❝i'm sorry❞ ⇢pre-fire toby one shot

⇢i'm sorry

The bathroom floor was cold. Not a cold that could've been described (like a simple, winter cold) but an odd freeze that pushed itself onward's onto Toby's back and legs. The vague feeling his skin could barely process felt odd to Toby. He didn't feel the cold the same way he did.

If his father was here, he would joke into how the coldness traveled too far into his brain, making him a sad kid.

His mother would tilt her head and inhale her cigarette,tapping it to the side and say "well, you were born with it honey. you should be happy you're alive right now."

If Lyra was here, she would give a painfully-forced smile and bring him to her chest, running her fingers through his hair and resting her cheek on his head. She would grab his hand and rub her thumb against his scarred  knuckles and ask in a very caring demeanor; "can you feel that though, Toby?"

Right now, none of the three were in the house. He was alone and that's why there was a good twenty pills in his tummy from over-the-counter headache relievers and a good amount of whiskey to chase it down.

He closed his eyes. Death, death was going to be a beautiful thing. He was not going to heaven nor hell: he did not believe in such things (rather despised it thanks to it excusing his father to constantly call him "a mistake from the big man", saying he didn't ask God for such a fuck-up).

It meant nothingness. A sweet pit and entrancment of a void he couldn't escape. He was going to sleep without a dream, nothing but the blackness to care for. He was going to be content. There was no need for a second life when all you want to do is rest.

He felt nauseous, his head felt pressure. Not pain, pressure. His body felt fine, however, he could walk if he wanted to. But he was too tired. His mind was tired. He didn't want to do it.

Than, a knock was at the door. "Toby?"

His heart nearly froze and he stood up. "y-yeah, Ly?"

"What are you doing? Are you in the bathroom?"

Toby started to panic. ""I-I..yeah, yeah I am!" he managed to spur as he rested his back against the door, trying to make sure Lyra didn't come in.

Toby heard the movement of the doorknob, the silver colored plastic jiggling until the door was open.

"Toby?" She spoke softly until she saw the bottle and the boy who was on the floor, now hacking and his arms twitching.

"Toby!"

----

Toby was quickly rushed to the hospital, his stomach was pumped. It wasn't nice. Not really painful since he lacked the ability to feel such, but uncomfortable. The entire process made him gag and squirm. Worst of all, he was still alive.

His father didn't show up. His mother was bawling and holding Toby's body as if it was an alternative time-line in which he did kick the bucket, and he was a dead, fleshy body with no conscious. Lyra's eyes ran dry. There was no more tears. Just a lone expression of stiffness on her face that happened to hurt Toby even more.

His father thought Toby was being a disgrace and overreacting. When he heard he was alive, he didn't show up. Toby didn't care. Good riddance on that man if any, he thought.

Lyra moved over to the boy that laid in the bed. His brown hair was sprawled and his dark eyes were glued into counting every square on the hospital ceiling. She grabbed his hand, her own skin feeling great on Toby's dry hand. She rubbed his now-white knuckles and laid her head on his shoulder.

Instead of the "can you feel that?" question Toby's ears were longing to ever hear, he got another question.

❝why did you try to kill yourself?❞ She blinked softly, her breathing hitched and soft tears streaming from her baby-blue's.

His body ached in her grasp. It felt like his entire body was going through a storm and his mind was in the center of it all. He could only quietly sob.

❝you..❞ He said and looked to the side, not having the courage to look her in the eyes. ❝You told me to do what makes me happy.❞ 

Lyra had nothing to say. Toby knew she had nothing to say. She stayed quiet and her eyes were pouring, his fingers grazing his hair again.

He hoped she didn't think he was crazy. He hoped she didn't think he wasn't crazy. That's what dad already thought and he didn't need someone who he deeply admired to think the same.

"I love you, Toby." She started to cry harder, her body screaming and her sobs softly muffled. Her face was red, nose running. He has been dead. There could be no medicine to cure him anymore.

He was helpless. And he was bringing her down with him

t.s