and self worthlessness. Everyone keeps telling him to rest, and he really doesn't know how to. The itch was crawling under his skin to do something, be useful, before his life ends again.
He sat up for the first time in days of lying down, hunched over his work desk bringing back up papers and his notebook Aggie found, willing his mind to start working and stop thinking. Because every thought had been nothing but terrible. The withdrawals comes and goes in waves, and the wave was coming with the nausea and headache. Ash lightly hit his forehead down on the desk repeatedly like a tick of a clock as if to fight everything pain with physical pain. He hadn't even heard someone knock or open the door or come in.