My Addiction - Tom kaulitz

handle

As he advances toward me, a surge of apprehension courses through my veins. Involuntary, I instinctively retreat, creating a widening gap between us. My mind becomes a battlefield, flooded with a swarm of options similar to navigating a video game. The stakes are high, and the choices before me are crucial, each carrying the potential to alter the course of this impending altercation.

In this critical moment, it's as if time itself has slowed, allowing me to survey the stretch of possibilities. Much like a player in a game, I feel that the correct decision could be my ticket to emerging from this encounter unscathed. However, an ominous realisation lingers – regardless of the path I choose within the next few minutes, the shadow of an unchanging fate looms over me. His proximity presses me to consider my options carefully, like chess moves on a board where each decision holds consequences. Retreat seems a temporary reprieve, a manoeuvre to buy time, yet the impending clash remains inevitable. Perhaps a verbal parry or a strategic shift in posture could alter the dynamics, but the weight of the impending confrontation hangs heavily in the air. The options swirl around me, and I grapple with the realisation that my destiny teeters on the precipice, tethered to the choices I make in the next fleeting moments.

My back collides with the unforgiving embrace of the cold brick wall, sending a shiver through my spine. A stifling sensation grips my chest, as if my lungs have forsaken their duty. Time appears to stretch, each moment elongated and heavy, as if the very air resents movement. In the eerie stillness, the faint ticking of an unseen clock resonates in the recesses of my mind, a metronome that cruelly aligns itself with the approaching footsteps. The rhythmic cadence mirrors the advancing threat, amplifying the sense of dread that tightens its grip on my senses. The amalgamation of physical and psychological confinement tightens its grip, leaving me acutely aware that I am at the mercy of a looming confrontation. "Stay still." His gravelly voice rattles in my head as I process his words, "I said stay fucking still, God." He groans, his anger rising as he launches himself at me, tackling me to the hard, concrete floor. 

"Listen, Angel, you either comply, or you get punished. Understood?" His voice rattles in the air, I can't just let something happen, can I? I stay silent, my body tensing up under his mass, its almost as though his multiple chins are suffocating me down here. I clench my jaw, staring him in his beady eyes, my face slightly reflecting in his rat-like pupils. He frees my arms from beneath him and with the last ounce of hope left, I send my fist into the side of his head. He clasps his temple, giving me the time to run a drawer in the far corner of the room. I tug and twist at the handle, yanking at the cold metal knob in a desperate frenzy. The man makes his way over to me, his feet pounding into the floor, panic drowns me as I take one last tug of the handle releasing it from the drawer. 

While gripping the 'weapon' tightly, I feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins as the man relentlessly advances, his fury intensifying the atmosphere. In one swift movement, I launch myself at him, a surge of primal instincts guiding me. My shoulder locks into position, a moment of grim determination etched on my face.With the handle raised high above my head, I channel every ounce of strength into the impending strike. The room is charged with tension as I bring down the blunt metal with vicious force, targeting his eye. A sickening squelch echoes through the air as the weapon makes contact, plunging into his eye socket. The man's agonised screams reverberate, filling the room with a symphony of pain.My twisting motion intensifies the brutality, each rotation lodging the metal deeper into his eye, unleashing a grotesque display of violence. I savor the visceral sounds and sensations, a perverse satisfaction growing within me as the man's howls reach a crescendo. The room becomes a surreal arena of madness, my actions pushing the boundaries of sanity as I revel in the macabre dance of dominance.

Immersed in the grotesque spectacle, I relish the sheer brutality of the moment, savouring the undomesticated massacre that's unfolding. With a squelch, I uncaringly yank the blunt metal from the abyss of his eye, basking in the gruesome fusion of blood and tears that cascades in its wake. Each droplet feels like a perverse baptism, staining my tear-streaked face with a sickly veneer. But the madness within me refuses to be satiated. Like a relentless storm, I slam the now bloodied metal into his forehead, a heartless percussion that echoes the rhythm of my distorted mind. Over and over and over again, I indulge in the desirable action of destruction, a deluge of lukewarm liquid oozing from his ravaged form, splattering onto my already stained face. The air resonates with the sickening sounds of impact, a symphony of agony and insanity interwoven. I lose myself in this demented ballet, an unhinged conductor orchestrating a symphony of chaos. Each strike is a brushstroke on the canvas of my unraveling sanity, leaving an indelible mark on the twisted masterpiece I am creating.