John was vaguely aware that he hadn't eaten or drunk anything since he had forced Harry to leave two days ago.
His body's outlines had blurred so that the skin seemed to disappear into clothing, into the chair beneath him.
His blood was thick as motor oil. His heart struggled to pump it through clogged veins. John could feel the heartbeat in his lower lip, pulling the cracked skin tight.
He could hear the heartbeat in his neck. It pulsed and twisted around his stomach like slimy rope.
The part of the chair that was his hands began to shake.
