Medicine - Sander-Sides

5) The Reinbache Fall

~Just a filler~

     Thomas didn't know what exactly happened, but he knew that before he went unconscious, he felt peace settle in his mind. He liked the feeling of complete numbness now, it was something to calm him down, something to grasp when there's nothing left to hold. When he started to wake from what seemed like a deep sleep, his emotions immediately drifted to sadness, because he had a deep longing to avoid waking up, sleep felt really nice to him. It was peaceful, helped him forget his past mistakes and slip into bliss . . . except when nightmares were abroad and plagued his mind completely, but other than that, sleep is a coping mechanism.  

   His head felt mushy and sluggish. His eyes couldn't open, but he didn't attempt to open them either way. He could hear murmuring all around him but he ignored it, they didn't matter. The light that shown over his eyelids was starting to get obnoxious now, it was as if Thomas were facing a window and the curtains were open. It was incredibly infuriating, to be completely honest, all he wanted to was to go back to sleep. But of course, just like everything else, it had to end. 

   His eyes had fluttered open, but his vision wasn't all there, it wasn't completely blurry but it was enough for him to feel confused. He didn't freak out like he internally expected, but he didn't have a reaction to it either, numb once again. 

"Guys! H-He's waking up!" He flinched at the sound of a loud voice and he immediately covered his ears, furrowing his brows. Thomas blinked quickly, a loud ringing noise starting up in his ears, completely muffling the other voices around him. He attempted to stand and staggered wildly and people rushed to help but he quickly pushed them off and leaned against the wall instead.

"I-I got it. . . " He wiped at his face and sighed, feeling all eyes on him. Joan, who got called to come and help with . . . Thomas' situation, wanted to at least talk with him. So they stepped forward, and touched his shoulder and put the other hand on his arm, cradling him in a way but instead of reacting like he usually did whenever affection, in any form, came his way, Thomas flinched hard and pushed them off.

"I got it! I'm al-alright!" He was sure he was slurring his words. What time was it? How long had he been knocked out? Why are they so many people in the house? And why the hell were they all just staring at him like he was a helpless little puppy? Did they all know? Who the fuck told them? 

"W-what happened?" Everything that happened over the course of 24 hours, had washed from his mind completely. The alcohol he consumed must have done the trick. It was an unusual feeling, being hungover that is. He's heard over a thousand tips and tricks to get rid of it, but he's never had a use for it until now. 

"Y-you. . . you don't remember anything, do you?" Joan questioned him and Thomas couldn't meet his sorrowful gaze. It like a hot iron of guilt in his stomach whenever he looked into the eyes of his friends. He knew what had gone down, just didn't remember why it all started. But to be completely honest . . . its preferred that way.

"No. I just . . . I just remember a lot of . . . a lot of yelling, and . . . somebody was being a little too physical. I remember blood, and then fainting. . . That's it." His voice was soft, unsure of what to make of it all. He felt embarrassed now as if he were on full display in front of them and the feeling made him want to crawl into a hole and never resurface. 

"Are you okay?" A small voice suddenly shot from the living room, and Thomas lifted his head just a little to see where the voice had come from. Suddenly seeing a small, fragile person with bright eyebrows and short stylish hair, he knew who had asked now. 

"I don't . . . I don't know, really, I just-- I just wanna sleep." His voice cracked in the middle of the sentence, making him want to hurl. Speaking of hurling, his stomach started to twist uncomfortably, but he kept his cool, sliding against the wall and sitting down. He put his head on his knees and thought 'it'll go away soon' but it didn't, and then his mouth was dry, and his heartbeat became quicker along with his breathing, and it felt as if every warm breath that passed his lips, he'd spill out the contents of the night before. But when his hands got clammy and cold, that's when he shot up to run to the bathroom, knowing he had no chance.

   He stumbled, naturally, but ended up making it before anything hit the floor. With each revolting hurl, his stomach began to soothe with an aching burn and his head started to pound mercilessly behind his eyes, making him sigh in relief. Anything was better than a stomach ache, he whimpered in response to it though, and curled up beside the toilet. His eyes slowly looked around the bathroom and everything seemed intact except . . . except for . . . the mirror. There were still big shards connected to the wall where the full mirror had once stood.

   He felt himself let out a small sigh and instead of questioning himself about the mirror, he let his face rest against the cold tile floor, soothing the pulsing migraine just a touch. His chest felt empty, non-existent in a way. His head felt clear, and he could feel his blood coursing through his veins as he lied there, curled up. He put his arms on his chest and without warning, he hissed at the pain in his forearm. He lifted it, scanning over the bandages that were wrapped up. 

"Oh god," He pieced it together slowly, The mirror, the screaming, the pain, --God the pain--, the people over his place . . . Everything slowly but surely formed together in his head but a piece was missing, a big important piece, but he couldn't place it, his brain became too fuzzy and all he wanted to do was sleep. 

Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, please for the love of god and all that is holy, GO TO SLEEP.

    The tiled floor felt so good in that moment, maybe not to most, but for Thomas, this was complete gold. And he let his eyes droop, forgetting his past mistakes once more. He fell straight into the deep hole willingly, he didn't care that it was the bathroom, he could sleep anywhere right now if he could. There was a small part of him that wanted to leave the house completely and never return, but he ignored the confusing thought and continued on in slumber. 

   When he woke the first time, it was a dreamless sleep, but on that floor, he dreamt of something wicked, and evil. It was coming to get him, to get all of them. Nobody was safe from it any longer, people can't fight it no more, its become too much--

Way too much

Stop it 

Too much

Too much

Stop it. 

"Hey! Are you alright in there!? It's been 30 minutes?" It was too late now, Thomas was already slumped. Completely unaware of the people outside, they came in any way. He didn't wake, far too gone into sleep to realize.

"Is he . . . is he asleep?" Terrence looked over at Tayln, who watched Thomas with sorrow in their eyes. 

"We have to get him to his room--" 

"No, he's been through so much shit, just let him sleep for a while, what harm could it do, He's obviously exhausted. . . " Joan commented softly and Terrence seemed to think for a moment before disappearing and then running back in with a large blanket and pillow. Joan smiled and picked the pillow from his hands and bent down to lean over, and lifted Thomas' head before dropping it down on the pillow as softly as he could manage. Terrence then draped over the blanket and sighed. 

"One of us has to stay with him--" Terrence started but Joan waved his hand dismissively. 

"I'm staying, you don't have to, Tayln, but make sure to visit, okay?" They nodded while gathering their stuff.

"Are you sure?" Tayln asked and Joan nodded,

"I have to figure out how we're going to approach this, and I need to make sure he doesn't hurt himself more than he already has." 

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word count; 1466

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