tw: anxiety attack, self harm, vomit

He finds his way back eventually, dropping the wet close in the bathtub and taking one of Louie's shirts before collapsing on the couch.

A few minutes of tossing and turning proves he isn't getting any sleep. He considers sleeping in one of his partners' rooms before deciding against it, he didn't want to bother anyone.

He stands on shaking legs, pausing at the feeling of vomit in his throat. His expression sours and he bites his tongue to stop the tears, he didn't want to wake anyone up.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

He's moving now, walking over before he can stop to think about it. He barely makes it, hunching over the toilet as he vomits. He felt gross.

Kneeling in front of the toilet, he buries his head in his hands, hoping to muffle his sobs. His throat burns and his limbs felt heavy but he was too afraid to try sleeping, worried about what he'd see when he closed his eyes.

He drags his nails down his cheeks and neck, desperate for some form of control.

I'm supposed to be getting better

He sobs, not bothering to hide it, shaking as he ducks down, hands tugging at his hair. 

He just wanted to sleep.