[center][h3]Nick Waller[/h3]
[sub]November 29th- Morning[/sub]
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The sound of running water drowned out the [i]incessant droning[/i] of the spiteful, self-destructive thoughts in Nick's head as he rubbed his hands clean in the sink. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he tried to ignore the skin on his back and neck tightening and the edges of his vision blurring and going black and white and-

[b]Oh.[/b] Oh no. [i]Oh no oh fuck okay you're having an episode Nick just stop and calm down and [/i]breathe [i]it's gonna be okay you're safe you're at school it's just the bathroom it's okay you're safe you're in school you're not there you're not there you're not there[/i] you're not there.

Noticing that his hands were gripping the edge of the sink as the water kept running and he was staring down at the little hole that water goes through fuck man he doesn't know what it's called right now he's trying to unfuck his brain. 

[i]Yeah gonna wanna talk to the doc about that. FUCK, and I was doing so well! Fucking asshole, just let people get up on their own I'm not a fucking cripple.[/i] Taking another few deep, shuddering breaths and realizing that he couldn't take one single breath without nearly breaking down, Nick pushed himself off the counter and sighed. [i]Just get it together, throw some water on your face and[/i]

And the door opened while he was psyching himself up, another person coming through and heading to a urinal. Looking up at the mirror, Nick realized that he'd [i]definitely[/i] just been seen crying, his eyes a little red and tear marks plainly visible on his face. 

[i]Some lawyer you're gonna be, Waller. Fuck. Just. Get. It. Together![/i] Shoving his hands into the water and bringing them back over his face, Nick rubbed his hands over his eyes and repeated the motion a few times, getting his forehead sufficiently wet to annoy himself, but at least washing away the tear streaks. "Fuck..." he whispered under his breath, not caring if the other boy saw. It would hardly matter, dude would probably just assume his girlfriend broke up with him recently or some shit, not the spiraling endless torment that actually was his life. 

[i]He doesn't care why would he care he barely knows you you don't matter to him just like he doesn't matter to you it's just a passing face in a crowd of endless faces that see nothing and know nothing and want nothing to do with you just like everybody el-[/i]

Okay time to stop that line of thinking and go to class. Forcing himself to walk through the door like a normal human being (There are no normal human beings just the masks we put on to pretend we fit in), Nick walked to class, mind unfocused and soul raw like skin that had been rubbed far too long in a scalding hot shower. 

He paid attention, he bantered, he played the mask just like he always did, but it was easy to tell the energy wasn't quite there. [i]Late night[/i] they'd assume, and they wouldn't be entirely wrong. 

But they'd also be kinda wrong because he was mostly just doing it to stop the spiraling. Every second he went without talking, without fidgeting, without doing [i]something[/i] to occupy his mind was another second for the tunnel to constrict and his vision to go black and white and those weird cracks to keep showing up everywhere and he wasn't sure if they were always there or if they were new and why the fuck were they glowing? 

Visual hallucinations weren't a thing he normally dealt with. Tunnel vision isn't a hallucination. So are these things real? Why were they glowing? Cracks don't glow, especially not on shitty college desks made by prisoners for ten cents an hour. Oh hey something to think about if only they were talking about it in class he could go on another rant about how fucked up the system a bunch of them were hoping to join was. 

But that wasn't the current issue at hand, so Nick stayed his tongue and instead tried to focus on one of those weird cracks, running a finger over it. It was...warm? And it felt like a breeze was coming out of it. A very light breeze, barely noticeable, but Nick was used to tactile oversensitivity. The benefits of PTSD!

Shutting off that line of thinking, Nick rubbed the crack a few more times before sighing and putting it out of mind. Whether he was hallucinating or this was some kind of weird fucked up daydream or he was still dreaming, he didn't really think on it. It's just a weird little crack. Hardly a problem. 

He'd just go back to mostly focusing on class, not worry about the weird possibly PTSD-induced hallucinations, and his day would continue like normal because there was no way it could get worse, right?