Fear

15 • Tom

The cafeteria hummed with the usual discordant symphony of clinking cutlery and muffled conversations. I stood in line behind a young woman with tousled hair, my eyes drifting over the dreary assortment of food being ladled onto trays. The lady behind the counter moved mechanically, her movements slow and resigned as she served up unappetising portions to each person in line.

Once I collected my tray-a sad amalgamation of lukewarm stew, mashed potatoes, and overcooked vegetables-I scanned the room for a place to sit. That's when I spotted Tom, sitting alone in the same dimly lit corner, his figure slumped and shoulders hunched defensively.

Navigating between tables cluttered with empty trays and scattered napkins, I approached Tom cautiously. He glanced up as I neared, his expression a mixture of surprise and apprehension. His eyes, circled with dark bags and filled with anguish, spoke volumes of the suffering he endured.

"Hey, I'm Emily," I offered softly, attempting to break the ice.

Tom's shoulders tensed, and he glanced around nervously, as if ensuring no one was listening in on our conversation. "I know who you are," he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Dylan hates you for some reason."

"He shouldn't treat you like that," I said firmly, my sympathy mixing with frustration. "You don't deserve it."

Tom hesitated, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. "You don't know shit about me," he replied quietly, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"I know... but what if I told you I want to? You don't have to be alone, and I can handle Dylan." I tried to reassure him, but my efforts weren't working as well as I thought they would. Tom shrunk further into himself, almost like he curled into a ball, and he pulled the strings of his hoodie to tighten it around his head.

I took a deep breath, deciding to confide in him. "You know Tyler, the man who runs this place? I've realised something about him..." I paused, searching for the right words. "He's not always as bad as he seems."

Tom's eyes looked up at me with a hint of confusion and curiosity dancing in them. "What do you mean?"

"He tries to be cold and unfeeling," I explained, my voice tinged with frustration. "But sometimes... I see something else in him. Like he's hiding emotions."

Tom scoffed slightly. "That bastard doesn't have emotions. He's just as sick as-" He stopped himself before he could say it, but I knew what he wanted to say, or rather, who.

As if on cue, Dylan sauntered up to our table, his presence casting a shadow over our conversation. His smirk held a hint of malice as he addressed Tom, his tone sarcastic.

"I see you've met Emily, Tom," he sneered, his eyes locking onto mine with undisguised hostility. "How nice."

I met Dylan's gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. "We were just talking," I retorted, my voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. "Is that a crime?"

Dylan's lips curled into a humorless smile, his eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing a threat. For a moment, silence hung heavy between us, charged with unspoken animosity. Finally, he broke the tension with a dismissive wave and grabbed Tom's arm to pull him out of his seat.

"Come on, Tom," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "It's time to go."

Dylan pushed Tom roughly towards the exit, causing him to stumble and reach out for the door to break his fall. Tom whimpered and scurried away down the corridor, leaving me alone with frustration and helplessness.

I watched them disappear, thoughts swirling. Watching Tom slink away under Dylan's oppressive glare, I couldn't help but feel both sympathetic and angry. His haunted eyes and guarded demeanor spoke volumes about the torment he endured here. Yet, amidst his obvious fear, there was a flicker of defiance-a spark that refused to be extinguished.

I admired his resilience, how he dared to defy Dylan's dominance even in the face of certain punishment. The simple fact that he spoke to me, knowing that he'd be punished by Dylan later, was proof to me that he still had a hint of defiance in him. It gave me hope that I could eventually break down his well-built walls.

But it also ignited a righteous anger within me-the same anger that burned whenever I was on the other end of Dylan's wrath.

Tom was a reminder of the pervasive darkness that shrouded this place, where everyone seemed to be a pawn in Tyler's twisted game. I vowed to uncover more about his story, to understand the depths of his suffering and, perhaps, find a way to help him.

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