My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

$1050

Tom slides his fingers along my jaw, tilting my head up to meet his sinister gaze, his lips glossed with saliva and his eyes reflecting the crackling fire behind me. My heart pounds in my chest, partly because he just 'marked' me his property, and partly because this man is so gorgeous. I don't think I've ever taken the time to really observe his features, the way his eyes are just the right size, his lips are always rosy and his skin is always a perfect tan. I hate how beautiful he is, he would be so loveable if he wasn't himself. I loose myself in the autumnal scene swirling in his perfect auburn eyes, they swallow me whole, stopping each rushing thought from passing through my mind. They halt my breathing, the way they twinkle under the light and the way I can see each emotion he's feeling from just a glance at them. I despise how much I am attracted to this man, I hate him, I hate his fucking guts. I would fillet him like a fish if I had the chance yet I just can't help but feel something when I meet his fiery stare. 

Tom moves his face away from mine, pausing my thoughts, and in some ways I'm thankful he did, because the longer I ponder over his beauty, the more I feel that I could like him. But I know that's not possible, I know I could never like this man, I could never see him as someone he isn't. I'll always remember the things he's doing to me, the emotional and physical torture he's putting me through. 

He walks over to a dresser at the far end of the room, scavenging through the drawers and pulling out numerous items, he comes back, lifting a brush to the top of my cranium. He drags the prongs of the comb through my matted hair, yanking my head to either side when the brush gets stuck. He bites his lip as he rips many knots and clumps of hair from my head, and I am more than relieved when he places the brush down onto the floor. He lifts a skimpy looking black dress up, holding it by its spaghetti straps as he presents it to me, "Put this on." I take the dress from his hands, hesitantly sliding Gustav's shirt over my head, replacing it with the dress. It hugs my body, like a second skin, I pull the hem down, squirming uncomfortably as I try to force the tight material over my ass, yet no matter how many times I try to comfortably cover myself, the stupid flimsy material slips back up, revealing me almost completely.

"You look perfect, my Angel." I shudder at Tom's words, slightly uncomfortable as his eyes skim over my body, halting at my chest and thighs. He towers over me as he rises from his crouch, lifting me with him by the elbow. He opens the door, leaving the fire crackling, and we begin walking down a hallway completely foreign to me. As we advance, I catch the low murmur of people talking behind the numerous closed doors, some sounding feminine, yet the majority sound male. 

We stop at the very end of the corridor, Tom turns to me, slightly bending down to reach my eye level, "Angel, I need you to behave yourself in here. D'you understand?" He furrows his eyebrows as he speaks, awaiting my response, yet I simply nod, my throat too sore from the screaming and yelling. He pulls a strand of my hair, twirling it between his fingers before leading me into the room. Two leather sofas are sat in the middle, in front of a large fireplace, yet somehow the room still feels cold. Numerous men are perched on the sofas, dressed in collared dress shirts and fancy looking shoes, they perk up as the sound of the door clicking closed awakens them from their daze. "Hello gentlemen." Tom shakes their hands, leaving me stood awkwardly by the door. "This," Tom pauses, gesturing me over, "Is Angel." I stand beside him, the hungry eyes of the men eating me whole as I'm presented to them like a plate of food. "I like that one." One of them speaks, I hold back the urge to heave as his scrappy voice etches the walls of my skull.

 "I'll put two hundred on her!" A man yells, raising his glass up and slamming his free hand onto his thigh, "I'll do four hundred!" Another shouts, and soon enough, all of the men break out into unintelligible hollers, shouting multiple different numbers before Tom yells out, "And Mr. Benjamin takes her with: one thousand and fifty dollars!" I continue fiddling with the hem of my dress, too confused to take any actual notice to what they're shouting about. Yet as my eyes become glued to  a certain ugly old man, one of the others stands up and takes me by the wrist, squeezing the now faded grazes on my wrists, which I'm sure I can still feel the rope rubbing against them. 

Back to the hallway, the door clicking shut as I leave Tom. The mans fingernails digging into my wrist just slightly; yet not hard enough to break the skin. His heavy dress shoes pounding against the floor as his weight shifts from one side to the other as he walks, almost waddling like a penguin. His hand occasionally hitting my side, throwing me off balance. And back into another room I have not yet met. 

The florescent lights hung from the looming ceiling, twinkle on as the light switch snaps as its flipped. Similarly, his joints snap; as he cracks his knuckles, popping one after another in a somewhat orderly fashion. His footsteps snap also, snapping through the fog in my head, slicing through the thin line between sanity and insanity, breaking the barriers boarding my safety. 

A new world, a world of unknowing, of fear. A world where an incorrect step or word may shatter the very ground beneath me, or the wrong tone of voice may suck all the oxygen from the air around me. So as this man approaches me, closer and closer until our bellies touch, I clutch the imaginary walls of the atmosphere around me in this 'new world', pleading to myself that whatever happens, whatever I must endure I won't succumb to the darkness engulfing my soul. 

"You are very pretty, Angel." As he speaks his breath hits my forehead beaded with sweat, and the sickly aroma of his breath swarms my nostrils, "Very, very pretty."