Chapter Text
“Just fucking say it, kid.”
A gun pressed itself into the middle of his back and he trembled, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He opened his mouth, trying to get words to form over the lump growing in his throat. Say it. Say it goddammit. Say it so you don’t die. Come on say it-
Tobias awoke in a cold sweat. His breathing was erratic and it took him a few moments to register where he was. The comfort of a fluffy mattress that dented beneath his weight, the warmth of a blanket, and the bright red light from his digital alarm clock all indicated that he was in his room, at home, where he belonged.
His racing heart slowed to a steady pulse and he silently slipped out of bed, moving to his dresser to replace his pajamas. As he dug through shirts and pants, his mind kept going back to his nightmare, no matter how hard he tried to focus on searching for clothes. It felt as if he could feel the cold, hard metal against his back right then and there and it took all of his self control not to whirl around and punch what was ninety-nine point nine percent likely, empty space.
The thoughts began to be too much and with a frustrated growl, he slammed the drawer shut. Clothes he had been pulling out while his brain was picking out memories scattered the floor, leaving a mess around his dresser. Tobias knew his mother would probably scold him for leaving it, but he pressed his lips together and stumbled back over to his bed anyway, laying down.
Rummaging through his clothes wasn’t going to get him any sleep. He might as well try just relaxing.
But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Every time he squeezed his eyes shut he saw them. When he felt he was going to drift off at last it happened again. He couldn’t sleep. So instead he pulled out one of his favorite books and turned on the flashlight on his phone. Maybe this would be a good distraction, he hoped. It didn’t matter if he got sleep either, especially since it wasn’t like he was going back to school soon, all he had the next day was a meeting with someone at five, so he could sleep in if he needed to.
His eyes floated across the page, soaking up the familiar words. He knew this book by heart and could rant about it for hours if he so wished. It was his comfort book, as he referred to it, something he knew he could rely on to help him if he didn’t have anything else. An escape, even.
He had picked up where he had last stopped reading – a few months ago, when the action had been getting good. The part of the book where he knew how it would end, but his heart raced and suspense consumed him nonetheless. He turned each page, excited for the approaching climax to the scene. It had been a while since he had last read it and it was fun to pick up on the little details he had forgotten about throughout. He finally found himself relaxed and comfortable, with nothing to disturb him at the moment. He was safe.
His stomach clenched.
He had forgotten about this scene.
He slammed the book closed and tossed it on the floor, pulling his legs close to his chest and hugging them. His breathing was quick and panicked once again and in that very moment he was back there again. His wrists itched and burned and tears pricked in his eyes.
He had always loved that book.
Now he couldn’t even read it.