{ A Redo }

{ 1 }

        It had been a few months in passing since such an irritating man rejoined this previously semi-functioning household.

Four men, three men, then four again. The residents residing in there simply went day-to-day together; Edd, Matt, Tom, and the ill-intended Tord.

Though the ill intent feeling was only felt by one member; Thomas Roswell. The red hoodie-wearing and horn haired man felt like the straw to break the camel's back for his mental health. Everyone else was so friendly and welcoming when it came to the man's resurgence in their lives. It pained him awfully so and it only kept digging deeper into his psyche the more that wretched man spoke.

But for the sake of others...he sucked it up. Or at least tried to. Tom was no stranger to spewing his opinions, unwanted or not, at anyone and everyone. He could be quite crude given the chance but such a thing kept causing problems in the house so he decided to start - for once - keeping things to himself. To be so limited about a person felt too favorable in such a man he despised. He felt conspired against every passing day...every passing remark Tord would hush under his breath and when Tom would hear him those few times he'd grit his teeth and continue on.

This only worsened his thirst for anything with liquor in it, becoming more disheveled and self loathing each waking moment - if he even was awake that is. Everyday became a bit of a blur since then, only sometimes remembering the bottles he'd pick up based off of preference. A nice swig of Smirnoff to ease the hatred if even for a moment. But in his pursuit to find such a relief cause even more problems at the cause of his friend's concerns.

Seeking professional help was never an option for Tom, he refused it for so long and didn't plan on caving in now due to a 'little drinking problem'  as he would continue to put it. It was unhealthy and even he knew it but even in those instances he'd have just another bottle in his hand, drinking away as carefree as could be.

Though the more he drank, the more days that passed by, a feeling crept up his throat and got into his head.

Something was bound to happen. Bad or good, something was to happen.

But it was always swiftly shrugged off and tossed into the back of his mind until one fateful morning.

Tom awoke - voided eyes barely opening as he blurrily looked at his room's ceiling. He couldn't move and could hardly see - slowly remembering a nightmare he had that night after one too many drinks caused him to crash out in the living room only to be carried to bed. He could only feel his chest begin to quicken in movement, the stillness in his limbs being the true factor to his panic. The flashes of the nightmare left his mind in a haste as all he could think of is maybe all of the alcohol got to him finally. His body was shutting down, organs failing as his heart was definitely going to give out on him soon and he couldn't do anything about it. Maybe that feeling he had all along was his body warning him to slow down and find help.

He should've listened, oh God how he should've listened.

Tom continued to hyperventilate until his body gave way into movement making him shoot up in his bed, hand gripping to his chest as he felt his heartbeat in his head and could swear he could feel his blood pumping like it was on overtime. He felt so alive but so scared at the same time. Just a simple sleep paralysis - how could he forget that existed? Maybe, he for once thought, that he should lay off on the drinking a little.

Finally pulling himself out of his empty bottle filled bed, he grabbed a dirty shirt off of the floor and slipped it on before heading out to the bathroom that was across his room. He was in the second floor of the house as Matt's. He dreaded the idea of running into the guy as his head began to develop a harsh headache. Matt was always the loud type and went on and on about himself in boisterous ways - drinking or not it was always a headache for him to deal with especially so early in the morning.