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Summary
He doesn’t know what sets him off this time- he doesn’t know, hasn’t known, in the past few weeks because it seems he always wakes up with the itching, itching, itching under his skin and he always goes to sleep, if he sleeps, if he remembers sleeping, with the tightness settled in his stomach and something dark and insidious and evil whispering to him.
He doesn’t know what sets him off this time, just feels it building building building until he has to rake his fingernails down the inside of his wrist to get a breath in, and even then he feels his ribs protesting his wheezing breaths, feels the familiar squeeze in his throat as he thinks about everything he has to do and all the assignments he has left and all the tests and quizzes and projects and expectations and people and school, and fuck, fuck-