My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

Idiotic tendencies

My heart stops, the figures close in on me, ensuring that I will not get out. The dim light casts eerie shadows, revealing their twisted faces and malicious grins. I can feel the cold sweat forming on my forehead as I search desperately for an escape route. Panic courses through my veins like a venomous poison, and the air becomes thick with tension. The empty silence is broken only by the ominous whispers of the approaching figures, their words a sinister melody that sends shivers down my spine. With each step they take, the room seems to constrict around me, trapping me in a suffocating nightmare. I clench my fists, my mind racing for a solution, but the walls seem to close in further, closing off any glimmer of hope. Time stands still, and the impending doom hangs heavily in the air, making every heartbeat resonate with the undeniable truth – escape is an illusion, and I am at the mercy of the encroaching darkness.

I glance to my left, Gustav turns his back to me, showing no mercy for me as I am slowly devoured by the shadows closing in on me. "Well, fancy seeing you here." Toms voice echoes through my empty head, the poison hanging from his words coating my lungs, restricting my breathing. My eyes go dry, I want to cry, scream bloody murder and beg for my life, yet no matter how much I strain I cannot squeeze a singular note from my body, and the tears I so desperately want to feel run down my face refuse to pour from my glass eyes. "Don't tell me you actually thought one of my men would help you escape me?!" He chuckles, still closing in on my shaking body. In this moment, it's as though I can see myself from above, I watch myself quiver on the torn up sofa as I'm engulfed by the sinister shadows of my hellish fate. 

Tom latches his cold hands around my throat, pushing me further into the sofa as his breath speeds up, "You idiot, you actual idiot." He tuts, the grasp on my neck strengthening as each second ticks by. My eyes go hazy, the little light in the far corner of the room fading into darkness as the life is being squeezed from me. In a desperate attempt to free myself from Tom's vice-like grip, my hands flail wildly, searching for anything that could serve as a lifeline. The room echoes with muffled gasps and the erratic beating of my heart, each pulse sounding like a distant drum signalling my impending demise. Panic courses through my veins, and my vision blurs as oxygen becomes an elusive luxury.

As the edges of consciousness begin to blur, my mind races through a tumult of memories—moments of laughter, shared secrets, and the warmth of my life before Tom. How did I reach this point? The once-familiar features of Tom's face contort with rage, a stark contrast to the man I thought I knew. In a last-ditch effort to survive, my weakening fingers find an object nearby—a photo frame knocked askew during the struggle. With a surge of adrenaline, I swing it at Tom's head, the glass shattering upon impact. A sharp cry escapes him as he recoils, momentarily loosening his grip on my throat. Gasping for air, I seize the opportunity to scramble away, coughing and wheezing, desperate to put distance between us.

The room, now a battleground of shattered memories, bears witness to the fracture of my once-unbreakable spirit. As I stumble to my feet, my mind races with a mix of fear and confusion. Tom, nursing his wounded head, glares at me with a venomous intensity that chills me to the core. Gustav and Georg share the same look of anger and worry as they take quick glances between Tom and I. Georg begins walking forward, his steaming rage almost so strong that you could see the smoke eroding from his body, yet Tom raises a hand, "Don't worry, Ive got her." The words exchanged in the heat of the moment hang heavy in the air, leaving a lingering sense of betrayal.

I quiver as I back into a far corner of the room, my hands exploring the somewhat empty space in a frantic attempt to find a 'weapon'. Tom wipes the blood off of his forehead, looking at his hand as he balls it into a fist and comes marching up to me, his whole body boiling with an uncontrollable bubbling rage. Desperation fuels my search, and my trembling hands finally grasp a heavy, discarded candlestick. It may not be much, but it feels substantial in my grip. As Tom advances, the room seems to shrink, the air thickening with tension. His eyes, once familiar and warm, now burn with a fiery intensity that sends shivers down my spine.

Time hangs suspended as we face each other, the space between us crackling with unresolved anger. The shattered remnants of our 'relationship' lies scattered around us, a poignant reminder of what once was. With a determined resolve, I lift the candlestick, a makeshift weapon, ready to defend myself if necessary. Tom stops a few feet away, his chest heaving with every breath. The silence is deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of our struggles and the hushed chatter of Georg and Gustav, echoing in the empty room. His gaze narrows, and for a moment, a flicker of recognition seems to cross his face—a brief pause in the storm of emotions raging within him.

"Tom, please. Please don't hurt me" I mutter to him. He chuckles under his breath, continuing his advance towards me each footstep shaking me to my very core. I clutch the candle stick, my fingernails digging into the hardened wax as it clumps up under my nails, my only sense of security lying within this object. Maybe I am like this candle in a way, an object, a thing that holds no genuine purpose, something so meaningless that anyone could beat me down and not feel a singular drop of remorse. An item, a trinket or a rusted trophy, something that once had a purpose, that once had a relevance. "You have five seconds to drop that." Tom threatens his voice polluted with a putrid poison, "Five... Four... Three... Two... One."