Pain - A TommyInnit Angst

Chapter 8

The week went by in a flash, and Wednesday came by all too soon, accompanied by an unbearable sense of dread that made Tommy's heart hammer whenever he thought about it. Although he still skipped lunch, he was eating irregularly when he was at home so he knew that he wouldn't hit his weight target; not to mention, he still hadn't been told what his target was for this week – for all he knew it could be even more impossible than last week.

Walking home from school that day, Tommy felt resigned to his fate and a strange sense of calmness washed over him. He knew that he just had to get through that evening; everything would be better in the morning.

His parents weren't home so he rushed upstairs, threw his schoolbag on his bed and phoned Wilbur, whom he had been talking to about his weight targets and how he was tortured almost every Wednesday, so he knew that he would be able to offer comfort.

'Hey Toms. How are you feeling?'

Tommy swallowed. 'I'm doing okay. I'm scared, but it probably won't be as bad as last week.'

'Are you sure you don't want me to just come and pick you up? I could, you know.'

The thought was tempting, but Tommy pushed it out of his mind, fearing the consequences if he did.

'Nah, it'll be okay.'

'Just promise you'll call me afterwards, okay Toms?'

'Yeah Wil, I promise.'

Tommy heard a car door slam outside his house.

'They're home,' he whispered, trembling.

'Tommy, I... Please stay safe.'

The call ended.

• • •

Wilbur had gotten much better at staying strong whilst he was on the phone to Tommy. Now that the call was over, though, he allowed his tears to flow freely and buried his face in his hands. He didn't know what to do for the next couple of hours; what was he supposed to do, just sit here while the boy that he thought of as his little brother was being brutally tortured by his parents? He drummed his fingers nervously against the table before standing up and pacing around his room, always holding his phone in case Tommy called. He eventually decided to call Tubbo, and when he picked up the phone Tubbo sounded just as anxious and upset as himself; apparently Tommy had also told Tubbo and Ranboo about the Wednesday weight targets. They added Ranboo to the call, and they all waited, barely talking, all feeling sick to their stomachs with the agony of not knowing what was happening to Tommy. All they could do was wait.

• • •

Tommy began to shake as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and the calmness that he had felt earlier diminished. His parents threw open his door, and he sat there, frozen. He wanted to move, to walk over to them, to try and avoid aggravating them as much as possible, but he couldn't. He was frozen to the spot. He could feel his breathing speeding up and, to his horror, he realised that he was hyperventilating and having a panic attack; right in front of his parents.

Tommy could see his mother's mouth moving, the furious expression on her face, but all he could hear was the deafening ringing in his ears. It felt as if the world was moving in slow-motion and had been sped up at the same time; he could feel a hand clamped around his wrist, his feet being forced onto the scales, the familiar bleep sound, his father's fist, and before he knew it he was on his bed again, his eyes wide in pain and confusion, his hoodie being forced over his head. His breathing finally started to slow as confusion overtook panic and he tried to push himself off the bed, but he could feel his father's hands on his back. Straining himself to turn around, Tommy saw his mother. She was holding the knife.

The knife.

The knife.

Before it had even pierced his skin, Tommy began screaming; the anticipation was almost as painful as the event itself. He felt the searing pain of the knife ripping through his flesh and his father moved his hands from Tommy's back, instead using a knee to keep the boy in place, and wrapped both hands around his neck, throttling him to silence his agonised cries. Tommy desperately gasped for air, feeling his father's hands crushing his windpipe, his mother still twisting the knife in his back. He began to fight, thrashing his legs and attempting to kick his mother; he brought his hands up and began clawing at his father's tight grip around his neck, still choking and gasping for air. Suddenly, everything stopped. His father removed his hands and Tommy began desperately panting, massaging his neck, letting out silent sobs. He realised what had stopped his parents, as he heard someone pounding on the front door, and his whole body seized in terror. His parents were muttering something, and he managed to make out some words that his mother said:

'I can't go down, for God's sake, I'm covered in fucking blood.' His father sighed angrily in response and indicated for Tommy's mother to continue holding the boy down. His father left the room, closing the door and went to meet whoever had been knocking.

Upstairs, they could hear fragments of the conversation, and Tommy realised it was his neighbour, who he had talked to that weekend. He heard his father chuckle, obviously in an attempt to sound amenable, but to Tommy it sounded menacing. His mother slowly put her hand over his mouth, whispering in his ear that if he made a sound they would kill him. He squeezed his eyes shut, heart pounding.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Tommy heard his father's footsteps on the stairs again. His father thundered into the room. 'You little fucker, you almost got us caught.' He spat, putting his face right up next to Tommy's. He suddenly grabbed Tommy's head and turned it so that the boy was facing into the pillow and began to smother him so that he couldn't make a sound, just like he did last time. Tommy could feel his mother continuing to carve into his back, and it was in that moment that he prayed for death. He prayed that he would suffocate, right here, right now, and all of this would be over. But his parents had other ideas.

Once they were finished with the carving, they pulled Tommy off the bed and threw him onto the carpet. He began to gasp for breath, but this was short lived as his mother clamped her hand down over his mouth so that he could only breathe through his nose. His father left the room again, and went downstairs. Tommy closed his eyes, his face wet with tears, and concentrated on breathing. He pictured Wilbur's face in his mind, and that allowed him to calm down slightly. He would call Wilbur after this. Wilbur would know what to do.

Tommy heard his father's footsteps on the stairs once again and braced himself for whatever was to come. His father walked in, and to Tommy's horror he saw that he was holding what looked like a hammer. Forcing Tommy to lie on his front, his father began slamming the hammer onto his back, right where the new wound was. His mother's hand wasn't enough to contain his desperate yells, so she yanked the pillow off the bed and began to smother him again. Tommy felt himself being turned over, and felt the impact of the hammer on his stomach and his chest, before his father moved onto his limbs. As the pain swept over him, Tommy felt his grip on consciousness collapsing, leaving him engulfed in darkness.