My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

A Trip Down Memory Lane

We lay in silence, our heavy breathing being the only audible noise. I don't understand how I suddenly let myself enjoy that, I can't even make an excuse up to ease my mind, I enjoy the way he made me feel, I enjoyed the way he held me without force, but I don't enjoy him. He is just so twisted, so backwards, I don't understand, I don't think I ever will. I liked the way his tone lowered and his frown disappeared, I liked the feeling of him holding my waist in a reassuring way, yet I don't like how quickly the sinister look re-entered his eyes, and I don't like the way he furrowed his brows at me after he had finished.

++Toms pov+

Oh Angel, how foolish she is. Poor thing, I hope her heart yearns in anguish at the thought of what she's done. How can she let herself be so vulnerable, she didn't kick up a fight, not once. She didn't claw at my arms or kick me in the shins, she just lied there and took me without one word of distraught. I used her like a doll and I fucked her senseless, so senseless that she allowed herself to moan out my name in her moment of pleasure. She just laid there with her legs open just how I like it, just like my own little play thing, a worthless toy to fuck when I'm bored. And I bet-

"lavender blue, dilly, dilly

lavender green

when I am queen, dilly, dilly

you shall be king

who told you so, dilly, dilly

who told you so

twas my own heart, dilly, dilly

that told me so"

Each and every thought drifts away, the only thing left being those lyrics. They swarm my mind like an angry colony of bees; just buzzing around, the sound of each word echoing in my head. I want to fight it, push them out and shut down, but the way she sung that song, it just reminds me too much of- never mind. I turn to face Angel who is gazing at me with glossy eyes, I raise my hand above my head and stare down at her, but I cannot bring myself to hit her. No matter how much I want to, a part of me is holding me back, screaming at me to stop. And even through my rush of frustration, those lyrics still run through my head, coaxing the rage in me to simmer down and give up. So, I slowly lower my arm and sit up with tears welling in the corners of my eyes, I open my mouth, yet I cannot speak, as if there is a barrier on my voice box insisting on me to quiet down for just a minute, so I do just that.

I keep my eyes fixed on Angel and let my mind travel to a different place, where its warm and quiet. She reaches a hand around my shoulders and lays my head on her lap as she cups my cheek with a homely hand. I want to resist, wrap a firm hand around her throat and beat her for treating me like a child, however my body won't allow itself to move. I look up at her, our eyes meet and a soft smile spreads across her face as she opens her mouth again. She sings again, slightly louder this time, yet still quiet like a lullaby. Her curly blond hair becomes long, straight and brown, and her skin wrinkles slightly, the room around me changes and the lights around me are warm, the bed beneath me is soft and covered in blankets. Her voice becomes an octave lower and an accent coats the words she sings. A German accent.

I feel Angels warm, soft hand become cracked and frail as the song continues, a childish laughter ignites in my brain as washed out memories play in my head like a broken tape, and forgotten faces appear as if I never forgot them. Hushed echoes of giggles and children playing, the smell of freshly cooked Kartoffelpuffer, the feeling of wet grass on bare feet, and the visions of staring up at the tapestries on the ceiling while my mother sung this song to me crowd my thoughts. My expression goes blank, however the child in me is sat by the window looking out, beaming as my mother finally walks back through the gates to our home. I want to make that child happy, yet as I think of the day my father sat me and Bill down at the dinner table, and told us of our mothers sudden departure, the gates are still closed and I am still sat by the window waiting for her to return. Suddenly, the sounds of laughter and the smell of mothers cooking, becomes the dreaded bellowing of my father in my ear and the smell of dried blood on his hands. I don't want to remember that. I wanted to forget about all of it. My mother included. I made myself forget, I don't want to remember.

"Get off." I demand, lowering my tone so low that it sounds like the deep growl of an angry dog. Angel startles back and looks at me with confusion spread across her face. The motherly hand cupping my face slowly removes itself and the coldness of my skin returns once again. I sit up and jump to my feet, staring down on her once again, the wrinkles on her face and the smile lines around her mouth fade as her straight brown hair curls and her dark brunette hair becomes dirty blonde again. She furrows her brows in uncertainty and backs away from me until her body meets the edge of the bed, "You, you're a-" I hesitate, as if to tell the little Tom inside of me to cover his ears "You whore." I chuck my clothes back on, not hesitating for one minute, and exit the room in a manic fit.