Fear (TordTom)

Chapter 9: Secrets

Tord could feel his heart climbing up and down his chest. He needed to tell Tom. Now was his chance. Everything had to end. This had to stop.

"Sit." Tord instructed, gesturing to a bench in the far left corner. Tom, to Tord's relief, reluctantly complied and settled himself on the wooden seat. His eyes looked down at the cobble courtyard. Tord silently dared Tom to look up at him.

"Tom..." Tord began.

"What? Here to lecture me? I can handle my own, commie!" Tom snarled, hate coating his words. Tord could feel his temper flaring, but he tried to keep it down. Patience, Tord. His dad's words rang in his ears.

"I just want to help." Tord began. "Edd...he's dangerous. You and I both know that. He's popular, he's smart, and everyone who doesn't know the truth trusts him. We have a tough opponent to face, Tom, and you aren't going to get through this alone without help."
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Tom looked down for a moment, as if he was contemplating what to say. Then, he slowly lifted his head. His teeth were gritted, and though his eyes were nothing but holes, Tord could almost see pure rage flaming inside them like wildfires.

"Listen up." Tord looked at Tom dead straight in the eyes. "I don't need your damn help. You hear me? You've ruined every single little thing ever since you met me. What makes you think I can trust you now, huh? Did a basketball clonk you in the head again, or did you just lose it?"

  Tord couldn't help it. Tom had kindled his flame until it was a raging fire. He yelled in anger and jumped on Tom, turning him around by grabbing his shoulders. He slammed Tom into the ground and pinned him there. One hand held on Tom's head to hold him down, he punched.

And punched.

And punched.

And punched.

Tord looked down at his bloody knuckles in sudden surprise. Tom had already backed away as soon as Tord had let go. The Jehovah's nose was bloody. Blood trickled down from his forehead and ran down his cheek like a teardrop. He clutched his side, where a large gash was bleeding terribly through his blue hoodie. I didn't even cut him. Tord's mind whirled. Why was he bleeding there?

Tom's breath was coming in short gasps. His eyes were widened and his face was contorted in agony and fear. His bloodied hands clutched his head. Looking up at Tord, his eyes almost popped out of his face. Tripping over himself, he sprinted out the courtyard, leaving Tord alone.

"Hey, wait! I'm sorry!" Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes as he watched Tom run. He looked strange. He seemed like he didn't want Tord to see him after he'd beaten him up, almost as if there was something Tom was hiding from him. Self harm...could that be it?

Damn it. Tord followed after Tom. He guessed that the Brit was heading towards his house, plus, there was a small bloody trail that was on the sidewalk. After a few yards, it veered into the street, on the other side. Tord crossed hastily, trying to run as fast as he could so that he could reach Tom. Tord had to find out what was going on...whatever the cost.

...

Tord, out of breath, finally reached what he guessed was Tom's house. It was two stories and looked very modern and nice, with cut bushes and trees. The driveway lead to the garage on one side and the house in the middle.

The garage was empty when he checked inside. His parents aren't home. Next, he checked the door. The knob turned. He must've forgotten to lock it. Tord thought as he slipped inside the dark house and quietly closed the door, locking it.

The house smelled faintly of air fresheners. Barely lit, Tord had to grab his phone and turn on his flashlight to navigate.

Horrified, Tord wished he didn't even follow Tom in the first place. A small blood trail trickled down the carpeted stairs, but it stopped as soon as it went up the third step. Claw marks grazed the white painted walls, the gouges raking through wood. A smell that Tord had never smelled before traveled to his nose and he sneezed.

Loudly.

A growl. Tord whirled around, whipping his flashlight in the direction of the living area. A few plush couches, a coffee table with a vase, and a large flatscreen T.V was only things that were illuminated by Tord's light. He let himself travel the flashlight around to help him identify whatever the hell was in Tom's house. Was it haunted? If so, where was Tom?

"Hello?" Tord tried calling out. Another bad idea. When Tord turned away to point his flashlight in the direction of the stairs, a shattering sound came from the living room. Trembling, Tord pointed his flashlight where the coffee table was.

The vase lay broken on the carpeted floor, its ceramic blue pieces scattered everywhere. Tord gulped. He wasn't going to stick around and find out what was in the house. He was going to get the heck out of here and leave Tom to whatever demons crawled around in his home.

Tord crept to the door, backing away from the area. He kept going, keeping his eyes trained on the illuminated parts of the rooms. Knowing he was getting close to the exit, Tord let his hand wander behind him, searching for the knob. He felt something, like a shirt, and instinctively grabbed the fabric in his fingers.

He turned around.

The last moments he remembered was some sort of monster that looked like Tom, and red, bloody flashes and dark black claws raked across his flesh, making him fall back. As his head hit the floor, he backed out, pain searing the left side of his face. I'm going to die. He remembered himself thinking. Tom's a demon. I'm going to die. God oh god, help me. Make him SEE WHAT HE'S DOING. PLEASE!

He fell unconscious.

Hi! I...um, might be taking a break due to writers block, you'd be surprised how long it took me to write this all out! What's going to happen to Tom? And Tord? Until next time!