It wasn't the first time Virgil woke up naked with wet hair in his bed, but he didn't expect it today. It was at least his own bed. He wasn't under the impression he drank that much yesterday, but he must have. His nose hurt like shit, though. Virgil grumbled and rubbed his face, bumping his nose, which hurt worse, now. That was fucking stupid. He headed into the bathroom to survey the damage. Okay, he had at least seven bruises and dried blood under his nose. He also had a massive shiner. He wasn't sure how he'd explain that at work. And his hip was crazy sore? What the hell happened?
Virgil pulled out some concealer to hide this big-ass black eye. He couldn't think of any work-appropriate explanation while dead exhausted on his feet. Virgil couldn't stay awake long enough to blend out the edges. He was leaning his head against the bathroom mirror, his eyes trying to flutter closed. Virgil felt like he might pass out or throw up. He could solve those feelings, at least. Virgil grabbed out his coke from under the sink and portioned out a fresh slope on the tray. He did a quick line. The straw hurt his nose, but it went numb shortly after and it was one less thing to deal with. Virgil went back to hiding his bruise with a little more vigour. His arm went numb, too, but in the mirror, it didn't matter. He'd probably have to do some extra coke at work since he went skiing so early today. He'd been having to do that more, lately.
It was fine. They didn't drug test people in his position. He just rubbed it into his gums in the office. Virgil's nose started bleeding while he blended the concealer out. He grumbled and rammed a tissue up his nostril. Whoops, he forgot to use the nasal spray again. Or maybe his nose had gotten broken last night. He could have sworn it looked a little crooked. He wasn't sure which, honestly. It didn't matter; he would not find out, no matter how hard he tried. He was feeling good right now, so there was no point in dwelling.
Virgil had long since abandoned trying to figure out what happened in his life. He destroyed his ability to retain information ages ago. If he wasn't high on coke, he was drinking. There wasn't anything worth remembering, anyway, and he always got to have fun without regrets the next morning because he never knew what transpired. These days, all he knew consistently was how much blow he had left.
Also that his heart hurt. He was having powerful palpitations right now from the coke, and he could feel his blood pulsing. Virgil leaned forward on the mirror to breathe through it. It always went away. He was terrified and half-convinced he was actually dying, but it had to be fine. Virgil was always fine later. He couldn't see a doctor. It was sharp and horrible and distressing, but it wouldn't last. Virgil's hands went numb as he gripped his shirt and the bathroom counter. It would pass, it would pass, it's not a heart attack, it would pass. Virgil tried his hardest to breathe. Virgil couldn't go to the doctor, they would know. He was always fine in the past. He'd be fine, right? Things are fine.
Virgil glanced in the mirror and saw the wet heap of clothes in the shower behind him. This is probably one of those circumstances his sense of smell isn't very strong. He should throw those in the wash. Virgil gripped at this chest for a while longer, just trying to even out his pained gasps enough to be functional. After the first successful deep breath, he pulled a towel out from under the sink to transport his clothes to the washing machine. If he focused on something else, this will be easier to get through. Virgil carried the sopping heap to the machine and set it to soak with some vinegar and extra soap before running.
His chest still hurt, though. He needed to finish getting ready for work, and that was something else he could focus on. Virgil pulled on a black button-down under his black suit and a grey tie. Just to look like the void. He also touched up his concealer a few times obsessively in the mirror while he was brushing his hair and teeth. The nosebleed finally stopped, but Virgil grabbed a pack of pocket tissues in case it started back up.
Virgil was going to be running late soon, but he couldn't find his phone or his wallet. After the final failed search, he grumbled angrily. He probably left them somewhere stupid while trashed again. Virgil would have to cancel all his cards and order new things at his work computer. He could track his cell, though, and maybe if he left them in the same place, like a restaurant or a bar, he could get them both back. But he should get a new bank and credit card to be safe. Reordering his driver's license could wait until he was sure. It wasn't like he drove, and they didn't card him at the bar anymore. If he had any cash that was probably gone, but he could have lost that while he was plastered in any number of ways.
He found his keys near the doorway and made sure he had a bag of snow before rushing out the door to the bus stop. Virgil should probably eat, but he didn't have any appetite. He couldn't feel his arms or legs anymore, though, so he knew he needed something. He bounced his leg on the bus ride with his arms crossed tightly. The ride took forever without a phone to distract him. At least he felt good. A fresh slope always felt amazing and made the world feel better.
At his stop, he hopped out and grabbed an egg sandwich at the coffee shop next door to his work building and ate it on the way up to his office. He smiled, nodded, waved, and laughed as needed while interacting with all the surrounding people like he was supposed to do. They laughed and chatted about his breakfast, dressing like a shadow, and the fact that he pushed his bangs to the opposite side of his face today.
Nobody noticed the bruises hidden under his suit or concealer, or Virgil's small limp. No one said anything when he threw away bloody tissues at his desk. It was normal when Virgil didn't eat lunch in the break room or order food to his office. People applauded his ability to be so energetic after lunch when people started getting tired. Things were routine. Virgil saw someone stole his cards online when he realized he had transactions this morning while he was asleep and reported them as gone, then applied for replacement cards. He probably wasn't getting his wallet back. He contacted his condo to get a new key card after he got off work, though he had to pay a large fee for it.
His phone was showing to still be at the bar, though, so he might get lucky and get that back. Or unlucky, and they're trying to bait him to return there. But he would go anyway because he was pretty certain that was just paranoia. Virgil started the process of getting a new driver's license, too. He also bought a wallet with a chain, so hopefully, he doesn't leave it somewhere stupid again. He couldn't wear the chain at work, but he changed out of his suit to go to the bar, anyway. Until then he'd just put the key card on his key lanyard.
Virgil sighed when he made it back to his condo with his new key card from the leasing office. That was a mess of judgemental stares. He didn't normally get those while he was still in a suit. He shrugged out of his button-down in front of his washing machine and restarted the wash with it in there, feeling gross. Virgil hung up the suit jacket and trousers and steamed them clean with the hand steamer. He wandered into the kitchen for food since he should probably eat. He was dead exhausted and nauseated and nothing sounded good and he had no appetite, so he ordered himself delivery of chicken soup and some fancy breadsticks that the restaurant had. That was decent enough.
He was too beat to do anything else, and it wasn't like he had many groceries, so he just opted to lie down. Virgil passed out on the couch until they called up to get let in the gate. He conked out yet again until there was a knock at his door with his food, which caused him to jump and roll off the couch painfully onto the floor. He yelped when he landed on his hip but did his best to make it to the doorway and gather food abandoned on his doormat, trying to stay mostly behind the door.
"Thank you!" Virgil called out down the hall on the off chance the delivery person was still close enough to hear. He bent down to pick up the bag, his hip protesting again, and gathered his food.
The idea of eating turned his stomach, but it was a soup that he knew he managed well and he needed to eat more than a single egg on a biscuit in a day or he wouldn't keep his alcohol down. Virgil dropped back on his couch since he couldn't handle a dining chair on his ass at the moment. He turned on the TV for the illusion of company while he ate slowly with his disposable spoon provided. The food was good, probably. His sense of taste was pretty dull outside of really strong flavours. But Virgil was full and warm when he finished it all and passed back out on the couch to a sitcom about drinking.
— ≛ —
Virgil woke up with an angry grumble about two hours later, feeling confused. He looked around groggily for a moment. The streaming service asked if he was still there on the TV, and he was hanging off his couch in his boxers with indentations on his skin from the seams. He felt okay enough to finally drag his ass to the bar. Walking there wasn't happening after commuting back from work, so the nap helped. How he napped multiple times when he rarely could sleep without being wasted was beyond him. He ran his hand through his hair and yawned before hauling himself off the couch.
He took a shower and changed into a pair of jeans. When he couldn't find his regular jacket, he realized it was in the wash and moved it to the dryer, so he grabbed a different one to put over a soft shirt. Moving hurt. Everything ached if he stopped to think about it for more than a second. All the more reason to get drunk as fuck. Not that Virgil ever needed an excuse for getting faced. Drinking until it didn't sting anymore was basically a national sport. He reached for his wallet out of the tray near the door out of habit and grumbled to himself again about the lack thereof.
After locking up behind him, he slipped his keys around his neck and tucked them under his jacket before he took the elevator downstairs. Walking really hurt his hip, so he wasn't a fan of having to do this. But he'd have to walk to get alcohol either way. He may as well go somewhere he can sit and drink as much as he wants without having to carry a bunch of handles home. Virgil would probably drop the bottles, anyway. Plus, he didn't enjoy sitting alone and getting faced. It felt wrong. It was lonely and depressing, and he had enough of that in his life as it was. Thus going to bars. Virgil walked along as hastily to The Corridor as his bum hip would let him.
The bouncer nodded to Virgil as he walked in past a small group of people they were checking the identification of, so Virgil gave them a small salute of acknowledgement. He headed straight to the bar and deposited himself on a stool with his hurt hip hanging off the edge. This would get sore quick, but he needed to ask the bartender a question or two and he couldn't take standing any longer. He could move to a booth after he had some drinks in his hand. Virgil watched the bartender serve all the people around him first before stopping to stand in front of Virgil with their fist on their hip. They shot an annoyed expression with their eyebrows lowered at Virgil.
"Hey, again. Sorry for whatever I did to earn that face. I don't suppose anyone turned in a wallet or phone?" Virgil asked over the music, leaning forward on the bar.
"You left your phone here last night, but not your wallet," The bartender slipped Virgil's phone out of their pocket and passed over the bar. Virgil took it with a big smile. He was so glad he didn't need to buy a new phone on his lunch break tomorrow.
"Thanks. I had a bunch of transactions while I was asleep, so I figured it got stolen, but it would have been nice to get my wallet back. Did I… get in a bar fight or something?" Virgil pointed to his shiner. "I didn't break anything or hurt anybody, did I?" He asked, feeling even more concerned. God, he fucked up bad, he probably is booted from the bar and this was the last one in walking distance and he wouldn't able to drink all night anymore because the busses stop running at midnight so he'd have to leave early and while he was blacked out, he had no guarantee he'd even get home, he kept waking up at other people's houses, he had no idea—
"No, Virgil, you were bruise-free when you left last night. You helped me close shop, not start a fight. You did nothing wrong. What happened?" The bartender leaned forward on the bar to look closer at Virgil.
"I don't know!" Virgil raised his arms in a panic. "I don't know, I'm just covered in bruises and my ass is killing me and I'm not sure but my nose is broken and everything hurts and can I please have two dark and stormies, because my head is pounding and my stomach hurts because I forced myself to eat food and I just am craving one, oh, god is that a sign of something—" Virgil rambled on and on while he gripped the counter.
"God god's sake, breathe!" The bartender held up their hands and shouted at Virgil. Virgil's eyes shot up to them. He didn't realize they were flying around the room. Virgil gasped for air and dropped to the bar, gripping at his stomach.
"Oh, fuck you take phone payments, right? I don't have any cash or cards because my wallet's gone and I really need a drink, please, I'll pay you back as soon as possible, you know I'm good for it, I can go to the bank tomorrow for cash but I slept for a while after work because I'm so fucking tired and sore and just didn't think about it, I barely remembered my laundry, I left my clothes wet in the shower last night and that's my favourite hoodie and I hope I didn't destroy it, that mildew smell is awful and makes me nauseous and I'm so sick all the time and I tried vinegar already—" Virgil rambled into the bar, gripping it tight.
"Virgil. Virge. Hey. Hey, come here," One of the bouncers of all people was next to Virgil and pulled him in for a hug while he was gasping for air. What did the bouncer want from him? How did they remember who he was? Were they stalking him? Were they going to hurt him? What was happening, though, why couldn't he breathe? "I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you really should make him that drink," The bouncer sounded concerned and tapped on the bar. Virgil kept shaking because he didn't know what was going on, and he ached and stung all over. Everything was so overwhelming that Virgil felt like he was being crushed by being alive.
"Dude, you have a serious problem," The bouncer muttered and Virgil barely heard it over the music, but now he was even more scared because what was the problem, there was more wrong than he realized? Virgil was sweating his ass off and his heart was pounding out of his chest. The formidable bouncer squeezed him in and it hurt his nose, but it helped him breathe and he didn't like that at all. "Virgil, we'll get you that drink, but why don't you come with me somewhere quieter for a bit?" The bouncer suggested, reaching down for Virgil's hand and pulled at it slightly.
This whole situation absolutely petrified him. Why did this big person want to be alone with Virgil? What the fuck was happening? Was he bothering other people, were they about to kick him out? He didn't even get his drink. How was he supposed to have a drink? He needed it. He wouldn't feel normal until he had a drink, and he really wanted that dark and stormy, and seriously, what if it was a sign of something to crave ginger and lime? What if he got some weird stomach tumour, and he was going to die of cancer? The bouncer pulled him away from the bar, keeping Virgil tucked under their arm. They went into the backroom to a small break room with a couch, and he didn't think he was allowed to be back here and nobody would hear him scream back here over the bar music.
The bouncer turned off the light as they entered and picked up a remote to click off the TV. It was much quieter in here, and Virgil didn't realize that was possible considering how intensely loud it was out there. Oh, god, what if they soundproofed it and they were going to do something to Virgil? Fuck shit, oh no, oh no. Virgil started pulling away, but the bouncer led him to the couch and sat him down along with the bouncer. They kept Virgil pulled in and the bartender came in briefly to drop off what looked like a dark and stormy on the table next to the couch. They were trying to make Virgil pliable. What if something was in that drink? Virgil was trembling hard and his hair was sticking to his face with sweat while his eyes shot wildly around the room for a way out. Remus checked Virgil's forehead and pulse carefully while he struggled to breathe.
"Virgil, dude, look at me," The bouncer gripped Virgil's shoulders firmly, which pressed into a bruise that sent stabbing sensations through Virgil. "We're not trying to hurt you. You're probably going through a dopamine crash from the coke. You need plenty of water and something high in protein. I'll get you some naked boneless wings from the kitchen later, but first I need you to breathe. This isn't your first time back here and there are cameras. You know me and Janus," They told him reassuringly. Virgil shook his head with his eyes wide open. It was so hot and Virgil couldn't breathe deep, no matter how hard he tried.
"Okay, so you don't remember us. But you've been coming here every day for a while and you drink yourself into oblivion almost every night, but some nights when you do too much coke in the day you come in and have a panic attack. How many rails did you do?" The bouncer looked at Virgil intensely. Okay, so they know, they know and fuck, shit, okay, maybe he's having a panic attack, he's freaking out, he can't breathe. "My name is Remus, and the bartender is Janus. You know us. There's nothing in the drink but what you asked for, and there won't be anything in the wings. We've hung out together after close most nights because Janus has trouble saying no to your drunk puppy dog face and you always seem happy to help close. Now, seriously, how much did you do today? I need to know if this isn't a panic attack but actually an overdose," They asked again with an even voice, looking directly into Virgil's eyes.
"Less than a gram, probably, I didn't weigh it out? I normally have like half a gram-ish to keep it up in the day but I just couldn't get up this morning and I took a rail early, so it wore off and it wore off early, too, so I had to do more than I usually do at work, I just avoid people when I'm coming down and just do all my work in the mornings basically but I was crashing bad and I had two meetings to get through that afternoon and I had to be on the ball. It's a safe amount to take over twelve hours, and I already came down, I swear. The sleep thing is weird, I don't even normally sleep that much according to my tracker thing, and I slept a ton today I couldn't have done that if I was still high, but I don't actually know? It's not like I remember anything. I know you're not supposed to mix alcohol and cocaine at the same time and do you really think I'm OD-ing because my heart is pounding and so is my head and I can't breathe and I keep shaking and it's so fucking hot and I don't know what's happening and I still kind of think you might rape me and or chop me up and eat me and I don't know where that thought came from but I can't get it out of my head and maybe you'll do both and oh holy shit that's overdose isn't it? I'm going to die, I'm going to fucking die!" Virgil rambled out and gripped himself hard as he gasped for air.
"I'm pretty certain this is a panic attack, not overdose, but we'll confirm. If you cannot calm down I'm calling an EMS, and I know you don't want to go to the doctor, so we're just going to breathe together, alright? I will count down from a hundred and you're going to follow my breathing while you count with me. Your drink is right there and you can have some as soon as you're more steady, alright?" Remus motioned with their head to the drink and pulled Virgil in for another hug and put Virgil's hand right over his heart. Remus tapped gently on the back of his hand and started counting down from one hundred. Virgil couldn't figure out how to breathe and speak at the same time until seventy, but Remus said, "Nice," When Virgil's first full number was sixty-nine.
Virgil needed that drink, damnit, and it was right there. He could count for a drink. It's his brain overreacting, right? Right? Fuck, he said the same number twice. Okay, Remus kept going anyway, he'll be okay? Yeah. Yeah. This is like when he first does coke in the morning and it makes his heart freak out sometimes and he just has to ride it out. Wait, oh, god, no, what if it's not the coke, and he has some type of cardiovascular issue that he's been ignoring? He wouldn't know unless he went into a doctor, he'd have to get an EKG and a heart echo or something. Fuck, they would know, they would know! Virgil couldn't get out of the house without coke unless he was getting a drink but he couldn't do coke to see the doctor, they'd tell him to quit—Oh fuck, he lost count again.