London Bridge // Tommyinnit angst

• i think its time i leave •

TW//// this book contains sensitive topics and it is strongly advised that you consider the following!:
- self harm
- panic attacks
- abuse
- suicide and much more
stay safe and please contact someone if you are struggling with any of the above!! luv u guys
/\^•.•^/\

CHAPTER ONE;

if i was a scent. i would be charcoal.
despite being loud, outgoing and constantly bursting with bright colors and imagination, i still have issues. although christmas time is when warm loving familys through coal onto the fire, coal is still dark and destructive. although when people think of coal, they imagine the happy christmas season. what i'm getting at is, although i represent and radiate positivity and immature teenage humour, i am 18. i have lived through hell and back, i have parents who don't care and a life that i cant control.

i open my eyes as if it is a normal day. i swing my left leg over my right and onto the floorboards below, the creeking echoing into the rooms along, where they are met with the harsh hisses and howls of my parents. red and black, bad and worse. i wipe my sweat off my forehead and tuck my messy hair behind my ears, adjust the rolls in my shirt to fit my body and stretch my arm as the all to familiar sting hits my left side.

the events from the night prior i recall, when my father spat out his awful words at me, he clawed at my arms and slapped at my cheek to man me up. like i had never been a real man, even though no man less brave than me could survive a home like this since they were six.

i slumped towards my mirror and stared at the reflection, the red on my cheek had turned to a foggy purple, and the bags under my eyes had only grew. i trace my marks and scars and bumps, scanning every imperfection and complexion and start to feel the lump crawl up my throat.

the foul taste and prickling sensation burn in my mouth and i feel my eyes start to water. after years of this, only recently had i discovered that i had only longed for one thing.
for an escape.
my earliest memory i have of my father is him grabbing my arms when i was crying and slamming them against a wall, the puff of marujana and alcohol burned my nostrils as his friends around the table laugh at the mockery, laugh at a child in distress.

my earliest memory of my mother was when she spoke to me in the car about how much easier her life would of concluded if she had not had me, and that i was an accident. all memories earlier than six i cannot remember, and all leading up to today have been cruel and unfair.

i hold my wrist to my cheek and flinch, wiping the tears off my cheek and thinking.

i need to go live somewhere else.

„THOMAS" i hear a drunken man yell,
i holler back a „just a minute" and begin to breathe, wipe my tears and smile to myself. a lovely start to my day and my story.

each step i take down my stairs the lump in my stomach grows and the pounding of my heart increases as the stench of alcohol and filth stain me.

my eyes are finally met with my fathers, and my mother is sitting on the couch crying, marks running up her arm as she mumbles apologies. the mess on the floor surrounding.

„tom, my boy"
his breath makes me flinch.
„good morning father, you needed me?"
„yeah i did, i wanted to know if you have any.. money for me?"
he burps in between words and leans in.
„no not yet i'm afraid, i can stream soon and give some to you straight after."
a look of dissatisfaction paints his face, my mind races.
„well, i guess that's good enough. if you really loved your mother though i'm sure you would help her."
i look to my mother, who is still frail on the couch.
„mhm, do you need anything?"
„no, of course not, other than some FUCKING MONEY!"
he throws the bottle at the floor, earning a jump from me and a sigh from him. he grabs his keys and sits on the couch with mother, wrapping his arm around her and letting her cry into his chest.

i give her a consoling look and walk back up the stairs to my room to vc with wilbur.

-tommy-
hey, can we vc rq?

-wilbur-
yeah sure what's up?

-tommy-
bored

i wait for him to answer my call before a notification from my phone lights up the table.

-dad-
are you streaming yet

-you-
no, sorry

i look up to see wilbur's icon enter the call and place my phone face first on the table.
„hey tommy!"
„hi wilbur"
„are you uh, planning on streaming today?"
„yeah, maybe later, i think my dad might be a bit angry at me right now though"
i could feel wilbur's confusion from the other end of the call.
„what do you mean, why is he mad?"
„oh, i dont know, he just wanted some money that's all"
„i can give you £50, you know"
„nah, i'll be right."
a long silence occurred and i could hear wilbur thinking
„well, why would ya dad be mad just over some money, seems pretty weird to me"
„he gets mad at those things a lot"
„come on, give me an example"

i paused

is he trying to bait me?

„well uh, he gets mad if i dont clean a lot"
„uh huh"
„and.... he gets mad if i don't give him pretty much all my money after streams"
i paused longer this time
„and, sometimes he slaps me if i dont listen"
„what?"
shit.
„tommy he slaps you?"
„no, i was joking."
„no you weren't, hey?"
„no i was"
„you know if he slaps you that's not like, good"
„no he doesn't"

i leave the call as quick as i can and lean back in my chair and sigh, i really just fell for wilbur's questions?

i lean back slightly more until my face meets my mirror and i glaze over my bruise. i really shouldn't stream like this. id rather get in trouble for not streaming then stream with a bruise on my eye and slap marks on me.

i hear a ding on my phone that lights up my desk, it's from my mom.

-mother-
tom, i love you so much but i can't say it now. i'm leaving for a while and i'm so sorry i cant take you. i will be back soon, but your fathers just too much sometimes love, i will be back soon and i love you

i look at my phone and soon understand.

she's leaving me with my dad.

fuck.

i slam my elbows onto my desk and cup my face, looking up at the ceiling. i want to talk to wilbur about how much i hate my home, but i dont want him to tell anyone. i know that my family is abusive, but i dont want to be taken away from them.

i shift my arms and i hear the creaking footsteps come up the beaten stairs and shake at my door, a drunken man speaks from the other side

„where's your mom, boy?"
„i don't know, im sorry"
„what?"
„she might have gone shopping."
he smacks the handle, practically already broken off its hinges and walks inside.
„oh yeah, no shit thomas, because we have sooo much money thanks to you, but you're an ungrateful shit and wont make any more!"
„sorry"
„dont fucking sorry me! if you were sorry you would actually do something for me, make me money and get me food because i'm sure you'll be making money when you're in foster care, with a starved to death dad and a mum who left him!"
„i cant-"
he grabs my face and shakes it violently, i can tell hes high, drunk or both.
„you cant what? be a decent guy? bull shit!"
he pushes me back into my computer, causing it to fall to the ground and break.

we stare at it in silence before his face becomes possessed with rage.

„get that fucking computer fixed, okay? or you will be fucking sorry."
he says while gripping my arm to the point of tears. he pushes me to the ground and i hit my head on my shattered pc.

i think it's time i leave.