My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

The Void

++Toms pov++

Her honey voice rings through my ears as her bottom lip trembles, and her eyes dart unknowingly around the bathroom as she slowly realises she cannot get out. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as I peer down at her, the now bloodied cotton pad in my hand. Each time her dancing pupils meet my gaze accidentally, I feel my blood run hot, the way she knows she's vulnerable but is fighting to not show it drives me mad. I feel desperately that I need to have her stumped at my feet with tear marks sliding down her face, and each nerve in my body wants to create a bright red mark across her perfectly proportionate face, showing each print on my fingertips and each crease in my palm. Merciless thoughts consume my mind the longer I study each detail on her newly crestfallen face, for example, how much she'd suit bruises on her cheekbones which resemble the outline of my fist, or how much I want to shred her of her hopeless dreams of her future, which might I add, is most likely not going anywhere if I let her go. 

I will spontaneously punish her until she can no longer bring herself to furrow her eyebrows at me, or go bursting out the door half conscious in a dreadful attempt to escape my lair. I will stop at nothing, I don't care how long it takes to break her in, I will turn her into my pet, and I will keep punishing her for acting like a mutt. After all, no one wants a disobedient dog.

"If you don't want to be punished, I suggest you sort your fucking temper out." I lecture, watching her wandering eyes snap around to meet mine as I begin speaking.

"You're the one with the attitude problem." she mutters to me, the lingering feeling of fear hanging on her words as she speaks. 

Furiously, I pick her up in one swift movement, hauling her over my shoulder. She grunts in shock before she pounds hefty punches at my back. Her hips move on my shoulder as she lifts her arms and pounds her fists into my body, though she's using what I'd assume to be most of her strength, not one punch inflicts any pain on me.

++Angels pov++

As I'm escorted out of the bathroom a wave of panic washes over me, causing my tanned skin to run pale.

"Get the fuck off!" I insist, continuously hitting Toms hard body 

"You need to be punished." he grunts in a dull manner as I'm thrown uncaringly onto the soft, made up bed. He launches his large hand at me and wraps it around one of my wrists, as his other hand reaches into his nightstand, metal clanks and wrappers rustle as I squirm under his grip, however no matter how much of a fuss I kick up, the pressure he conflicts onto me doesn't soften. He removes his hand from the drawer, and along with his hand comes a lengthy rope. In a quick manner, he gains control over both of my wrists and begins tying them up.

"Fuck off!" I try to snatch my hands back, however the immense weight he leans onto my wrists keeps me restricted, along with my blood flow. He ties the rope around both of my wrists and ties them to one of the poles which frame his bed. Now with each movement I make, the nylon rope rubs horridly against my skin, leaving unfavourable scarlet marks on my arms.  In a matter of seconds he allows is body to climb ontop of mine, enclosing me beneath him with no visible escape. 

"You just love to make things difficult hm?" He hums in a complaint whisper 

"Tom. Get the fuck off." I continue pleading him, a tone of fake confidence slipping off my tongue with each word.

"You have disrespected me. I don't take disrespect lightly." he scolds, his mouth inches away from my ear

"I simply explained my feelings." I know standing my ground isn't the best idea considering the situation I'm in right now, but I just won't allow this man to break me.

"Just shut up. Unless you want your punishment to be more painful." his poison words drown me, engulfing all of my senses in toxicity, polluting my vision and my thought process; stopping each life saving idea in its tracks before fading into the dark cloud which is his words. I tremble beneath him, as I break out in a cold sweat his hands trace my uncontrollably shaking body, working their way down from my neck to my stomach where they stop.

"See, not that hard is it." he assures, being sure to keep his mouth just inches from my ear, allowing his warm breath to heat my neck up

"I swear to God Tom. Get off now." I speak, my voice varying tone. One of his hands removes itself from my stomach, I look down as far as I can to observe Tom, who's sneaking his hand into his trouser pocket where he pulls a shining object from behind him and points not directly at my temple, the cold metal freezes the side of my head sending shivers down my body, raising goosebumps which travel down my arms and spine, all the way down to my legs where they cause my legs to shiver.

The polished gun, which is now being pressed to my temple even harder, reflects the dim light from the bedside table lamp, the comforting colour of burnt sienna  brings back the colour to my skin, along with the warmth which comes back as my blood travels around my body.

"Put the gun down." I warn, staring Tom directly in the eyes. 

The funny thing is, the reassuring orange light doesn't reflect in his eyes. All that I can see are two orbs of total darkness. Two endless pits of nothing. I don't see the oak tree forest, or the fresh smelling mud, or the tiny patches of moss, or the owls and brown bears. It's just... nothing. No autumn leaves, or sun peeking through the trees. All I can see is an evil engulfing him. A cruel being using him as a puppet. I'd like to think he's being controlled by an all powerful puppet master, however both me and him know that's all untrue. This is him, being spiteful and inhuman just because he can. 

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he questions, returning the eye contact I gave him

"You disgust me." I spit, not knowing what may happen, but knowing something will happen.

He slowly removes the gun from my head and raises it above me, a nasty smirk covering his face. Without warning, he slams his hand down, gun and all, and strikes me with the solid object leaving me to grow unconscious

"I would've loved for you to be awake for this." those wicked words are the last I hear. And the uncanny smirk is the last thing I see.