When You Smile -TomTord Fic-

Chapter 2

WARNING: Self-harm ahead!!

A/N: Sorry for the update spam, I just feel like it

<Tord's POV>

That horrible welcome party finally ended. That guy carrying a guitar, he seemed very... dominating. He had black eyes... if he even had eyes at all. At least his mom brought peach pie. I love peaches. I sat in the living room, with only my mom around in the house. I never felt comfortable around new people, let alone right before the move to Britain. The only person in the world who could even remotely comfort me in my times of need was my mom. She had always been there for me, especially when my dad came home drunk and would take his drunken rage out on me. She would get in his way of hitting me. My dad could never stand to hit my mom.

But he could stand to hit me.

I took my fork and scooped up some of the peach pie sitting in my lap. Shaking, I brought the bite of pie to my mouth. It tasted sweet, kind of like she put lots of brown sugar in the filling. I liked it, the sweet flavor was relaxing. I took another bite, and another, and another. Before I knew it, the whole 12-inch pie was gone.

Was I that zoned out?

I put my fork into the sink and threw the now empty pie tin into the garbage can. I then walked over to my bedroom. My bedroom... this new room was larger than my old one, so my mom was able to get me a larger bed and better shelving for all my things. Knives, mostly.

I've always been into knives and such, so I had been receiving them since I was a child. But with my depression worsening, it was always hard to resist going to grab one. My anxiety was too high today for me to resist.

"Godnatt, mamma (Goodnight, mommy)!" I yelled down the hallway.

"Søte drømmer (Sweet dreams)!" I heard from down the hall.

I quietly closed my door. I immediately headed towards my knife rack, grabbing a small knife, close to the size of a steak knife. I turned to sit on my bed. I then took off my long-sleeved sweater- I was sweating all day from wearing it- and lined the knife to my wrist. I could see each individual line down my forearm from each time I cut since I started a year ago. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. My bottom lip began to quiver as I pressed the blade to my skin, sliding it across to reveal a line of blood, slowly starting to stream down my arm.

Thank goodness my mom knew nothing of it.

I immediately went to get my bandages. I always kept them handy since I used to get beat up at school as well as at home. I wrapped the self-inflicted wound in the bandage so I could change into my pajamas. I changed, leaving me shirtless in a pair of comfy sweats.

I lay down in my bed, pulling my red plush comforter to my shoulders. I begin to shiver, not from cold, but from fear. From sadness. I hated myself. Why couldn't I just die already?

I woke up late the next morning. My stomach hurt when I woke, probably from all the sugar in the pie. I put on a long-sleeved, light material hoodie and walked to the kitchen to meet my mom, who was cooking breakfast.

"God morgen (Good morning)! Er du sulten (Are you hungry)?" I looked in her eyes; they were always filled with joy whenever she spoke to me.

"Nei takk (No thank you). Som fersken pai er vondt i magen (That peach pie is hurting my stomach)."

"Så kanskje du bør ikke ha spist så mye (Then maybe you should not have eaten so much)."

I chuckled and went to get my school supplies. Senior year was only three days away.