The Revolution

Chapter 10

Tom

I found myself in a large white room. My goggles had been taken off, so I could barely distinguish anything, just the blinding, unblemished walls.

I sat there for a countless amount of time, the past events rushing through my mind. I stayed, sat on the floor, my back, stiff and my limbs, aching, not even knowing if I could get up. I felt the sanitary sting of antiseptic in various place over my body, and the tight clench of bandages, stifling blood. My mind was still woozy from the drug used to knock me out.

All I could see was his face. Pale and lifeless in my arms, his last breath shivering in the air before dissipating, the last remainder of his living self. My gut wrenched with grief, a sickening feeling in my chest. I didn't cry, no matter how much I wished I could.

My monstrous form had almost completely worn off, the only thing left of it was the soreness that wracked my tired body.

I fell out of consciousness again waking to find my goggles put back on, giving me sight once more. And still, I sat.

Suddenly, a door, just out of my view, opened, I heard the click and then the footsteps that followed. I kept staring straight ahead, not caring for who was there. I listened to them hesitate, as if scared of me, but when I made no motion towards them, they slowly came to stand in front of me.

And, of course, there he was. That tyrant. No longer in his signature uniform, instead just a t-shirt and jeans, an uncomfortably unsure look on his face. Tord stood there, watching me, waiting. I waited too, staring straight back.

He would sometimes look as if he was going to say something, but stop, biting his tongue. Finally, taking a breath, he asked,
"So, how are you?"

I turned my head to fully meet his gaze.
"Awful."
He smiled for a moment, as if to laugh.
"As I can imagine."

We fell into silence. I kept staring at him, not taking my eyes of his face. Anger bubbled inside me as I remembered his part in what had happened, how he had let hundreds of people die without a thought and that stupid, stupid smirk, until I couldn't take it.

Rage blinded me once again as I lunged, curled fists beating every part of him I could reach. My bloodthirsty hands found his neck as I clenched it, knocking him back, landing with a thud. I stayed atop him, sitting on his hips, punching and punching until my fists were red and raw, his scarlet blood spattering everywhere, my hands, him, the floor, me.

I looked down at his broken, bruised face and I only felt worse. He stayed silent, staring up at me through a black eye, gashes littering his skin, blood dribbling from a broken nose.

Tears sprang to my eyes and I began to break down, grabbing handfuls of material as I buried my face in his chest. Great wails shredded my lungs and throat, and it was ugly and pure and raw.

His hands softly stroked my hair in comfort, those hands with the blood of millions on, yet so gentle and caring.

I sobbed until I thought I would vomit, and he held me, still silent.

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to hurt him, kill him, make him feel as much pain as I did. But I wanted him to hold me, comfort me, make me feel ok. And I hate him for that.

I found myself saying Tord's name, over and over, whispering it into his shirt. He didn't reply, or change what he was doing. Soon I was screaming it, screaming nonsense, squeezing my eyes shut, shaking his body, my own shivering. I felt sick, feverish, ill.

And then, I puked, right into my hands. I stared at the gross liquid, still shaking. My vision swarmed black, and the last thing I saw was his face, concerned. And I hate him.

...

And then I was in another white room. This time, in a soft, warm bed. I guess they had learned I wouldn't transform again, and let me properly rest.

Machines beeped and long, clear tubes feeding into my skin, hooked up to bags of blood and drugs. They silenced the pain, and I can say, I felt considerably better.

I finally began to search my body for injuries. There was a bullet wound in my arm and various other cuts and bruises.

Relaxing in the quiet room, I shut my eyes, Tord's bloody, beat-up face appearing in my mind, and I was glad. He deserved that more than anything. And I thought about how he cradled my sore body, and how he comforted me, and how I screamed his name and how he could make me hate him and want him more than anything in the world.

God, why can't it just be simple? Why can't I just see him as he is, a disgusting maniac.

But I will keep beating his face to a bloody pulp, to make me happy, and crying over the violence and regret to keep me calm. And I will keep being loyal to him, and protecting him with my life, and being revolted by everything about him.

And then there was Matt. And I will always grieve for him, and remember him, and fight for him, and in every waking moment of every day, think of him, and Edd, and how it used to be, and how good it was.

Jeez, my head is not right today.