* ╱ ＣＯＮＲＡＤ ＲＯＡＲＫＥ
When: Winter 2019-2020 Where: Miller Heights With: @primordias (Giles Nesbitt)
A numbness settles in his stomach which is a stark contrast to the sharp pains he has been experiencing for the last few days. He blames the leftover pizza he ate last night first and the anxiety over the anniversary of his family’s death second. Never the alcohol. He believes that’s responsible for the brief respite from the pain. Slowly he rolls onto his side and blinks through blurry eyes. His apartment is untouched and in the same state of disarray it had been the night, week, month, year before. Nothing changes in his life, Conrad notes with comfort, change is bad.
Movement to his side proves to be a difficult task, but becoming vertical is nearly impossible. While the pain in his stomach has subsided for the moment, a drilling in his head begins the moment the blood starts rushing. For the briefest of seconds he fears he may pass out, but the sensation passes and he glances around for any indication of the night before. Perched on a chair a few feet away is a familiar face, and immediately Conrad feels a sense of relief at the company. Yet another distraction from what this day has in store. “Hey, figured you would’ve dipped out by now,” he mutters, “Sorry if you expected to find somethin’ to eat for breakfast, haven’t been shoppin’ in weeks.”
