Leather Liberation// Thomas Hewitt x reader

Chapter 3: 2 headed calf

"Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

"But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother.
It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. "

The two headed calf,
    Laura Gilpin

That night, Thomas walks home, the sun setting on the little town behind him. The road is empty, nobody drives in or out.

He reaches his home, a big house surrounded by trees. He can smell something cooking from the front porch. He hears his Uncle Charlie yelling as he walks inside.

"Dammit, Luda.  When that factory closes down all our income will be gone!"

"Oh, hush up, Charlie. We'll find another job for Tommy."

"WHERE? NOBODY ELSE IS GONNA TAKE THAT DUMBASS. THEY'RE ALL SCARED OF HIM!"

"Stop yelling, it's giving me a migraine!"

The two stop when they see Thomas walk into the kitchen.  Charlie shakes his head, irritated.

"Nice job, you big fool. That factory's being shut down in a week. You're out of a job!"

He pushes past Thomas. Luda sighs.

"Ignore him, Thomas. We'll figure something out."

Thomas isn't listening.  He watches Uncle Charlie stalk off up the stairs.

He was already told by his boss. He didn't see any of it as his fault. The only issue he faced was now he had nowhere to cut meat. It was the only thing he cared about.

"Thomas, did that mask making lady meet with you today?"

He snaps back to Luda, face warming up at the reminder of the kind woman. He nods, rather enthusiastically.

"Well, I assume it went well from your reaction. I'll pick the mask up sometime next week. "

Thomas nods again,  before walking up the stairs. He passes his Uncle Monty,  who sits in a reclining chair, watching t.v.

Thomas passes by. His room is next door. He goes in and sits on the bed. His head is a flurry of thoughts.  The mask maker and losing his job. He was getting angry.

He was angry at his bosses for shutting down. He was angry at Uncle Charlie for calling him "dumbass", and "big fool." For a second, he imagined using his big size to get his way. Violent urges weren't unfamiliar, but they were stronger that night than ever before.  He wants to hurt people, badly. It would be easy, taking what he wanted.  He chops meat everyday for a living,  what's so different about human meat?

But most of all, he wants to hurt himself. He wants to rip his face away, finish the disease's job. He wants to kick and punch himself. He wants to throw himself into a pit of molding meat. He'd fit right in there.

But then he remembers what happened earlier. Y/n's soft, caring hands caressing his face. The way she didn't gag, or cringe away when he revealed his face. Her scarred, deformed hands. Especially those,  he remembered. They were hideously perfect. Like molded by a beginning  sculpturer.  A misshapen creation that the artist would preserve for a lifetime, a reminder of how far they had grown.

Thomas's meaty hands loosen their grip on his bed sheets, dusty from weeks of being empty.

Without realizing, he'd often fall asleep in the basement.  It was quiet down there,  a nice private space. Every night for the past month he stayed down there and tried his best to create a better mask for his face.