My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

Property

He launches at me, the candlestick falling from my hand, hitting the cold concrete floor with a thud. The crash replaying in my head, over, and over, and over again as Toms hands fly towards my face, the impact of his fists replicating the noise of the fallen candle, yet with a crack laying under the prominent thud sound. My heart thuds too, hard and painfully, as if my ribs have cracked and the broken bones are stabbing into my heart with each breath I take. Yet I stand still, feeling each punch, each jab to the stomach through the drowsy feeling of uncertainty.

Anger coats my unimaginable feelings of pain, the pure rage casting a storm in my head, which is hazy with the prominent feeling of betrayal. My clenched fists tremble with the intensity of the emotions coursing through me, and the air around me seems to crackle with the energy of my simmering anger. The somewhat familiar surroundings now feel foreign and hostile, mirroring the shattered trust that has left me in this state of emotional turmoil. The weight of the fear sits heavily on my chest, making it difficult to breathe, and the echoes of disbelief reverberate in the silent chambers of my thoughts.

As I navigate through the labyrinth of emotions, a part of me longs for understanding, for closure. Yet, another part of me revels in the seething anger, finding a strange solace in the storm it brings. The internal struggle between the desire for resolution and the intoxicating pull of resentment creates a tumultuous inner landscape. I feel the border of consciousness fade away, as I take one final blow to the head, and with that my vision blurs and before I go crashing to the floor I catch a glimpse of Tom; hands bloodied and grazed. Darkness.

++

"Wake up, I know you hear me so open your eyes." A voice pierces the void in my mind, awakening me from my unwanted slumber, the smell of tobacco, weed and alcohol stinging the hairs of my nose. Peeling my eyelids open, I meet the predatory gaze of Tom, who's mouth is occupied by a pipe, smoke pours from his nostrils and he puffs smoke onto my face, stinging my freshly opened eyes. He stares down at me, his gaze emotionless, yet not lacking a familiar hint of evil, his eyes skim my body, engulfing me, just as the smoke being blown in my face. I open my mouth, my lips chapped and scabbed, the tase of blood prominent on my tastebuds.

"Did your parents not teach you any manners?" He breaks the uncanny silence, his voice hindering my sanity with each word he speaks, "What made you think disobeying me was a good idea?" He asks, yet not expecting an answer, I blink through the blear clouding my eyes. "You need punishment, an actual punishment." I shudder at the words pooling into my head, realising that all I've done is dug my own grave, why did I ever think I could get away?

I'm pulled to my feet, being dragged through a room I'm unfamiliar with, to a hallway I have not yet seen. We pass room after room until we meet Tom's destination, the space I'm taken to is half empty, the lights beaming down on a table sat at the centre of the room, a wooden box sat atop, two rustic chairs are placed uncaringly next to it. Im sat on one of these chairs, the oak wood creaking beneath me, Tom bends down, latching hidden restraints around my ankles, then around my elbows and wrists. Tom sits on the other chair opening the box as he does so. Metal clanks as he fiddles around with the contents, the lid blocking my view. He takes a steel pole, the end of it a symbol, he walks to the far side of the room, lighting a fire and placing the end of the pole directly into the flames, I sit in my seat, curious to find out what he's doing, yet I know that if I question him, whatever sick punishment he has set for me will worsen, so I wait as this thing he's put into the fire heats up. He walks away from the fire, leaving the pole in it, he takes another item from the box, a thick leather glove. As he slips it onto his hands I catch sight of the large scabs marking his knuckles, and it'd be hard not to notice them as they are a huge eye-sore.

He waltzes back over to the fire, lifting the now burning hot pole from the flames entwining in an intricate dance, the symbol at the bottom of the pole glowing a deep orange. He stands in front of me, still puffing his pipe as he rolls the front of Gustav's shirt up, revealing the lingerie I have on. He skims his tongue over his teeth, "You know, you are one of my favourites. So much so, that I want to make you mine, forever." I frown, yet as soon as his lips close around his pipe, the burning hot metal is pressed directly onto my bare chest, sizzling and smoking, emitting the putrid smell of death. I scream, so loud that it reverberates around the room and back into my cranium where I scream once again. The scorching sensation sends me into mania. Tears stream from my eyes, dribbling down my chin and dropping onto my chest, I count the seconds in my head, eight, nine, ten. "Stop! God please stop!" I scream louder, the horrifying sounds scratching my throat like sandpaper.

After just under a minute of withstanding this pain, Tom removes the metal from my skin. The muscles in my arms tense up as I go to comfort the scorching on my skin, yet the restraints serve as a reminder that there is no comfort, there is no escape. I sob, the warm, salty tears dripping onto the open burn on my chest. I look down to try and make out what he has just marked on my skin, yet all it looks like is a T with an extra line crossing it. Tom places two fingers under my chin, lifting my head up to meet his gaze, "Why?" I sob, my voice trembling as I splutter out the word I've been wondering since I met him, "My Angel, don't you see? I had to." He places kisses along my busted forehead, "You were such a brave girl for me." He whispers against my marked skin, running a finger along the fresh burn on my chest, causing a yelp to escape my throat.