Work Text:
Your name is Yura Beletsky. At least, you’re pretty sure it is. Every thought in your head feels a bit too fuzzy to be trusted right now. Reality is a blurry mess- wait, no, that’s just your vision.
Your head hurts. You can’t focus your left eye, no matter how hard you try to. Your thoughts drag through your head so sluggishly that you feel as though time is passing in slow motion, yet you still can’t think. You’re not sure if you can move your body, or if you’re even in your body.
Normally, this could just be chalked up to a bad withdrawal. But you’d had a black cup of coffee and a smoke with your breakfast, even if you can’t recall what it was that you ate, and you’d been sipping an energy drink for the past…
What was it that you were thinking about again?
The world spins when you get sat up, the invisible strings directing you where to go. You can’t feel the base of your neck. Figures in your peripheral vision flit closer to you, disappearing when you try to look at them. Your mouth is dry, and your tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.
You take a swig of your energy drink, and grimace when it tastes more like stale air and wet cardboard soaked in piss than it does tea. It’s bitter. You manage to swallow it.
The hands holding the can are shaking. You know they’re your own, but you can’t help but feel a detachment from them. They put the can back on the side table before it could be dropped. You are nothing more than a passenger in your own body. Those wrists hurt. Yours, you try to assure, but the concept is empty, half-hearted. The ceiling looks different. Are you laying down again? You can’t tell. All you can hear is ringing, and music. A distant tune that sounds familiar, but you can’t focus on it.
Your eyes close at some point. You barely noticed. You can’t tell if you’re conscious or not anymore.