Work Text:
this pattern had to change soon.
Will stood in the bathroom, waiting for the torturous feeling to to get over him.
He took too long taking another, he needed to pay more attention to how long it took for different ones to wear off, now all the senses were back and he couldn't handle it.
He tried just sneaking Jonathan's weed. The hope had been if he was just stoned most days he wouldn't be able to even notice the discomfort. He really wanted that to be the solution. The lack of control left him feeling stranded and like it was harder to feel anything but the disgusting slime coating his throat.
There wasn't slime, he knew that, it was gone by now. but the sense felt so real.
He could hear El and Jon talking while his mom made calls, he could hear the wind outside, and the kids on bikes, and the lady down the road preparing to smoke a cigarette. the feeling was horribly overwhelming, trembling he fell to his knees in front of the toilet.
Maybe the next step should have been to tell his mom. Beg for therapy, a solution, anything. Sure saying he almost got possessed by a demonic parasite would have gotten him thrown in the looney bin, but, maybe there was a way he could explain the constant anxiety, and feeling, the torturous awful feeling. Maybe he could have made it go away legally, instead of this mistake he flailed his way into starting, and unstoppable spiral he felt too stuck in to change.
He heard Jon and Joyce fighting now. he couldn't make out the words and it didn't matter, whatever the shouts and hollers were could melt away for all cared. School was in a half an hour and he needed to get over this damn paralysis and finish getting ready.
Will had chosen his own way of getting help. When eventually he didn't have the money... he'd steal. Go to a house party no one recognized him at and grab whatever he could, he felt awful for taking things that weren't his, but being without drove him mad. He could cope with the lack of it, he needed the difference.
The feeling of slime bubbled in his throat, making it hard to swallow around the lack of air. Tears brimmed his eyes as he forced himself to breath, telling himself despite his senses lying to him he was in fact breathing.
Will knew better than to steal medication. Who the hell did he think he was, it made him feel sick but it was all that helped, all the anxiety meds made it better. This was the only faulty way he had to stop the feeling of pulling vines from his throat, or being completely aware while he was unable to move in that decrepit place, life being stolen from him slowly.
He threw up. The breakfast of eggs and sausage he had now looked... disgusting. He flushed the toilet and sat there, shaking. Silencing his cries with his hand as fast as he could.
Right.
It was Sunday.
How'd he forget.
He didn't have school.
Will started rubbing his shoulders, a faint attempt to stop the shaking. Hopefully whatever he took would kick in soon, the numbness would wash back over to calm him down, he could feel normal, and relax... be free... he wanted to breath again...