:Ticci Toby:{A Rewrite}

21

The morning after that was quiet but definitely more peaceful when their father wasn't there. The three would sit at the table, Toby would stare at his food and Lyra would pick at it. She actually helped make it, but lost appetite the second it was placed in front of her it seemed.

The brunette woman was quiet but the silence was painful to her. She'd try and make a conversation with her children but none were responsive. They were all still shocked from the night before. Toby was still dinged up pretty badly, but it was the mental effect that got to him the most.

Eventually Toby pushed away from the table and left for his room. He just wanted to be alone, isolated. He wasn't going to lie and say he didn't enjoy the moments they had while their dad was gone, but he felt such a heavy dread over his body.

It could also be from the small encounter with that creature.
Toby pulled his blinds back and peered outside, eyes locking onto the forest that stretched for miles.
His mind wandered back to those boys that went missing. Part of him wanted to run off into the trees, get himself lost. Get out of here.

Lyra was the main reason Toby stayed around. He never leaves the house, he almost never leaves his room. His body was failing him. He was failing it.

The summer months flew by in the blink of an eye. Suddenly it was snowing again, cold.
Toby always kept a chair propped up against his room door. He never moved it unless the knocker identified themselves. Toby filled notebooks full of harmless doodles and even wrote poetry. It was never good, but it was something he went to when stressed.
He'd occasionally read some to Lyra who'd critique him. He never knew how good of a poet she was herself.

Most nights the two would accompany each other. Toby rarely slept alone, the night terrors were becoming lucid, and his draining brain wasn't able to handle it. He found that when he was around someone, he slept better, and the voices would stop. Everything would stop..

He couldn't thank her enough. Lyra would've been in college by now if it wasn't for Toby getting pulled out of school. It was her choice to stay, which he appreciated, but felt equally as bad. She was about to be 22 in a month or so, and he'd turn 17 in the spring.
On rare occasions, they'd go walking. Toby usually only felt safe walking the block a few times, but sometimes even that gave him this endless sense of paranoia.
Lyra was only entertained by the fact her brother would quite literally cling to her hand or arm as if something would snatch her away.
Toby was never aware of how bad it's gotten. The medicine wasn't working, the coping mechanisms he thought of weren't working.
Toby really just felt cursed, and he didn't know what to do about it.

His cuts and scratches would heal slowly over time but never fully. He came to accept the fact he'd be stuck with these ugly blemishes of skin for eternity. He already knew what he caused himself would never heal. He didn't like having a body, he didn't like having skin. He'd rip it off if he could, gnaw it raw until it bled and revealed the bone underneath. His ribs begged to rip through for some air, his knuckles pulsed constantly.
Toby even contemplated cutting his knuckles free of the skin that barely laid over them. He daydreamed of morbidly dismembering himself until he was unrecognizable.
This mindset continued through the months. The snow fall would come to an end and spring laid upon them. Toby was honestly surprised how well the family was holding up. His dad was almost never home, though he did always come back. Toby knew the man would stand and watch him sleep during the few nights he would leave his door unblocked. At least that's what Toby thought.

••••••