#tom holland angsy serires

[parkers-gal]

foxgloves

boomerang pt. ii

wc: 2.5k

warnings: violence & car incidents (brief)/ hospital trips

The foxglove of the plantains, or the digitalis, blew in the wind like a beaut on a horse. Its colors, encapsulating, vivid, vibrant, radiant, rich. Sweet smells from the pollen and nectar wafting through the air, luring in those who dared to have such a sacred piece of life. Petals as delicate and fragile and intricate as stemware, filled with crimson winery, sweet and bitter like the flower's nectar. The middle, the center, the inside. Intimate and exclusive, blossoming only to those willing to experience the pain that came with such a devilish plant, full to the brim with nightmares disguised as daydreams. But even with all the beauty; colors and petals and scents and tastes as wonderful as they were, it was still deadly. Intoxicating, fatal, poisonous. And the disease spread faster than Nutella on toast.

How poisonous she was, Tom did not discover until her pollen was left behind, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as pressure from the heat settled and sizzled to nothing, realization kicking in that she was gone and her absence did nothing but destroy. And destruction was merciless, especially for the person that had prompted it all. Tom built a machine he didn’t know how to stop; it's self destruction in the worst way.

Four weeks had passed since she had walked out. Four weeks since Tom had fallen asleep in the doorway in the middle of the hallway, hoping to wake up from the nightmare disguised as a daydream. But it wasn't a daydream, and it wasn't a nightmare. Because this is real life, and he supposed losing her was worse than pining after her. At least then, he had her in his life. And now.. he isn't even sure on where he stands. He's stopped standing actually. Instead, he'd been pushed off the edge, the cliff with a drop so deep only Earth knew the end's location. He supposed again, that he's still falling. Because after the drop, there's a whole layer of rock bottom, and directly under that, is a new layer of crap and waste and vile memories, building and forming and making the Tom today. Angry, melancholic, heartbroken, remorseful and regretful. His happiness is just about as bright as the broken nightlight in the corner of the bedroom.

The echo of knuckles against wood rings through the house, alerting Tom that somebody is at the door. And though he knows it's unrealistic, he wishes and prays and hopes to god that it's her, coming back like the boomerang she is. It isn't.

"Tom? Mate? It's me and Harry," Harrison calls out, cautiously stepping through the doorway and shutting the door quietly behind Harry, the lock clicking as they placed the drinks down. They stopped at Nando's on the way to Tom's, knowing he probably resorted to coffee and mashed potatoes as his main filler.

"Bro, where are you?" Harry sounded, placing his cap on the table by the couch, the two of them venturing further into the house until reaching the slump body on the ground in the den. Tom's hair is disheveled, his eyelids drooping, accompanied with dark, heavy bags.

"Get up," Harrison nudges Tom with his foot, and Tom groans in annoyance before picking himself up and standing in front of the two boys.

"The fuck do you two want?" he rubs at his eyes, dragging his feet to the kitchen for a glass of coffee – it's a lot easier to whip up than tea. At least, in his opinion it is, because if his tea isn't perfect then he doesn't want to go through the hassle of preparing it just to be disappointed and let down at the first sip.

"We're checking in on you," Harrison states it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. He's leaning against the counter, elbow deep on it, Harry beside him.

"Yeah."

Tom hums at the two of them before spinning around and swiping through the swing door and into the living room.

"Have you.. talked to-"

"Don't fucking say it," Tom's voice is sharp as he turns around abruptly, cutting his brother off. "Don't you dare fuckin' say it."

Harry puts his hands up in defense, in innocence, eyes darting to the floor as Tom turns around again.

"We're worried about you, man," Harrison speaks after a few moments.

"Yeah? Well don't be," Tom spits out sarcastically, his voice disgusted and laced with bitterness. An ugly flavor.

"You haven't picked up mum's calls in weeks," Harry makes a point of mentioning. "I get it... if you don't want to talk to us. But at least talk to mum – she's worried sick. Dad's a bit pissed too."

"I don't owe them anything," Tom grumbles, plopping into the center of an armchair, sipping the drink from the table. Harry and Harrison exchange knowing glances before hesitantly stepping forward.

"Tom," Harrison places a hand on his knee as he sits across from him. "Will you listen to us?"

Harry takes a seat next to Harrison, joining in. "Don't be such a twat about this, Tom. We only care about you. Everyone here knows this is entirely your fault- you dug yourself into this ditch. The least you could do is be grateful we're trying."

"The fuck did you say?" Tom's voice raises, eyebrows changing position as he stops sipping the cool beverage.

Harrison removes his hand from Tom's knee and turns to look at the younger Holland, concern flooding his irises, taking over the blue orbs.

"I'm your brother, Tom," Harry goes on, voice unchanged. "I love you. And I'm worried about you. We all are. And we love you enough to be brutally fuckin' honest. You let her walk out. Ya' acting like you had to fight to keep in her in your life – but that's a fuckin' lie. You didn't do a damn thing but sit and watch," he points a finger, irritation from his voice setting tension between the brothers.

Tom's pupils dilate, his veins flooding with vengeance and vexation. "Get the fuck out of my house."

"Tom," Harrison cuts in, voice calm and soft and soothing. "Calm down, let's talk about this-"

"No!" Tom swipes his hand off of his shoulder. "Get the fuck out of my house!" Tom stands up, finger pointed in Harry's face as he takes a few steps back.

Harry merely shakes his head, curls jostling. "No."

"No?" Tom repeats.

"No."

Harrison's so caught up in his worries that he doesn't catch Tom before he lunges at his brother, fists swinging and knuckles cracking against Harry's cheekbone, sending the boy flying to the ground, blood and all. All the while, Tom is yelling and screaming, fighting against Harrison's restraints.

"Get the fuck out!" He yells, trying to get rid of Harrison's arms on his torso. "Let me fucking go!"

"No!" Harrison yells, glancing at Harry with wide eyes. "Go. Get up, get out!" he manages, and Harry looks up in shock before scrambling to his feet and slamming the door on his way out.

Tom huffs before his body relaxes, and Harrison feels comfortable enough to release him from his grip. Tom runs his fingers through his locks, the strands soft but greasy on his fingertips, and he exhales like a bull. Harrison envisions smoke coming out from his nose, and he thinks Tom almost looks like an underground boxer, but he doesn't mention anything.

"What the fuck was that, Tom?" Harrison asks after a few moments.

Tom glances to him, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "What was what?" he spits out.

"That!" Harrison gestures to the ground and then to the door. "You just punched your fucking brother!" he exclaims. "Now no discredit to him, but you've been training with professionals, T. You could have fucking killed him!"

"Yeah well I didn't!" Tom matches his voice level to Harrison's, standing up, chest out almost like a challenge.

"Don't you dare try anything on me," Harrison points. "I trained too. I can fucking take you if I really tried."

"Seems like you don't want to try."

"That's not what I'm here to do; I'm not here to fucking fight you, T," Harrison sighs, hands finding his hair too. Tom scoffs before relaxing his posture a little. "I saw her a few days ago," Harrison speaks quietly.

At this, Tom's head is shooting up in Harrison's direction, eyes wide and curious as he aches to pry into Harrison's brain at all the knowledge he has on her. Tom looks to Harrison expectantly, and he sighs again before going on.

"I was in the supermarket, but we still talked a little. She seems... fine. Great, even. I think she's really," Harrison holds his breath, "happy. Really happy."

Tom sits on the arm chair again, glancing to his fingers, head down. "I could never make her that happy," he whispers, tears falling.

"You did," Harrison spoke. "You just... I don't know, Tom. I really don't know what to tell you. I don't know everything that happened between the two of you, but when I talked to her she seemed to believe you had just completely given up on her."

"But I didn't," Tom pleaded, eyes glossy as he looked up to Harrison. "I swear, I never would. I loved- I love her so much, I could never just- just give up like that."

"Then why did you?" Harrison whispers back.

Tom looks to his lap again, silent. Harrison plays with the arm of the couch before patting it.

"Tom I'm not saying things could ever happen again between you two, and I'm not saying that it isn't a possibility," he was at the door, hand on the knob as he turned around to look Tom in the eyes. "But you gave up on her and now you're giving up on us." His voice dropped to another whisper, voice cracking as he opened the wooden door and closed it shut, the lock clicking.

"God," Tom whispers to himself, wiping his face with both palms as fresh tears emerge to the surface and break through the barriers, falling down his cheeks and all the way to his knees again. He looks to a picture frame, one of the only ones she'd left behind, and for a moment, he was back in the past, reliving the joy that came with being a boyfriend and a best friend and a big brother. He closed his eyes, imagining the life that was so distant and obviously changed, and new tears awoke.

***

The next morning, Tom showered and put on a fresh pair of sweats, a black tee too. Harry and Harrison had taken Tessa away a few weeks back, deciding Tom couldn't take care of her with the state he is in, and the house felt all the lonelier. Now, he had just left the house, feet tapping on the concrete pavement, to the direction of the park.

Greens and trees and playgrounds in sight, Tom breathed in the fresh air, eyes closing as he relished in the feeling of his lungs finally getting new oxygen.

"Tommy?" he'd heard, and his eyes shot open. Spinning in the direction of the voice, he couldn't find the source. He glanced again, spinning in circles before crossing the street. Then, he'd heard it again, and he froze in place. He spun around, looking in all directions; to the trees, the houses, the plants, the futbol field, and the flower garden. He was rotating in circles now, slow but rapid movements. Inconsistent as he ran his fingers through his hair pulling at the strands, and then the voice called for him again. Her voice.

Spinning one last time, he'd spotted her, and relief flooded through him as he breathed out her name. But too soon, because the cold metal of a bonnet was lodging into his legs and his side, and the world went dark as he hit the ground with a thud, car doors closing as he laid in the middle of the street.

**

Hours later, he'd awoken in a hospital room, Harrison and his mother in the chairs beside the bed, Harry standing in the doorway with an ice-pack on his left cheek.

His chest burned, legs ached, and his head pounded. A man in a white coat had just entered the room, and Tom sat up, his mind foggy as he was drifting in and out of the conversation.

"Tom, is it?" the doctor said, a clipboard in his head. Tom nodded. "The driver that hit you said you were standing in the middle of the road, looking out to... something?"

Tom nodded, clutching the right side of his head, jaw sore too. "I saw a girl."

Harry and Harrison seemed to have stopped breathing.

"We talked to the driver, there was no one there. We checked you out."

"And?" Nikki breathed out, clutching a handkerchief to her chest.

"He's been hallucinating," the doctor informed them.

"Hal- hal- halluc-?"

"What's causing it?" Harry cut her off, avoiding Tom's gaze.

"Could be a number of things," The doctor glanced at his clipboard. "Sleep deprivation, depression, drugs. The good news is that he's going to be alright."

"Thank you," Nikki replied, and the doctor nodded.

"I'll be back in later to discuss further details. I'll just give you four some time," he smiled a tight-lipped one before leaving the room.

Tom's head hit the pillow as he groaned, irritation at the situation setting in.

"Tom what the fuck happened?" Harrison exclaimed, hands going up, and Nikki gave him a look. "You're lucky to be alive, Tom. What the fuck were you thinking?" Harrison went on

"I don't know- I wasn't," Tom breathed out, eyes rolling.

"Damn right you weren't."

Tom sat up. "I don't need you mothering me like a brother you aren't!" he yelled, and Harrison went quiet as Nikki gasped. "If you're going to lecture me than you can just fuckin' leave."

Harrison looked around the room in spite, jaw clenched. After a few seconds, he made for the door, slamming it, and Harry was following him out, muttering words under his breath that even Tom could hear.

"Giving up on more people," he'd whispered.

Tom rolled his eyes, looking at his mother who was sitting in her chair, eyes on her phone as she texted her husband. Tom glanced around the room, spotting a vase of foxgloves, their magenta, primrose shades calling out to him like the girl in the street.

Devilish and merciless they were. Tom wanted nothing more than to inhale their poisoned beauty, their toxic sweets. Tears fell from his eyes like the petals in autumn, and he started praying to the god that still doesn't exist.