The room was dark, not for lack of light, but because he hadn't bothered to turn anything on. His body was sprawled haphazardly on the bed, covered in cold sweat, the sheets partially crumpled and pulled as if he'd spent the last few hours tossing and turning without realizing it. The air felt heavy inside, dense, almost suffocating, but this wasn't coming from the environment.
It was coming from him.
Victor's teeth were clenched, his jaw locked with enough force to hurt, while his breathing was irregular, sometimes too fast, sometimes catching mid-breath as if his body had forgotten how to continue. His throat burned. It wasn't a normal pain. It was worse.
It was dry and rough, as if something was scratching inside every time he swallowed hard, and he swallowed all the time.
It was no use, the sensation wouldn't go away.
On the contrary—it only got worse.
His mouth itched.
