Everywhere, Everything ◆ Thomas ◆ TMR

021 - I'll Always Come Back To You

Wine was bitter. The first full glass always made her mouth twist sourly as it went down her throat, but it left her head spinning like she was being cradled in the gentle arms of a farther, and it made her laugh like she was five years old again, when the world was still good. It made Thomas laugh too.

His face was blurry, the whole picture in front of her hazy like she was walking through fog. But she could tell. She knew, could feel it deep down in her stomach, that the boy that was with her was him. He was warm beside her, burning like a furnace against the cold, white walls. The air around them smelled too clean, like breathing in a handful of sanitizer. But Thomas smelled human. He smelled real and comforting and like red wine.

His face was sad. She didn't want it to be, so she nudged him with a drunken giggle. "C'mon Tom," she sighed. "It'll be okay. We'll figure it out."

He shook his head solemnly. "You say that every time."

Did she say that every time?

Yes. Maybe she did.

"I don't know what else to do."

"Tell me the truth," he said snapping slightly. It cut her deeply. Their eyes met, and the color of his was the first thing that really stood clear to her, piercing like the stars at night.

"Nick will die." It hung in the air between them, heavy and draining the life out of every bone in their bodies.

"I can't keep doing this," he admitted, putting his head in his hands. He chuckled humorlessly around a sob. "They keep saying that Wicked is good. But I'm-" he stopped himself before he could continue, before he would say something he'd regret. "I'm so tired."

She made a decision right then. She didn't know what the decision was, but she could feel the fire of determination burning through her. She knew she could change things.

She knew that she was the one who had the best and maybe even only chance, to stand against Wicked and survive it.

The scene changed slowly, like she was in a dream.

A fog snuck up behind her until she was enveloped and when she opened her eyes again, not sure when she'd even closed them, there was blood everywhere. The smell of it invaded her senses as if she was diving headfirst into a sea of old coins. It was on her hands, in her mouth, in the hair that fell over her eyes. She heaved a dry sob, calling for her mom, but her voice was sounded younger than it was supposed to.

Her hands were small as she looked at them, but they were her hands. Strikingly pale, a mole staring at her from the space between her thump and pointer finger. It was her hand.

"Daddy?" She asked, disconnected from her own actions. She cried loudly, wailing like a child. She crawled through a pool of dark red. It looked unnatural, almost black, as if it was old, but it was warm against her bare knees. The floor hurt her bones. "Daddy, I'm sorry."

His eyes were hollow. They carried no soul. She knew what that meant. He was gone and he wasn't coming back. There was no coming back from that, and his blood was literally on her hands. Her skin burned fiercely, making her scream, her calf ached, but she didn't remember hurting it.

It felt like there was a hand on her forehead, something cold and wet brushing against her cheeks, but no one was around her. Something flashed before her, the oddly disorienting vision of someone she knew. Gentle eyes, brown and calm, with specs of green like the pictures of the forest on her bedroom wall.

"Tom?" She asked, and then he faded again, leaving only the vision of the dead man in front of her. Black blood drippled from his open mouth and against his rotten teeth.