:Ticci Toby:{A Rewrite}

27

Toby's eyes fluttered open to meet the bright lights of the hospital room. He listened to the heart monitor beep at a perfect uniform pattern. He was alive, yeah, but he didn't want to be.
Though Toby remembered everything, the drugs in his system made it impossible to react. He laid in the bed emotionless, however on the inside he was screaming.

His eyebrows showed a feeling of worry, while his jaw bone twitched at times.

It was after a long 48 hours that he was finally able to head home.

It…..was a long road home. It just seemed to go on and on.
Toby's mom was driving, her mascara smeared her face, her boney hands pale barely gripping the wheel.

He could sense her sadness, though still pretty loopy on drugs the hospital gave him. He couldn't react how he felt, he couldn't even say a word. Anger locked behind a cage.

Toby pulled his casted arm to his chest. Apparently he had broken multiple bones in his arm and shoulder, most of which he caused himself trying to struggle free like his arm wasn't lodged between the glove box and floorboard.

The image of Lyra still haunted his mind, her jaw was broken, ears bleeding, eyes rolled back. Glass littered her skin.
It was still so much of a blur, Toby couldn't comprehend how something could happen so quickly. Especially something as tragic as that.

The trees swayed along the sides of the road.
All Toby could think about was how it could've been him, and how it should've been. How he could've stopped it, how he was the reason in the first place.
His glossy gaze darted to the floorboard, his legs were shaky, so was his one free arm. His body was reacting to being in a vehicle again, it was reliving the experience.
Toby's mind however was hazy, he felt tired, exhausted.

By the time they reached the house, Toby could feel the drugs slowly leave his system, he was starting to become more reactive. Still in shock, he just couldn't quite express many things at the moment.

The man stood on the porch, waiting for his wife and son to exit the car.
Toby finally brought up the strength to mutter something followed by an irritated growl.
"Why is he still here…"

Connie sighed, helping her son out of the car. He had a limp to his walk. "He's your father, that's why.."

"Well he wasn't at the h-hospital when Lyra died, was he?"
The woman bit back her tongue, not wanting to show irrational emotions.

The man opened his arms to accept a hug from his wife, but she pushed past him, assuring that she had to help Toby inside.

"No hug? The boy is sixteen, he can walk by em' self."
Jacob remarked, his breath reeked of booze. He was drunk again?
"He's seventeen, Jacob." Connie glared with an annoyed huff. Her voice was breaking as well. It was obvious the man didn't even care that his daughter just died. It was almost like he was glad?

Toby's eyes narrowed, his gaze darkening in the man's direction. Even his mom was upset about the fact her husband didn't even seem phased.

"Hey Toby, don't move too much, I'll walk you upstairs-"  The brunette woman assured the boy who only pulled his arm away. He was injured, he probably shouldn't start a fight, though really wanted to just knock the man smooth out then choke him to death, watch the light go out of his eyes.
"No…I'm sixteen, I can walk by myself." He sarcastically remarked before dragging himself up the stairs and into his room. He slammed the door so hard a couple of picture frames fell from the wall.

One of which was the one he scribbled on so long ago.

Passing the open door to Lyra's room was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. His heart ached more than any kind of pain would hurt him if he could feel it.
He truly didn't think anything ever could hurt more than this. Lyra was his best friend, she was everything.

The memories hit him all over again. His arm and aching heart were constant reminders. He couldn't do anything to ease the grief. Even as the days passed, even as the weeks passed.
His father would lay up and down bottles as if his body could handle it. Toby was honestly hoping the alcohol poison would get him soon before he did.

The hallucinations got worse, no medications were helping.
Bugs were in his brain, they were in his pillows.
Shark fins would circle the sink while he did dishes. Flies would litter the room in his mind. Everything was dull. Toby was no longer seeing a point to keep going.
His scarred arms would bleed. Toby reopened his wounds and added more. He gnawed his knuckles down to the bone, his skin grew sickly pale. Toby never left his room, not even to eat dinner, which he's cut down on eating anything at all.

All he would do is lay on the floor staring at the hat Lyra gave him that hung on the wall. He'd wear it sometimes.

It just hurts to even think of it.
Toby would occasionally sleep in Lyra's room where dust began to collect. He didn't want to move anything from how it was left. He'd even sit at the same table she'd homeschool him at, staring at the old geometry and English text books.
He still cried pretty heavily, especially at nights when he felt the most loneliness.
Of course that figure would come to pay him visits. He didn't want to admit that occasionally it would make him feel less lonely. Part of him hates that thing, but the other part wants to give in to what it wants.
Which weren't good things.

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