He had walked off without thinking, out the door and past the first intersection before he actually remembers the umbrella he had left behind. He’s in a familiar position - huddled in a corner of an abandoned building and soaked to the bone, just like weeks before during Christmas. His hair is plastered annoyingly to his face and his clothes are sticking to his skin uncomfortably, wet fabric suffocating. There’s a dull, persistent feeling that keeps him feeling irritable and edgy and he rips off his coat and tosses it across the room in frustration when it doesn’t go away, easing open the top few buttons of his shirt so he can breathe better. He’s feeling restless and he’s pacing up and down the room. He doesn’t know why but all he wants to do is break something, or run wildly or perhaps even scream – anything, just anything to shake off this unbearable feeling, to get rid of the invisible hands that are slowly but surely curling around his neck, choking him.
He thinks that maybe he should be quick this time.