Leather face / Thomas Hewitt x Reader |More than friends|

Part 15 |Stitch Up|

"Fucking asshole," I muttered quietly both as an insult to him, and just letting myself speak my mind. I knew Tommy was laughing. No audible sound was coming out, but I could feel it in the way his chest was moving.

As Tommy continued on, slowly walking to the house, Vilmer walked back inside, seeming bored out of his mind. 'Sorry my pain is horrible for you now' I thought angrily. To think these two used to be my best friends in the whole world.

   Going into the house both Tex and Vilmer were staying in the hallway. Tex seemed uninterested and quite frankly annoyed with Vilmers antics. Vilmer on the other hand had opened the door under the stairs and was leaning against it, his face as smug as usual. "After you," he bowed his head as if he were being chivalrous and holding a door for someone at the store. I felt Thomas get more protective as we neared Vilmer. He caressed my head, holding it to his chest, and held moved so my foot was as far away from him as possible. When Vilmer jerked towards him, in a fake attempt to hurt me, Thomas yelled. I hadn't heard him yell like this since we were little. It was terrifying and almost inhuman, but I knew he just wanted to keep me safe from his older brother.

     I started to freak out a bit as Thomas descended down the stairs. Vilmer was practically cackling as he slammed the door shut behind us. Something about that door shutting made everything so much more real. Since stabbing the shit out of my boyfriend, everything has basically felt like a fever dream. But now it was starting to feel like reality again.

    My heart sank as we reached the bottom of the steps. There was a table completely cover in both dry and fresh blood. There were meat hooks strung up by it, and a multitude of weapons all around the room. In the back corner of the room, somewhat behind the stairs was a little area sunken in to the wall. It looked like the kind of place a bunch of boxes would be stacked, or maybe a shelf or cabinet would be placed. But instead the was an old blue and black blanket on the ground, and a few pillows of varying sizes and and colours. With little are was where Tommy was headed. 'Was this supposed to be some kind of bed? Some kind of place for me to stay? How long will I have to stay here before I die?' I had so many questions, and no way to get any answers without threatening my chance of survival.

    He placed me down on the old blanket. In all fairness it was a very soft blanket, and it felt very familiar to me.

    Tommy walked away for a moment, over to an old grey cabinet on the other side of the room. While he searched through it, I looked around the basement from my spot on the floor. I really looked. Taking in all the kinds of tools, weapons, and ways of escaping. Unfortunately it seemed the stairs were the only way out. But I had to find something that could help me do so.

    Tommy came back over to me with a bunch of different things; rubbing alcohol, bottled water, clean cloth, gauze wrap, and a sewing kit. I guess when killing people is a hobby, you probably get hurt a lot and need to know how to patch yourself up.

   He carefully untapped the makeshift patch up job from a few minutes ago. I flinched, pulling my leg away the second the wrap was off. I don't think I could handle the amount of pain that I was about to feel. But it had to be done, so I loved my leg back. He held it so gently, like holding a delicate butterfly. He turned my leg a couple time, assessing the damage. He made eye contact with me for a split second before dowsing my wound with the rubbing alcohol. A shrieked and tried to rip my leg away from him, it wasn't purposeful, it was just instinct. But my leg barley moved away from him before he held it tightly. It was a hurtful grip but it was necessary. I continued to cry, tears rolling down my face at lightning speed, as he dabbed up the blood and rubbing alcohol. He then blew on it, I winced as his cold breath hit the open wound, but it definitely didn't hurt as much as what he had just done. It was still bleeding a fair amount, which was quite concerning as I was beginning to get light headed.

    Thomas started to get a needle and thread ready. I felt like I was gonna hurl, I didn't like needles at all, and even the idea of this made me feel sick. He brought the needle to the wound and  pushed it through. That single stitch was enough for me, when he went for it again, I thrashed around, ripping my leg from his hands.

    He quickly stood up, and made his way upstairs. I heard the floorboards upstairs creaking as he walked around, and I could hear the fair sound of voices. I attempted to stand up, but the second up put and amount of weight on my right foot, I fell. There was no way I was getting out of this.

   Within the minute, Thomas came hurriedly back down stairs, Tex and Vilmer right behind him. Tex came over with Tommy, but Vilmer stayed back, sitting on stool next to the blood cover table.

    Tommy sat behind me while Tex sat at my foot. Thomas wrapped his arms around me, holding me down in his strong arms. Tex held my right leg tightly, picked up the needle, and began to sew. I continued to scream out, I just couldn't help it. My left leg was the only thing not held down, and I was kicking it around like there was no tomorrow. Who know, maybe there wouldn't be.

    There were many times where I almost kicked Tex. He was getting frustrated, obviously not expecting to have to do anything like this. "Little help?" He asked through gritted teeth to Vilmer, just sitting idly behind him.

    "Yea, yea," Vilmer huffed. Without hesitation he stepped down on my left leg, pressing the sole of his boot hard into it. He was just causing more pain. But of course he loved that fact.

Word count: 1000+

A/N- y'all have no idea how proud I am of the name I came up with for the previous chapter lmao