Forever and ever 2. The adventure starts now.

Part 165.

Tom's pov~

Sleep became pure agony. No sleep, just torture. Drinking became my lifestyle, and suffering my daily routine. Seven days had passed, and I still tossed and turned in bed. I threw my blanket against walls, banged my head against the wooden board, and screamed into the thick fabric of my pillow. But nothing worked. Every time I closed my eyes, the last images of Y/N flashed in my mind. The way tears streamed down her cheeks. How she hid her body beneath the blanket when she realized something was wrong, and how she shattered when I threw the envelope at her. But I could live with those images. It was the sounds that haunted me in my dreams. 'I love you, Tommy,' she repeated over and over again, and I muffled her mouth instead of savoring it. 'I can't take it anymore,' she gripped my shoulder tightly. 'Please,' she pleaded, pinched and pressed. Trying to get away from me. I was a monster. But none of it was as bad as the scream she let out when I jogged down the stairs.

She screamed, my Y/N screamed. An agonising roar echoing through the streets. So agonizing, it shattered my heart in that moment and broke on the steps of the house. It haunted me.

Just thinking back, repeating the scream, brought instant tears to my eyes. I heard it in my dreams, I heard it on the street. Heard it when a car honked, heard it when a child cried.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling the pillow over my ears. "Tommy, please," she cried.
"I love you." Her fingertips on my cheeks. "I love you, Tommy." And my palm against her mouth.
A sobbing cry escaped her throat. "I can't take it anymore." The pressure on my shoulder. "Please."

I tossed and turned in bed, my sheets damp with anxiety sweat, my mind filled with images of Y/N. Every hair, every tear, every moment.
She must hate me.

For the first time, I set the pillow aside as I screamed through my bedroom. The walls had to be thick enough, or else this apartment wouldn't be worth 3.5 million. I was losing it all. It had been a week since I last saw my son. It had been a week since I retreated into the deepest pit of my apartment. It had been a week of nothing but drinking and hoping the next day wouldn't be too cruel.

The divorce papers lay unsigned on the kitchen island. I didn't want the divorce anymore. I was never truly sure if I wanted it. Only during those 24 hours when I was certain Y/N was pregnant with Clark's baby, did I want it. But now, it was different. Now, I knew the whole truth. Now, it was too late. I was so ashamed, so disgusted with myself, that I had blocked Y/N. I hardly dared to leave the house, hardly dared to be seen.

That was my reality from now on, and I had no idea how to change it unless I changed myself.
And if I was already doing that, why not for the good of everyone.

Y/N had once said she loved my long curls, so I shaved them off.
Now I sported a buzz cut, and my head was freezing all the time.

She said she loved my smooth skin and stubble beard. Now it was gone, and the scars on my face were the only reminders left.

"I love your pretty smile. You should do that more often." Those words were the ones I remembered best, because only she could evoke them. So I stopped smiling.

Now I never smiled. Not when I watched videos of her on endless loop, not when I indulged in my favorite series, not even when I heard Parker's laughter. I even got a tattoo, one no one could see, because it was right beneath my chest. I didn't want anyone to see it either. Not my family, not my friends, not the internet.

Within the span of a month, I transformed into a different person that no one recognized anymore. I resumed my boxing training and occasionally talked to Bob on the phone. But when I wasn't doing that, I waited outside the kindergarten until Y/N brought our son, and only returned home once he was picked up.