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salt.
there is a lot of salt in tommy’s mouth. or at least it feels like salt.
he’s being rocked in a soothing back and forth motion that reminds him of his mother’s hands, except he feels cold.
awakening with a gasp that forces more salty water into his mouth, tommy realizes his body is submerged underwater.
it should be strange, really, waking up in the middle of the ocean, but for some reason it’s not anymore.
the soothing rocking motion of the waves that once lulled him to sleep now rock him back and forth violently, pulling him underwater and filling his lungs with salt water, making him choke and gasp.
with nothing under his feet and nothing to grab onto, tommy struggles against the waves. they’re unforgiving and cold, like a slap in the face, and a not so gentle reminder that hey, you’re not supposed to be here.
he nearly drowns (maybe part of him wishes he did), but he remembers to kick his feet, and soon enough he’s back on the shore, gasping for breath and coughing up his lungs, dry heaving so badly he thinks his head is going to explode.
he falls on his back, breathing heavily and disliking the way his clothes cling to his skin, wet and heavy.
the sand on the beach is rough. it scratches against his skin, and suddenly feeling extremely overwhelmed, tommy clutches at the sand, grabbing fistfuls of it and reveling in the feeling of the rocks poking at his hands.
tommy stares up at the lightening sky, orange mixing with blue. it’s not the first time tommy wakes up in the middle of the ocean, in fact he’s not exactly sure how many times this has happened; he’s lost count.
but this time there’s a cold, ugly feeling crawling up his throat, that claws at his bones and leaves this heavy, gnawing ache in them. it’s been eating at tommy for some time now, but he can’t quite place what’s so different about it.
tears prick at the corner of his eyes because he just can’t seem to die .
he doesn’t want to kill himself. he doesn’t.
but sometimes he gets really tired. a sort of tiredness that just won’t go away.
but he really doesn’t want to kill himself. he doesn’t.
tommy lays on the beach for what feels like hours. he watches the sun rise high above him and he listens to the waves rush in and out, the tips of his toes curling when the waves tickle them.
tommy thinks about what it felt like to be underwater. the water was cold and it left him a shivering mess, nearly unable to move his limbs, but it also felt nice, even if it was for just a moment.
under the water it’s dark. dark in a soothing sort of way. he can see his arms and legs sway slowly and it’s strangely relaxing. the only thing he has to worry about is making sure to keep them moving. and for a few milliseconds tommy enjoys the burning in his lungs.
the burning hurts like a bitch and tommy loathes how it feels but he loves the control he feels. he can stay underwater as long as he likes and no one but himself can stop it. he’ll swim further down, force himself to sit on the sand and feel the pressure come over him. then, he can decide when to come up, if ever.
tommy’s mouth feels dry and his skin is pruney and he thinks he’s going to be sick. he swallows hard and pushes away the nausea crawling up his throat.
he feels so tired, and it’s not from struggling against the waves.
there’s desperation numbing his fingertips as he clutches at the rocks. his heart feels like it’s going to explode but also feels like it’s hardly beating.
tommy stands slowly. he sways on his feet for a moment, an intense feeling of dizziness coming over him out of exhaustion and hunger.
he coughs a bit, it’s raspy and it hurts his throat. he walks silently towards his tent, his feet shuffling on the grass, opening the flap and walking in, throwing himself onto his makeshift bed.
he sighs. there are many things he could start doing, especially since dream isn’t there, but tommy’s just so tired . what’s the point in gathering items if they’re just going to be taken from him?
tommy’s eyes wander to the table in front of his bed. on it is a frame that holds the photo of the christmas tree ghostbur took for him. he can just barely see sapnap in the corner, smiling broadly at the camera and waving a hand. he lets out a watery smile.
something in him breaks for what feels like the thousandth time. there’s no point in crying anymore, he thinks.
as he lays there, sniffling and a few tears escaping his eyes, in his drying clothes that scratch his skin and a throat that hurts from his coughing, unable to stop shivering, tommy wonders if he’ll ever be okay.
he hasn’t been, not for a while.
maybe waking up in the middle of the ocean isn’t the worst thing in the world, not when he has to come back on land and greet a certain someone. not when he has to watch his hard earned belongings be blown up. not when he’s reminded daily he’ll never be able to go back.
tommy pulls the thin blanket over his body and closes his eyes. maybe he’ll wake up in the ocean again.
maybe this time he won’t open his eyes.