There was no proper word for this feeling, not yet. The lights were on and nobody was home. His senses had fled to the Umbra. Words drifted through his ears with no meaning, liquor slid down his throat with no burning.
Life was easier this way. No sight could haunt you and no pain could reach you, when the soul has left the body to its own devices. Even as the night's lingering effects ravaged his body, and that grisly daydream flashed before his eyes, Oliver felt nothing. He simply... wandered.
Eventually, they got him inside and healed his wounds, but putting back together all the pieces of himself he'd scattered to the winds would be a much more monumental task.
Better to focus on getting really, really drunk instead.
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