Pain of Love - Tom Kaulitz

Losing Grip

A/N: hey lads long time to see. I didn't proof read this so pls mind potential typos xxx

*LILLIAN'S POV*

The icy slash of water against my tired face surprisingly doesn't wake me up like I thought it would. In fact, it's done the opposite. Only making me crave the warmth of my bed more than I did before.

It simply serves as a reminder of the day ahead of me. A reminder of the conversation that's due with Nick about what I found out about our parents last night. The discovery of their hidden past has proven challenging to absorb, realising they lived double lives, concealing their true identities and activities from us throughout our entire childhood.

Towel in my face, I groan dramatically, the sound muffled by the material as I wipe off any excess water from my skin. A couple moments pass by which solely consist of staring at my refection in the mirror and contemplating my life decisions.

Even after a needed night's sleep, Tom still manages to evade every corner of my mind. Like a lingering melody that refuses to fade, his presence echoes through the corridors of my thoughts and it's almost driving me to the point of insanity.

Why is he the first thing entering my head? I mean, he's not even that perfect. Not at all.

Truthfully, I hate him.

I hate his perfect smile, and the way my stomach flutters when my eyes bare witness to it. I hate the sound of his laugh, his face, and how he treats people. Most importantly, I hate how good his lips feel against mine.

I hope I never see him again.

With a sigh, I pick up my brush and draw it through my hair, watching the dark strands fall into place under it. But as I reach the back of my head and pull my hair away from my shoulders, my movements slow, then halt altogether, a shriek escaping my lips.

My hand freezes, the brush suspended in mid air as my eyes narrow in on the purple marks on the right side of my neck. Leaning over the sink, I brush my fingers gingerly over the sensitive area.

"Fuck me," I groan in frustration.

How could I have missed them?

Memories flash through my mind of me pinned on Tom's bed, his lips attached to my neck, sucking and nipping at the skin there. I won't even deny how good it felt, I just hadn't realised how long he had been doing it for. I certainly hadn't expected two large hickeys to form as a result.

My fingers continue brushing over the hickeys in hopes that they will disappear. But they remain, purple and crimson staining across my skin. In any other case, they would mean nothing at all to me. However this time, the sheer sight causes the tempo of my heart rate to increase substantially, crimson spreading across my cheeks like wildfire.

Angrily, I reach for my concealer, wanting nothing less than to deal with the dark marks on my skin today--or any day for that matter. I dab harder at my neck, desperately hoping I never see them again, let alone anyone else. I know it'd be pointless to even deny who gave them to me, and for a fact that I'd be on the first flight back to London if they were seen--the last place I'd want to be. The city simply bears a dreadful reminder of everything I've lost in the past year.

Though, the more I think about it, the pain has done nothing but follow me here, it seeming almost impossible to escape the clutches of my past.

With each layer of makeup, I can't help but feel irritated. I step back from the mirror and inspect myself, becoming aware of the faint colour of purple that the concealer failed to cover up sufficiently.

Why does it have to be so noticeable?

I purse my lips and pull my hair over my shoulders and neck, the urge to punch Tom Kaulitz in the face becoming more and more prominent the longer I stand here.