#maybe this sounds counterproductive but by accepting anxiety as just another part of life it helps me feel like itll pass

[dykedragons]

trying to accept anxiety as just being "part of the process" rather than something that needs to be acted against or fought

[wickedmilo]

BITTERLY HUMAN | MILO SOLO

PLACE: An abandoned building near Friction TIMING: 2:11 AM SUMMARY: Milo contemplates Dani’s words, and ends up finding answers he isn’t sure he still wants CONTENT WARNINGS: Brief mention of needles, brief implied drug use (not explicitly mentioned), vomit/vomiting 

Milo wasn’t sure how much time he spent on the ground before whatever was holding him down released its grip. Part of him almost enjoyed the inability to move. If he couldn’t move, he didn’t need to think about where he was. And if he didn’t need to think about where he was, he could ignore the voices in his head, the feelings threatening to overwhelm him. But when the pressure disappeared, and his lungs filled with air once again, he tore his gaze away from the stars, shakily pushing himself to his feet. And he decided to do the one thing every instinct in his body was telling him not to; explore. If he didn’t do this now, he might lose this location. He might forget Dani’s words, or how desperate he was to seek out his answers. He should know the area well, but alcohol and drugs always made his memory unreliable, so he started small, picking the glass out of his palms to carefully run them along the brick walls. A vain attempt to trigger any memories he might have, anything lurking in the deepest recesses of his mind.

Dani’s words were still ringing in his ears, and he could still feel the gaze of the man responsible for killing him, even though he must be long gone by now. Seeing his face, looking into his eyes… even being in his presence alone, it was nothing like he had expected it would be. Largely due to realising who he was after he had successfully made his escape. He had been secretly hoping an identity, any form of contact, might help him to accept his fate, or at the very least understand it. But his stomach wouldn’t settle, his entire body was shaking. He didn’t even get the chance to talk to him. Not here. What did that mean? He had more questions than answers, which was utterly infuriating. Continuing to the end of the alleyway, his footsteps unsteady, and hesitant, he took a deep breath as he emerged onto the high street. After being in the dark for so long there were so many sights, smells, and sounds attacking his senses. Each distracting in their own way, each demanding his attention. He forced himself to focus, which wasn’t difficult to do considering his mind only wanted to dwell on what had just taken place. How stupid he had been.

Glancing down towards the direction of club, he was begrudgingly forced to accept it was the most logical place to start, and he began his impulsive journey, his quest to find something more concrete than the information Dani had provided him with. Building by building he paused, carefully analysing the scenery, observing every brick out of place, every scratch, or mark, or unusual scent. The anxiety in his chest was growing in strength with each passing storefront, or boarded up window. Something didn’t feel right, something other than the strange way he had been pulled to the floor by an unseen force. This wasn’t coming from the Weird of White Crest, this was a very natural, and very human feeling of dread. One connected to something he couldn’t quite grasp. It felt like trying to remember a dream, desperately clinging to details even as they faded away. Having long since lost any concept of time, when he eventually reached the club, instead of trying to get back inside, he slipped between it and the abandoned building that stood towering next door. It felt undeniably familiar, but of course it would. Hadn’t he walked this way earlier? Hadn’t he passed this ominous structure in his evening’s mission to get drunk? He so wanted to believe that was it, but ignoring the way his skin was crawling, the way his throat felt tight, the way his vision blurred uncomfortably at the edges, would be counterproductive. He resisted every urge to turn and run, allowing muscle memory to lead him. Following his own footsteps rather than contemplating a possible destination. It was easier to move forward that way.

Until he was close enough to touch the building next to the club, that is. Only then did the feeling return to him. Dirty, and incredibly old, it was all too obvious people used it as a place to get high, to hide away from the prying eyes of bartenders, and club security. Which should probably make him feel at home, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t used to such specific environments. But the sense of dread was only growing, rising steadily in a way that made his lack of a heartbeat painfully obvious. Swallowing his fear, he brushed his fingers against a faded poster that had been pasted to a wooden board. He couldn’t read what it said now, but something about it drew him in. So he moved to the next board covering the next window. And then the next, and then the next, until an entryway became apparent to him. Faltering, he stared at it, and then through the doorway to the darkness beyond it. He was met only with a limited view of exposed brick wall, and concrete flooring. It wasn’t an awfully interesting view, but it was undeniably triggering something inside of him. Hurriedly attempting to light a cigarette, struggling to catch the flame due to how severe his tremors had become, when his lungs filled with smoke, and his mind filled with undecipherable noise, he stumbled over the bottom half of the boards keeping it sealed. The top of them had been torn away, so they only managed to reach his ankles.  

He wasn’t entirely sure what he had been expecting. Some life altering flashback, or a spiritual revelation. Maybe a neon sign saying MILO, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE MURDERED. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. He wasn’t disappointed, or even relieved. He felt absolutely nothing but the sick, twisted sense of something being terribly wrong. Reaching up to brush away a fresh wave of tears, his steps were small, as though if he didn’t commit then taking them wouldn’t feel as terrifying. Tapping ash, he reached the centre of the room. The far wall was aggressively demanding his attention but he couldn’t understand why. There wasn’t anything in here, the entire trip was proving to be pointless. It felt as though the only thing he was achieving was a heightened state of anxiety, and that wasn’t going to benefit him in any way. There were a few needles, a burned spoon, some broken bottles, and empty cans. Nothing should be standing out to him, and yet he had the awful suspicion something horrific had happened here. More specifically, something horrific had happened to him here.

Taking another shaky breath of smoke, his gaze followed an invisible path to a room on his right. Smaller, and darker, further away from the high street than the one he was currently standing in, this room seemed to emanate the overwhelming scent of old blood. It hung thick in the air, only becoming more obvious as he grew closer. He could almost taste it as he crossed the threshold, his tears falling freely even as he fought to maintain his composure. He couldn’t bring himself to step into the centre of the room, not this time, and inched around the outside of it instead, his back firmly against the wall. His chest was heaving as panic violently clawed at him, and when he finally, finally looked down, he was hit by an unexpected barrage of emotion. It was almost too much to feel at once. Fear, anxiety, confusion, desperation, hurt, anger… and a sharp, physical pain in his neck. Choking back a sob, he stared at the source of the scent; a large deep, rust red blood stain. It was crisp, and dry, but still coating the concrete as though whatever had taken place happened days ago, and not months. Only it had been months. He knew it had been months, because as the cigarette fell from his hands, as he dropped to his knees in horror, he realised it wasn’t just blood. It was his blood. It was human, it was painfully, bitterly human, but it belonged to him.

“Fuck…” He breathed, his voice cracking, barely louder than a whisper. He should look away, this wasn’t healthy. The pain in his neck was only growing worse, and he reached up to press a hand against the scars at the base of his throat. “I-” He broke off, not understanding what was happening until it was too late. Bile burned in the back of his throat and he crouched forward in discomfort, unwillingly emptying the contents of his stomach. Blood mixed with alcohol hit the floor, pooling beside the only evidence of his attack, what was left of his death. He really needed to get a grip, he needed to pull himself together. But how? He had seen his killer, had managed to find the place where his heart finally stopped beating. Why didn’t this feel like closure? Why did everything feel so much worse than it had? When he managed to stop retching he scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, collapsing to the ground again for reasons entirely unrelated to gravity. Maybe he just needed time, maybe he would be okay when he had come to terms with what he had seen and suffered over the course of the evening. Maybe Dani would find him, and she could rub his back, and tell him everything was going to be okay. Even in his current state he knew that was a ridiculous thought. But that didn’t mean there weren’t people willing to help him. Not for the first time, he curled up into a ball, ready to spend the night on a cold, bloody, and unforgiving floor. But he wasn’t here to die again. Maybe he was here to prove he could keep on living. Clumsily pulling his phone from his pocket, letting it rest beside his head, he used speed dial to call Evelyn’s number. It rang for a moment, and he listened to the repetitive sound. By the time she answered the call he was halfway through convincing himself to hang up. But when he heard her voice, he knew he had made the right decision, a genuinely good decision. “Hey…” Even he could hear how different he sounded. No doubt Evelyn would realise immediately that something wasn’t right. “You know how you said I could call you if I ever needed someone… I think I… I really need someone.”