My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

Rotting

I throw my empty can to the shiny linoleum floor, the crash echoes through the long hallway covering up the muffled conversation of doctors in room 213. As I cautiously enter the sterile hospital room, the air grows thick with tension and the hum of life-saving machines. The harsh florescent lights cast an eerie glow on the scene unfolding before me. Doctors in scrubs move with a sense of urgency, their expressions focused and determined. Monitors beep rhythmically, measuring the fragile thread between life and whatever lay beyond. Bill lies motionless on the bed, surrounded by a maze of tubes and wires. The room seems to echo with the urgency of the medical team's efforts, a symphony of beeps and hushed voices. Time hangs suspended as I stand at the door. Every beep, every whispered exchange among the medical professionals, heightens the gravity of the moment, and the room becomes a sacred space where hope and despair intertwines in an intricate dance. I lean against the oak doorframe, smiling to myself with a sickening sense of achievement, the panicked scene before me caused by myself. Bills body jerks as the doctors jam tubes into his unconscious body, yet he doesn't wake. I walk forward snapping the doctors attention to me, each of their faces plastered with the same worried frown

"Oh my God! What happened?" I run to Bills side and slap my hand to my mouth as I force tears out of my eyes

"He ripped his intubation tube out." They turn away from me as they fiddle with the machines

"You need to leave while we sort this out, he will be okay I promise." A nurse holds the door open and clicks it shut behinds me, pulling the curtain around his bed shut.

Sitting in the waiting room is a realm of suspended time, where a diverse array of emotions linger in the air. Rows of uncomfortable chairs line the room, occupied by individuals whose faces wear expressions ranging from anxiety to quiet resignation. The distant sound of echoing footsteps and the occasional ringing of a reception bell punctuates the otherwise subdued ambiance. A hushed television in the corner plays a news program, its volume competing with the low hum of the air conditioning. In this space of shared vulnerability, strangers become temporary companions, connected by a common thread of waiting and hoping for the news that would alter the course of their collective destinies. The almost empty room slowly fills with patients and nurses, all sharing a look of unimaginable horror. Not me though, I sit with a smile spread across my face as I hum a hushed tune to myself, occasionally peeking around the corner to see the medical team leaving and entering Bills room in an unpredictable fight between life and death.

I can't help but fantasise about his body slowly decaying, rotting. Flies fighting to land on the flesh falling off his stiff corpse, as rats eat away at the floorboards desperately trying to get to the stench of his decomposing body. I shiver at the thought of maggots climbing through his sealed lips, worming their way down his throat as they lay their larvae in his corroding organs.

A voice comes through on the speaker above the waiting room, the speaker crackles into life as the distorted voice of a woman in reception begins to break through the static. "Would Tom Kaulitz please make their way to the second floor please." My heart sinks like a stone as I wait in erratic fear. People waiting on the chairs around me break into frantic whispers as the speaker crackles into silence, gradually fading into the delicate symphony of machinery and flickering lights. Many moments pass as I wait for the familiar sound of jeans rubbing and knuckles cracking.

The metal of the elevator scrapes together in an utterly sickenning manner, as the doors slide open. The chatter filling the empty atmosphere comes to a sudden halt as steady footsteps echo through the halls. Tom walks to my side, his eyes dulled with heavy dark bags hanging from them. He slumps into the chair beside me and places a hand on my shaking thigh

"What happened to Bill?" He turns his head to me and stares me dead in the eyes

"The doctor said he pulled some tube out, I tried to find out but they wouldn't let me stay." I lower my head and let out a sigh

"How did you know that something happened?" He asks. My stomach squirms with butterflies as I take a brief moment to think

"After I woke up I decided to go in and check on him, and that's when I heard the doctors." I force my eyes to water and my nostrils flare up as I create a fake act of sympathy "It looked horrible, there was blood and-" I stifle out a sob and Tom lifts my head up by my chin as he frowns in worry.

"I spoke to the nurse, he was supposed to be discharged today. Now we have to wait till Sunday." He huffs and throws my face away by my chin, I clench my teeth in anger, if only he knew if I had the power to end his life, I have the will, I am building my strength. He has no idea I could've upped the amount of bleach in his dear brothers drink, and poor old Bill would be dead in a cemetery right now, and I don't doubt we'd be on the way to his funeral as we speak. He'd have no fucking clue that he'd be next, that his next meal could start the downfall of his life, that a sip of that dumbass fine wine could be laced with anything I desire, he has no idea that as each minute ticks by, my plans grow more elaborate, they spiral into sickening scenes that not even he would ever wish to see let alone experience. He would be blind to see that as I prepare his next glass of scotch, it could be his last, that he'd wake up in the basement as I dress in his rotting mothers clothes, humming that lullaby as I run a knife along his chest.

I wipe the smile forming on my face as he stands up, dragging me with him by the wrist.

"We're going home. Im not staying in this hospital for the next six days."