Addiction

Chapter 2

Fingers connect with twisting material. It moves smooth and slow, but chaotically, easily pulled apart by a swipe of a hand. The material fills Tom's palms as he turns them with the utmost care.

His head feels fuzzy, like it's been stuffed with cotton and silk. The twisting material trickles down the nape of his neck, moves smoothly through his hair. Skin tingles under the heat of the sun, the feeling similar to thousands of tiny ants nipping at him.

Peace radiates off the place, keeping the Brit down an content where he's been left. He half expects to hear the communist's voice, after all, Tord must've brought him here, why else would he be..

Tom's eyelids expose his voids to the warm air as light stabs his retina repeatedly like some psycho killer from a badly made, low res horror game.

He chuckles at his own antics, the comparison shedding some enjoyment on the whole fuck up of a situation.

Tom manuevers his body to some semblance of an upright position. Palms dig up handfulls of what he can now see is sand, bright white beach sand that stings his eyes somehow more than the literal bitch of a star cackling at him from the ungodly blue sky. Where is he? Where has Tord taken him now.

Panic forces Tom to his feet as his heart hammers against his chest. He tries to move in a direction, but only succeeds in tripping on sand.

Grit fills his mouth like water a pot, it causes him to choke and gag, desperately trying to disloge the sharp material from his windpipe. Questions spin in his head, filling his thoughts. The whisps of half baked inquisition only succeeds in worsening the dizzy disorientation.

More sand fills the holes of his hoodie before he finally gets his bearings. The horizon swims with sand, the glittering white substance laughing at him, joining the bright cackle of the sun. He's painfully aware that this location is unknown to him.

"Edd!?" He calls only to have his voice whisped away in a choked echo. He's alone, like he's always been.

Tom's always been so painfully alone, even with Edd and Matt, even before the accident.

The sand beneath his feet caves in on itself. Red slowly seeps in between the grains as they suck him in, dragging him under. Flailing did nothing, desperate attempts going lost to the grips of the sand.

It fills his lungs, the gritty feeling dragging strokes of pain with every breath, it fails to let up. It hurts, it just hurts so much. And when he thinks he can't take the pain any longer he's forced into chilly darkness.

Darkness swallows at his limbs, inky black cradling his tired body. The soreness soothed by the void's cool touch lets him relax, finally ok with where he is. It gently coaxes at his body, similar to fresh linen. A timid touch graces his forehead, it travels down his face before leaving his skin. Tom subconsciously shivers, wanting the gentle touch back.

As if answering prayers it moves to his hand, gently curling around his freezing fingers. The touch is warm and pleasant and Tom enjoys the contact for once.

Muffled voices pull him from his dream state, opening his eyes to the reality outside.

Gentle green coaxes Brit's eyes from his off white ceiling. A figure sits next tom him, although hard to see Tom could tell they're looking at him. The blurry image fades in and out before finally solidifying into the image of his friend.

"Edd?" He cringes at the hoarse whisper of his voice. It sounds gritty, like the sand that's starting to fade from his memory like a fever dream.

"Tom..Thommas..my god, you had us so worried. You've been out cold for 4 hours.." Edd's voice barely reaches a whisper, Tom's ears strain to hear.