I SHOULDVE PROBABLY TAGGED IT AS LONG POST IM SORRY MOBILE USERS OOP
no where are you or i can just look around because you know ill find you again
> Without much permission from anyone, you decided to get the hell out of that place and back to a familiar setting where you could instead focus on your thoughts, spiraling out of control. You indeed were drinking, not to the point of getting drunk, but that was a goal, one of them at least. Everything kept coming at you far too quickly to keep up, and no one seemed to care. It actually hurt.
> It surprised you that it hurt.
> You hadn’t expected to want people to care about you like this, or at all. You didn’t want people to care, everyone was a nuisance, a new voice that you’d hear die over and over until you desensitized and pushed them away. Yet here you were, hidden among the apartments in your building complex, sitting at the empty counter with a bottle of Jack Daniels and humming softly to yourself while twirling the silver keepsake in your hand.
> "Keep the dogtags."
> You recall that message clearly, you knew it was from him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to listen. Every bone in your body screamed at you to obey, that it’d make him happy, that somehow it’d get fixed and he’d be relieved that you never once forgot, even though later he might feel guilty. But he was always on your mind, he was always present and this was your reminder that you had someone.
> Except you didn’t have someone, it was you deluding yourself into it.
> The conversation with Cudi eons ago resurfaced in your mind. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps all this imprinting was bullshit, after all, you got promoted, who says you haven’t shifted instincts?
> But if you had shifted instincts, you wouldn’t feel this screaming impulse to rush to him and make sure he’s alright. You wouldn’t be feeling the urge to rip out someone’s jugular for speaking towards you in such a manner in regards to him. You’d be feeling fine. You wouldn’t care, at least not this much.
> Your eyes glance at the time on your phone. 12 am. September 17.
> As a celebration, a bitter swig from the bottle. You hated today already. You hated everything. This month, your birthday, next month, Halloween, and the month afterwards… Well.
> Your life sure is a mess, and luckily you’re slowly losing reasons to keep going, and not in a lack of motivation way. Those that filled your heart with passion and motivation are leaving, betraying you, replacing you. Your memories now have a black tint to them, darkened and horrifying to dwell on, and you reach your hand towards the trash can a bit further away, hand opening as you watched the keepsake fall nearly in slow motion.
> Your name is Nikolai Vitaly and you are relapsing into alcoholism on your damn birthday.
> You stay silent then, relaxing your hold on Nikolai as he touched you again. What are you supposed to say to that? You just don’t know. He’s trying to fish for your affection, you know it. Still, you’re falling right for it. Again. God, you’re an idiot.
> You let go of the breath, not getting a response form him. You’ve no idea what this could mean, but fuck it, and you just keep petting him.
"Any chance ‘a you gettin’ off ‘a me anytime soon?"
youre the one who needs it
leave me alone wiz
oh go babysit someone else
"You’ve already told me you used me, wanted me dead, planned to feed me to Cudi… That doesn’t sound a lot like you love me, Vati."
> You rest your head on his stomach, staring at the wall with a sigh.
"Even selfish assholes can desire death. I’m not lettin’ you die though."
"Yet again, I repeat. Do I sound like someone who wishes to be emotionally healthy? ‘Cause to anyone else it sounds more like I was tryin’a showe you as far from me as I could ‘cause I didn’t want you to stop me on my whole suicide mission."
> You cautiously reach your broken wrist towards his head again to pet his hair gently, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, holding it.
tomorrows my birthday.