BROTHERS

Chapter 15

THE NEXT DAY

-TOM'S POV-

Sitting in my dark corner, rocking myself.
Trying to wake this dormant heart of mine.
Memories of the pain begin to play. Pain so vivid, so deep, so real. Tearing me from the inside out...My young heart remembers them. Torturing me when the anger was too much for them to control. My heart is so used, so manipulated.

My eyes are filled with rage, the fire turning crimson of anger, My hands turning to fists, ready to attack. My blood pumping through my veins, circulating for answers. The clock ticking in my head. Turning me into a monster.
With no emotion, no soul, no heart. I am constantly Running, Running, gasping for air, looking for a cure. Surrounded by the hell he put me in.

Screams, yells, and cries echo in my mind. Why won't they leave me alone? Over time, my eyes start to see the truth behind it all. The mystery within us, starting to unwind into the truth. this new life of mine eating away what's left of him, of me. I'm so tired of this hell...So frustrated by the fury that burns in this heart, seeing these men smiling at their work. "We worked so hard to shape you into men" To hell with all of it.

Are they happy now? Applauding at the cruel monster they created. Shoving the shit in our faces. They choked my dear life out of me, seeing the light coming out of my eyes as they broke my heart in two. Tears come down like a waterfall when I think of it. The pain was so strong, breaking me into a million pieces.

I am a tortured soul. I walk this earth alone with three others, crying out to be saved. My heart has turned to stone. My soul now aimlessly roams
Searching for the light in my darkness. All I do is find that no one's home. I put my pen to paper, capturing all the eternal heartache, that life me has thrown.

It brought me sadness...Which for I alone atone. For the words I capture, when I get lost in the torment. Writing from feelings I will never truly disown. Giving it life, No one will ever condone...As my pen bleeds Inscribing the heartache of a tormented soul to these pages. My heart begins to release rage. My caged demons scream for me to release them from their cages. My inked pen...now becoming my soul Savior.

With these writings, I have created music. We have created music. A desolate, dark, and melancholy world that only we will truly understand. I wasn't naive about the trip to Germany. I had always known this day would come. The day when I am being handed a responsibility I never asked for. But what can I do? There's no saving me. There's no saving this. I may look like a human from the outside, but I am not. I am a monster. I'm built for all of the abuse.

With only my look, I had already caused an overwhelming amount of panic as I saw my victim's eyes widen with terror, their body language quickly reacting to my gaze. I am responsible for the majority of the deaths in this city. They have felt my wrath, and it'll only get worse. In movies, and books you'll typically hear the story of the guy who had never been killed in his life, and the moment he did, it took an emotional toll on him, bringing him into a realm of darkness.

Why didn't I experience that? Why did I like making other people suffer? Why did it pleasure me to hear my victims scream as I slaughtered them in cold blood, their blood staining my hands? It wasn't just me. My brother was enthralled with the way individuals behaved in their last moments, and Gustav and Georg frequently took great pleasure in savagely beating others to death. groveling for a slightly longer time in life?

How self-centered. You spend your entire life committing crimes and living a miserable existence, just to plead for another chance at life when society judges you deserve punishment. Life isn't always ideal. The difference between people like that and I was that they created that fate for themselves, but me? No, I was forced into this fate. I died a long time ago. 

Since we were originally seized, a lot has changed. I'm not a man of many words; it's a flaw that I don't and will never communicate how I think or feel. And I'm not going to ever let myself become weak. Germany has only one more task to complete. It is not unique in any way. It can't make up for all the suffering I've endured. All of the suffering we've experienced.

"Tom, are you okay?" Bill asked, walked over to ask me. I had been unable to restrain myself on numerous occasions. There were other occasions in which the horrible pictures of my torment that I had hidden would resurface. This caused me pain. This fear. I can feel the intense fear coursing through me. It wasn't just any type of fear. It was the fear of being alone, alone with my thoughts.

Bill often found me in one of my worst phases and ever since, he always made sure to check up on me. When I was at my lowest, Bill would frequently find me, and ever since, he has always made an effort to see how I was doing. This was the exact moment when I was having another attack. "Tom, please settle down," he murmured as he raised a glass of water to my mouth.

"I'm here," he replied, putting his arms around me and holding fast. He whispered, "You're not alone anymore." "Y-yeah," I replied as I gave him another embrace. He moved away from me and smiled down at me, saying, "We're leaving soon, try to gather your last few belongings and meet us outside." As he stood up, he extended his arm to assist me. I smiled at him and said, "I'll be out soon, let me just get a sweater."

He answered, "Sure, I'll wait outside," and walked out of the room. For four years, we survived on the same routine every day. At four in the morning, get up, eat some appalling meal, train for three hours, eat again, train for two more hours, take a shower, and then head to "class." Although we did live like animals, we were not brought up as such. Merlin had determined that we would require a good education if we were to succeed in this life. But these were no ordinary classes.

Sure, we had the best teachers in America come in and teach us the same things a typical person would learn; but we also took a lot of business classes, did 'hands-on' experiments with said business class, and were taught the world of the mafia, cartel, Gang and Clan. Every day it was a pop quiz on familiarity with the clans in this country and their lineage.

For that reason, when this Knight man was brought up, it surprised me. Were they purposefully keeping it from us? Or did they simply lack sufficient knowledge about him? More importantly, it makes sense. Nobody knew what the man looked like after all. Either way, Bill had a point. Jörg deserved nothing less than death. Whether he's my father or not, I was taught to not care for others sentimentally, so why would this be an exception? My only exception would be Bill and the guys.

I'd rather be a dead man than an alive one with nobody but memories.