And so, whadaya guys think of what happened in the last chapter? Love it or hate it? Please tell me by commenting! And in conjunction with the chapter being titled 'Knives and Pens', go listen to Knives and Pens by Black Veil Brides, even if you don't like screamo music. No, go watch the music video, it's cool :) Anyway, here is the next chapter! Please read, comment, and spread the word! On to chapter 13!! :DD
-----
KNIVES AND PENS
Tom stomped on the brakes once he arrived home, getting out of the car as quickly as he could. He had driven home fast, never letting his foot ease off the accelarator. He dashed to his bedroom, throwing himself onto his bed, curling up into a tiny ball and rocking back and forth. He bit his lip forcefully, as tears began to slide down his cheeks at the thought of what he had done. Now was one of the many times where he wished someone could hold him, comfort him, tell him everything was alright. He hadn't had a proper hug since he was 7, before his parents died. When he came to live with Grandma, she never hugged him or showed any sign of love or affection for him at all. Tom thinks that she doesn't even like him that much. She probably thinks he's a disappointment to the family. He choked back a sob at the thought, knowing that anyone and everyone would scorn him for what he had done. He buried his face in his knees, crying in earnest, the tears unable to stop. He wished that someone was there for him, and he sobbed even harder. What if I go talk to Grandma? he thought. Will she listen? Through his tears, he managed to spit out a bitter laugh at the thought of Grandma listening to him blubbering. Like that's ever gonna happen. Maybe he could call Bill and tell him what happened. He pulled out his cellphone with shaking fingers, dialing Bill's number. He held it up to his ear, half hoping Bill would pick up and half hoping he wouldn't. Bill picked up at the fourth ring.
"Hey."
"B-Bill, I-"
"Oh Tom, you wouldn't happen to know where Grammy is, would you? She still isn't back yet." Bill's voice was filled with worry.
A sudden thought hit Tom. Oh my God. What if... I hit Grammy?! I can't tell Bill what happened. No way will I hurt him like that.
"Um, no. I don't know where she is." Tom said, wiping away his tears.
"Oh. I'm really worried. Anyway, what is it you called about?"
"Oh, um, nothing."
"Really?" Bill asked incredulously.
"Yeah. Really." Tom said, expressionless.
"Oh, okay then." Bill said, obviously not believing a word Tom said.
"Yeah. Bye."
"Bye."
He shook his head, wondering what in the world he was doing. He thought of what to do now, and stiffened his resolve. He was going to go back and find out who he had hit.
-----
He drove back to the intersection where his car had skidded. Dread filled him when he saw that there were people crowded around the person. What if they saw him earlier? What if they recognized the car? He had to check. He drove past them, wanting to see if anyone was going to recall seeing his car. Save for one person who turned to look at his car, no one seemed to notice him driving past. And the person who turned didn't show any recognition to his car. He drove away from the scene, back to his house. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had hit Grammy, and he shuddered at the thought. He couldn't believe he had actually driven away from someone he had hit in an accident. He couldn't believe he could be so heartless and selfish. But it's too late now. I'm always too late. He went to sleep that night in endless tears.
-----
The next morning, as he was cleaning up after breakfast, he went behind Grandma, to take her dirty dishes. And what he read in her newspaper almost made him drop her dishes. For there, on the third page of the newspaper, was the headline 'Elderly Woman Found Dead' and a picture of Grammy underneath it. He stopped breathing, his mouth hanging open. Is this some kind of joke? he thought. It can't be.
"Hey Grandma, can I read that for a second?" he asked.
Grandma pulled the page out of the paper and handed it to him curtly. He quickly walked to the kitchen, setting the dishes down in the sink, and read the page. His hands shook, crumpling the paper in his hands. So it really was him that... he couldn't think of the word. A whimper escaped his mouth, and he crumpled up the article and threw it away, running up to his room, the newspaper page landing perfectly on top of a knife on the counter.
