Thanks for the tag, @treluna4!
Patrick rocked back and forth on the tiled floor. He knew it was probably cold, but he couldn’t feel it. He hadn’t been able to feel anything for days. Or was it weeks? Nothing made any sense anymore, particularly time. He wasn’t even sure where he was, or why he was there. He knew it was a bathroom; the toilets were a dead giveaway, but a bathroom where? It was clearly a public place, definitely not a residential bathroom, and the people that came and went ignored him as they made their way to the stalls. He was glad for it at first, but after a while he started to doubt there were any decent people left in this town of - oh, he doesn’t even remember what town he’s in. He remembers driving, away from Rachel, away from home and then, and then there’s a gap, and then he’s here in this bathroom.
He pulls himself to his feet, wondering to himself why he’s still here. He walks to the door and reaches for the handle and -
“What the fuck?” he says out loud to the empty bathroom. He’s starting to suspect that it wouldn’t matter if someone was in here, because his hand just went through the door. And it didn’t hurt. He remembers the tile that should be cold, the people that seemed cold, and maybe - no, he would know if he was dead, right?
He reaches out again, hesitantly, pulling back instinctually as soon as the tips of his fingers disappear into the door.