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IT TAKES ENOCH only a few minutes to realise he's left Ferret at the dorm, curled up underneath the sheets where he slept last night. He stops, dead in the middle of the corridor, as this slowly dawns on him; his hand still hangs up near at his shoulders, grasping the empty space where white fur should fill. Immediately, lacking the safety blanket, a wave of panic rushes over the brunet. He's filled with conflict, too: does he go back to get his pet, or continue onwards to class? If he goes back, there's no way he'll get to class on time. If he goes to class, who knows if he'll survive through the class? Neither seem appealing, at all, both sending equal amounts of butterflies through his stomach.
Stuck and unsure of which way to go, the brunet doesn't move. His legs physically will not move, refusing to until he's figured out what he's doing. And he doesn't know what he's going to do. This causes problems as other students around him, carefree and not going through the same problem as him, move to their own classrooms. It's not a big corridor, barely enough room for the bodies of students moving through it, and the empath is pushed against others as they try to make their way past. Each bump brings muted snapshots of emotions: a sharp tang of vinegar, then a warm, painful sensation in his chest (heartbreak? Heartburn?). Followed by an overload of sugar and more sugar and more sugar. How are people so happy? They're at school.
These emotions, combined with the general buzz that follows Enoch almost everywhere, only make things worse. He can barely block them out without his Ferret but he can't function enough to get back to the dorms. His legs, now past freezing, feel like jelly that's been placed in the summer's sun—useless, and probably dead soon.
The migraine is emerging, thudding against his temple loudly. This is only an added unwanted stressor and Enoch wants to cry. Or scream. But he can't do either because that would cause even more of a scene and, if he's not already attracting attention, he doesn't want to cause more.
There's so much noise, both physical and emotional, that the brunet can't think straight. Any train of thought is soon interrupted by– oh, God, someone's angry. Really angry. Oh, his mouth burns really bad, he might– wait, no, it's gone. Now it's just sugar again, the memory of the spicy anger just a mild tingle on his tongue.
It takes mere seconds for Enoch to feel as though he can't cope, can't breathe, can't survive with this crowd around him. Bumping him and jolting him—pushing him around like a ball in a pinball machine—with their muted but intrusive emotions, with all their happiness. (Why does everyone have to be so happy? He feels like he's going to throw up with all this sweetness). He's sinking, unable to keep treading this sea of emotions and stay afloat. He's going to drown!
