nostalgic thoughts

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tom had not a clue as to how to reply to this question.

no one had ever asked him how he felt.

if he was afraid.

why he always stayed in his apartment.

why their were cuts on his arms.

why their were guns in his apartment.

why he cried every night.

or why no one loved him.

well, thats as far as he could remember.

he hesitated, thoughts rushing through his head.

why did i call again?

wait, how did i get this number?

gosh, who am i talking to?

what do i say?

i should have rehearsed this. i should have thought about this beforehand. i should have planned what to say for every possible scenario.

"hello? are you there?" the man asked, filled with curiousity. his accent made it a bit hard to understand, but tom knew what he was saying.

"help me." tom managed to say, the words spilling out of his mouth as fast as a waterfall. he had been waiting to say those words to someone. he was just waiting to say it to someone who cared. someone who would ask why.

tom immediately felt uncomfortable talking to someone he didnt know. talking to someone about his problems.

he used to want to get help. social skills were a weak spot, though.

"mister, whats going on?!" the man asked with worry in his turn. there really was nothing to worry about. at least thats what tom thought.

"i just- why are you so worried?" tom questioned, knowing the answer.

"well, my job is to save people from taking their precious lives, so i am always on guard." he noted, "i have to ask, what is your reason for your call?"

"i cant get the thought out of my head." tom informed, realizing that wasnt much of an answer. he clenched the phone like it was his lifeline.

because it was.

"what thought?"

"i am just... useless."

"wha- no, no. your not useless. everyone has a purpose. like, i thought i wasnt meant for much but here i am, saving peoples lives." he chuckled.

"im sorry, but what accent do you have?" tom asked, admiring it.

"norwegian, and your british, i presume? but lets get to the point. i have to ask you some questions."

"i might have to ask you some questions too." tom noted.

"first, what is your name? last name?" the man interrogated, "and im assuming you will ask, my name is tord.

"tom. tom (lastname.)" tom answered.

"okay, do you self harm? often?" tord asked.

tom was silent for a little bit, thinking if he should lie or tell the truth.

after much thinking, he said "well, yeah, i do. and i dont want to admit it, but yes, often."

"have you ever tried to commit.. you know... suicide."

"yeah, actually, today. just before i called. the gun is on the floor now."

"hide the gun. put it somewhere you will not remember. i woukd prefer you not look at it."

"yeah, ok." tom said, flinging it across the room. it hit the wall, making a possible small hole.

"did you just throw it?" tord asked.

"you bet'cha." tom admitted,

"one more question, how are you feeling right now? explain."

"gosh, i thought i graduated from middle school. well, i feel fine." tom joked.

"now tell me why, why do you feel fine?" tord asked.

well, that was a good question. tom couldnt really explain the drastic change in his usually negative emotions.

tom felt..

not useless.

happy.

"you." tom said, confidently. though, his whole face got red and tingly. maybe he shouldnt have said that.

"wh- uhh.. me.?" tord stuttered.

"you make me feel wanted."

"thats great!" tord cheered, making tom do something he had not done in a while.

his mouth turned at the sides, his teeth showing a bit. his cheeks turned a bit pink.

tord made him smile.

"i like talking to you." tom stated, forgetting about his negative thoughts and focusing on his conversation with his new "friend."

tom actually wanted to talk to tord. he wanted to hear what tord was going to say next. he knew it wasnt going to be "go kill yourself."

well, tom would assume. this was the place that saved lives, not ended them, right?

was this was it was like to have a friend, to be wanted? to have someone that awaits talking to you? someone that wants to hear you?

if so, tom was enjoying it.

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