Crimson Red-A TomTord Fanfic

Purple

Chapter: 10

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Tord's POV

I hesitantly pick up the blue hoodie that Tom left unnoticed on the couch. I remember falling asleep with that scent of alcohol, dreaming of him. I don't remember much, except that I was staring into his dark excuse for eyes, almost like peering into a well as deep as eternity. But then I awoke to his stirring and thought I should probably take the hoodie off before he saw me with it.

There's a washing machine in the corner of the room, and I walk to it, rolling down the sleeves of my black hoodie so as to hide the bloody skin. Then, I throw Tom's garment in with my red one, not thinking much. I pour in the slippery soap and press a red button, watching the laundry begin to spin and sud behind the plastic door of the wash.

Then, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the washer, I begin to strip the covers off the hospital bed.

Blood and purple fluid stain the white linen. I furrow my brow and crumple them up, tossing them in the trash, where they poke out of the rim. 

I have nothing else to do.

I want to see Tom again, for some reason.

My heart feels like a heavy stone, dark and unforgiving. It's the same kind of feeling I remember from when I turned dark, lost myself and destroyed everything my friends had ever worked hard to create. Their whole world.

It courses through my blood, and this feeling can't be stopped. I dig my hands into my hair, messing it up, but I don't care. I scream, the veins in my neck exploding, and my ears get hot, my throat cracks.

I let it all 

o

 u

  t

    .

I begin to sob, the tears like acid, burning my face; I know it's red.

"Tommyyyy...." I whisper between sobs, thinking of him. Whenever we get too close, I get hot and red, but I know it's not right. 

Males can't like males; I'm just overreacting. I guess. And yet, my heart burns when he's near me and shatters when he rejects me.

I'm straight, I think to myself, repeatedly, trying to convince myself of this. 

But I've never liked any girl, ever! I feel like crying more deeply. 

I pull the phone off the frame in the wall where it hangs and dial the number I know so well, then I press the phone to my ear.

"Hello, Sir?" It's Paul.

"H-hi, you know you can call me Tord, it's fine." I laugh nervously, and I know he can tell that it's strained.

"Okay, Si-Tord. What troubles you?" I hear shuffling, then a muffled "Who is it," and then Patryk picks up the phone and greets me.

"Oh, hi Pat. I want to tell you guys something." I try to keep my cool. I take a deep breath and spit it out quickly. "I'm coming back."

Silence.

"Really?"

"Ja," I answer in Norwegian so they know I'm serious.

Screams of joy erupt on the other side of the line. I wait for them to die down and fade.

"Our Red Leader is back," they cheer in unison. I can't help but roll my eyes and smile a bit.

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Hours Later ...

The dryer signals to me that the hoodies are done drying. I hurry over to the machine and carefully open the door, revealing the hoodies, but now I realise they aren't their distinct blue and red colours anymore.

They're

P U R P L E .

"Oh, no," I growl. I pull them out, thinking I'll get them mixed up, but when I feel a burn on my arm from my recent inflictions as I move it, I remember that my sweatshirt is ripped. I set them both aside, studying the colour.

What'll Tom do when he finds out what I did to his hoodie? He'll get mad, that's for certain.

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More Time Later...

I'm kneeling on the floor above a wash basin, trying to scrub out the purple from Tom's hoodie; or rather, the red, my red, from his hoodie.

The suds are reaching up to my right arm as I scrub, biting at my cuts. I grit my teeth and continue to scrub at his jumper.

"I'm so sorry," I hear myself say, but then I think don't get soft, Tord, and blot out any thoughts of Tom.

I continue to work, adding more soap, but the colour is embedded too deeply into the hoodie.

Eventually, I give up and let it dry, hanging it on the back of my door, still as purple as before. I stare at the sheets in the garbage can, tainted purple, too. The Tomster's purple. The colour matches our hoodies. I smile a bit, for reasons I can't really name.

I slip off the dull black hoodie I'm wearing and pull my newly colored one over my head and my shoulders. It's still a bit warm from the dryer, and I put the hood up. I must be imagining, but I think I smell a bit of Tom on it.

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