Friends, maybe.

Angry birds

TW: Panic attacks, hate

Tommy woke up, bile rising in his throat.

"Who would want to talk to you? It's better that you're alone. Now you won't annoy all your friends. They're probably happy you've finally left them in peace."

His heart pounded in his ears, and he became aware that breaths were coming in short, gasping bursts. Why was he breathing so fast? He tried to slow his erratic panting by holding his breath, but this only caused him to panic more. His chest heaved as he fought for air, every fiber of his being screaming for it. Why couldn't he breathe? Was he going to die? No, he shouldn't think like that! But he couldn't breathe!

He only became aware he was crying because of the taste of salt in his mouth. He scrubbed at his cheeks angrily. What was the matter with him? He sobbed even harder, only able to breathe in broken gasps.

His eyes squeezed shut, with no other plan that to wait for it to all stop. He just wanted it all to stop. His fists clenched the sheets of his bed, and he did his best to focus on the feeling of the cloth in his hand as he attempted to regulate his wheezing. 

Gradually, very gradually, his breaths began to normalize and his sobs of terror changed to silent tears of relief. He felt very unsteady, like he had been picked up and shaken about. The newfound silence in the room was becoming deafening. A glance down at his hands showed that his knuckles were white from clutching the sheets. He gently unclenched them, watching the blood slowly flow back and return colour to his fingers. A gently sigh escaped his lips as he wiped the last traces of wetness from his face.

His eyes felt puffy, and he knew he would have to go to the bathroom and wash his face before his stream later that day. Yet even the thought of having to get up and walk all that way filled him with weariness. Whereas before he had been left with adrenaline from his nightmares, this... breakdown, or whatever it had been, drained him of all energy. Even as he told himself to just get up, just step out of the bed, he laid down again, pulling the blankets over himself. 

His phone sat on his bedside table, but he didn't want to check it. He knew without looking that there would be no new messages. The darkened screen looked hollow and uninviting. Despite the warmth of his blanket, he shivered. What time was it? Did he really have to get up and stream? The alarm clock read, in ugly glowing green numbers, 9:46. He was meant to stream at eleven. Maybe by then he'd feel more energetic.

*

He didn't feel more energetic by then. If anything, he felt even more tired. The thought of having to sit for an hour or three and act bubbly and happy for the chat was repulsive. But he couldn't just leave his chat hanging, he had told them he would stream today. He did the only thing he could think of: he reluctantly grabbed his phone and pulled up twitter to make an announcement.

<Tommyinnit> Sorry guys, won't be able to stream today :/

He cringed slightly as he hit post. Hopefully his chat would be understanding. Maybe he should keep an eye on the responses just in case. He stared at the screen for a little while, then refreshed the page. People always responded quickly here. Sure enough, already there were a bunch of replies. 

He skimmed over them quickly. There were a couple accepting it, a few saying they were glad (even the haters had their notifications on), but most were asking why. He grimaced. What did he say to that, I just can't function as a normal human being? Yeah, right. He refreshed again. And again. He read a couple more responses, though he didn't process most of what they said. Unfortunately, however, one in particular caught his eye.

<Kinokowarrior> Tommy always does this. He says he's going to stream and then doesn't. Like ain't nobody asked u to be so flaky mate. Sorry but it's making me not want to watch him at all.

Tommy froze, his finger set to scroll to the next tweet. Flaky? Was he being flaky? He had done this a couple times before when other things came up, but he didn't think it had been that often, had it? He glanced at the stats. Already like sixty retweets, and it had only been posted a few minutes ago. 

"It took you this long to realize you were a liar? That you disappointed people?"

A lump grew in his throat.

"Sure, go cry about it again like a baby."

He just wanted to leave, to not bother anyone for a little while. With shaking hands, he typed out another tweet, posted it, then set his phone on the bedside table and rolled over. 

<Tommyinnit> Going dark for a bit.