𝐏𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ; ⱽᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴴᵒᵖᵖᵉʳ

iii

Seven months without Vance Hopper was rough for Thomas Berman. He spent every night searching for Vance, flashlight in hand and backpack on his shoulder, walkie talkie, missing person's posters and snacks hidden inside.

A part of him died that day Vance was reported missing, like something broke like a mirror, crumbling to the floor. The blonde was an important staple in the raven haired boy's life, so it was expected, really. He'd hung onto the red flannel with the sleeves cut off a lot more, seeing as Vance got it for Thomas a year ago. It was to help, a bit.

Tommy had given up his nickname, switching to his full name of Thomas. He wanted to grow up, and the empty void taking over his whole soul at the moment wasn't helping. It was a whole heartbreak for the boy. October had come quicker than expected, and he was starting to give up on it all. He wasn't going to be a hero.

The boy lays in bed, staring at a picture of him and Vance at the arcade, the blonde holding up a rock sign with his tongue out, the shaggy haired boy smiling and two fingers up behind Vance. He wanted that back, he wanted it to be normal again. He wanted his special boy to come back home already.

The redheaded sister scares Thomas, jumping as the door slams open.

"Mom said to be back by eleven. She knows you stayed out longer last night"

The girl walks off, going to pick a fight with the other sibling, most likely. Thomas rolls his eyes, sitting up and grabbing his things, tightening his shoe laces, and walking out his bedroom door.

The moon was full and bright, not a cloud blocking the view. Thomas had his headphones over his ears, listening to Cruel Summer by Bananarama, he found the cassette in his sister's room and decided to take it, and so far he liked the music. It was more pop-y, but he didn't mind, he chilled with it.

He walks on the sidewalk of Grantfort Lane, his flashlight illuminating his trail. He stops next to the last house, looking over to the small flower garden in the front yard. He sees a light turned on in the basement window, and he for some reason decided to investigate. The last strand of hope that he'd find Vance was killing him and eating him away from the inside, he just wanted his friend back.

Leaning down in front of the window, he saw the most horrifying thing he'd ever laid his eyes on. Vance Hopper, denim jacket and all laying on a dirty, bloodstained mattress bolted to the floor. He seemed to have been crying, facing the window as his face was red. Thomas slaps his hand over his mouth with a gasp, seeing the blonde look up and see the boy.

Vance springs up from the mattress, trying to scream and shout to Thomas above ground. The concrete basement was soundproof so it wasn't any use. Tears pour down both teen's cheeks, the shaggy haired boy falling back and his ass landing in the mulch and dirt, hyperventilating.

He turns around, heavily breathing and meeting the face of doom hiding behind a mask. Before the boy could even react, he was picked up at his collar, his feet barely touching the ground as he claws at the hands at his collar, trying to breathe through panic and fear.

As soon as he was about to scream, it was over. The blade made impact with the boy's neck, a large, gushing slash taking place of healthy skin, blood spilling and pouring from the wound. The man carves two X's around the boy's eyes, knowing damn well he was dead.

Blood had splattered onto the window, shocking Vance and knocking him down with a shriek, trying to move as far away from the window as possible. Tears of fear and sadness puddle onto the floor, enough to scrape the place clean of all the blood.

The lights in the basement flicker, turning off to leave the heavily drugged boy alone in the dark.

Alone to be traumatized even further, watching his best friend be brutally murdered right in front of him. All his hope was gone, the last little bit of himself shattering like how Thomas' did seven months ago.

Vance yells, standing up and punching the wall, pulling his fist back in pain. Punching concrete didn't feel good.

The blonde didn't know what to do or how to act, his mind racing and woozy as the drugs were kicking in again. He flops down on the disgusting mattress, his curls matted with sweat and oil, tears streaming like waterfalls down his face.

He couldn't fucking believe this.

Fucking unreal.

AN - damn I finally got to use thomas' death idea. I'm kinda happy with this bc it's the only reason I even made this book lmfao. but I hope ur all doing well and uhhhh yeah!!