I'm Dying To Live (Rewriting)

Chapter 1

Alex's POV

I woke up, my heart thumping painfully in my chest, threatening to burst out of my ribcage, and sat up suddenly. A thin sheen of sweat covered my whole body and my sheets were damp. I was shivering violently and I blinked, staring at the twisted sheets partially covering my legs, a small tear rolling over my warm cheek and coming to rest in the corner of my mouth. I let out a choked sound, trying to stop the feelings of pain that were washing over me, nearly knocking me back onto my pillow. The usual aftermath of a nightmare. The usual start to a normal day. I was becoming accustomed to it.

I lay in bed, not bothering to check the time. My alarm hadn't gone off yet and I wasn't going to get up until it was screaming its wake up call directly into my eardrums. I don't know why I even bothered to set my alarm, the nightmares usually disrupted my sleep before it went off, but it was routine and routine was what I lived off now, I was too numb to break free from it. Routine was one of the things keeping it real for me. It wasn't particularly comfortable lying in the cold sheets, but due to the cooling sweat on my skin, it would've been colder and more uncomfortable if I got up. I only slept in my boxers, because I knew that I'd wake up in the morning scared to death with my pajamas clinging to my wet skin and leaving me feeling even more overwhelmed, upset and frustrated. The night sweats I suffered with were simply triggered by the nightmares, which was similar for most people I guessed. I'd certainly never had a comfortable awakening from a nightmare.

Another tear rolled down my cheek, this one bigger than the last, and it ran faster, leaving a salty trail all the way down to my chin before falling onto the duvet. I swallowed thickly, my lungs failing me, allowing me to sink deeper into the hole of depression I was stuck in. I should be somewhat over it by now, but I wasn't. If anything, I was sinking deeper every day.

It had been 2 months since Tom passed away, 1 month since my mom had started going to therapy, 3 days since Dad had ventured out of his room. My family was slowly falling apart and it seemed like I had been unceremoniously put in charge of keeping us together, which evidently wasn't a good idea since I was no better than the rest of them.

Tom's full brother and sister had left, they didn't want to wait around to see the aftermath of his death on this family, they couldn't stay around us, they said that I reminded them of him too much, and I agree. I can't look into a mirror without my heart snapping into two. Looking at myself was like a harsh reality check on the fact that my big brother was gone. The mirror that was once propped against the wall behind the door in my room had long been thrown down the stairs by me during one of my worst breakdowns, leading to Jack having to dodge it as he tried to run up the stairs to my aid. Though I was sure it never touched him because of his mentally quick reaction times, he had suffered a relatively sized bruise and a small cut which had now turned into the greeny blue colour it turned before fading. It also resulted in him cleaning up the dangerous mess as no one in my family had to motivation to.

Jack had been doing a lot for my family lately. Tay of course did little things here and there, but it was Jack who helped with the bulk of things. He had realised what was happening to us as a family and I could tell he was trying this best to keep us together, coming in frequently to clean dishes that would otherwise be left on the side for weeks, and dusting and vacuuming and just generally keeping our living conditions hygienic. I caught him the other night scrubbing at the tiles in the bathroom, at about 4 in the morning. I had no idea why he'd decided to creep in so late, but that didn't matter because he was choosing to help and we were obviously extremely grateful. He wasn't appreciated by us enough.

I decided to quickly call said person. I didn't need to be a long call; I just needed to hear his voice. It usually calmed me; he was the one I always turned to in mad hours of the day because for some reason he always seemed to be awake. I guess that explained the eye bags that had become a permanent feature on his face, and the stupid clumsiness he suffered from that caused him to injure himself pretty badly all the time.