How do you know when someone loves you?
Long before they utter those three little words, there has to be some kind of tell. Some sign that sparks the light in your heart. They love you.
How do you know when you've been constantly broken down, ripped apart, and haphazardly put back together? How do you know when no one has ever shown you what love is like?
How will you ever know when all you've ever felt is anger, darkness, and pain?
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You don't deserve her. You're worthless.
Tom was sitting behind the bar, slumped against the wall as he downed the last bit of whiskey in the handle. He lazily tossed it to the side, turning his head as he heard the all too familiar crashing sound of the glass breaking against the ground.
Pushing himself up, he leaned forward and grabbed the first bottle his hands could get to.
Pathetic, useless piece of shit.
He tossed the cork aside as he took a whiff of the vodka, his eyes fluttering closed. Your image flashed before him; a happy smile dancing on your lips, your hand holding his as you pulled him down with you onto your bed.
His heart clenched at the thought as he instinctively brought the bottle to his mouth, the heavy burn in his throat distracting him from the tears that had started to fall.
He didn't know what to do anymore. He knew without a doubt he didn't deserve you - the state he was in now more than clearly proved that. You were the epitome of hope and good, trapped at the side of a monster.
That's what Tom was.
A cruel, heavy burden that only treated people like objects. Trying them on, just to put them back when he was done using them.
Only a monster was capable of doing that without remorse.
But then what would you call the strain on his heart as he thought of you, and everything he'd done?
Guilt.
He was guilty of leading you on. Guilty of using you for himself. Guilty of trying to control you when you weren't his, and guilty of letting you believe you had ever had a chance of calling him yours.
He wanted you, even if he would never admit it to himself. Or admit it to you. He thrived on the rush of happiness he got whenever he was with you.
Yet he knew he would never be able to give you what you wanted - him. Every part of him, physically and mentally. It was all you had ever asked of him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it.
If you ever saw him like this; ever knew what ran through his mind as he drank himself numb - there was no way you'd stay. Not after that.
But his heart wouldn't stop calling out for you. As he felt the alcohol pass his lips, all he could think about was you. The thought of you numbed the pain more than the liquor he was drinking; it made him forget the tears that streamed down his face as he picked up his phone and dialed the one number he knew by heart.
"Hey mate, what's up?" Harrison's cheerful voice sounded on the other end. Tom hiccuped, a small sob escaping him as he tried to calm down, to no avail.
Harrison was at Mary's apartment, helping her with new hires, among other things. He excused himself without a single word as he headed into her bathroom.
"Tom? What's wrong?" All he could hear was shallow breathing. "Mate, c'mon. Talk to me,"
"I need - I need her, Haz." Another sob followed his words. "I need Y/N. Y/N, please,"
