Warnings apply - bad language.
The story: Tom struggles with a mental illness that developed after he was locked up in prison from a false charge. Is a continuation from Draw the line season 4. I'll just put the first chapter here and see what you guys think. 90% of the whole story was written on my phone on my travel journeys!
It was no easy day at work for Tom Hanson. He had to write up a report but couldn't organise it properly. He basically had to copy from Judy and Harry's notes, re-word it and match it together as witnesses. They were both working on a drug case and so far, from what he could grasp, there was a drug problem at a high school. Ketamine was supplied at a senior party and it resulted to a death of a sixteen year old girl.
It didn't used to be this difficult. He could throw it all in like a pro in two hours top - not four.
He just had a problem...
A big problem.
Pig cop can't write.
Ha, stupid ass motherfucker.
You belong back in jail with us.
We own you bitch.
It was the voices in his head goading and distracting him.
He tried everything to get rid of them; listening to music, remembering the good times, what things he needed to do by the end of the week...things he was supposed to do now...
But nothing worked. He had to wait until they left him alone, in small amounts of time during the day.
Before long, the wait become a little too late for Captain Fuller. He stormed over at his desk and demanded to give him the report.
In that instant, the voices drained out.
It usually did when Fuller was in the same room. Perhaps because his ticking time bomb demeanour scared them off. Fuller was a good captain, he just got angry easily. And boy, could he shout.
"Well?" Fuller said, impatiently, after he noticed Tom had nothing to hand over.
"Your report Hanson, how's it going?" Fuller repeated, his voice on edge.
He looked down at his handwriting. Shit one paragraph.
No answer still, Fuller peered over
"That's it? That's all you got?!"
"Sorry sir... I didn't get much sleep." It wasn't exactly a lie. He guessed he got about four hours per night in the last two months
Fuller, derailed of all empathy said, "I didn't get much either but that didn't stop me from completing a days work this morning!"
He silenced. What was there to say? He was sick of apologising for being such a lousy human being.
"I want at least a whole page done In an hour that clear?"
It was lunch time in an hour. Just maybe he could miss lunch to finish it..just in case.
"Ooh!" Doug dramatised as soon as Fuller disappeared back into his office
Tom just shot him a glare before he summoned his energy on cracking the report.
An hour passed. It was just one page but at least he had something to show for it.
During the time he was fresh out of prison, he felt small - like he was an ant in a big, frightening place.
He was so used to watching over his shoulder in case inmates were on the prowl, that he still did it. He was so used to them snatching his food before he could even lick it, that he stiil shovelled it down. It was even hard to sleep because would be succumbed into nightmares.
He still found it just as difficult. Most days at work, he pleaded with himself to act normal and at least try and think clearly. Usually it worked but later on that week, he accidentally let it slip. He was working quietly at his desk when the voices emerged. It was along day and he was tired so he told the voices to shut up - aloud.
The only person who heard him was Doug but even that was embarrassing.
His best friend gave him a weird look. "I didn't say anything..."
"Oh sorry, I'm just so used to hearing you nattering all the time, it just slipped," he tried to joke.
Doug let out a scoff then changed the subject. "How are you doing with the reports anyway?"
"So far, the case is solid. There's no holes and there's quite a few suspects."
"That's good."
He couldn't wait to start working on a case. He had been itching to go back to work as soon as possible, itching for life to go back to way it was.
It never will.
He blinked in surprise. The voice was different. It sounded like it had come from his own. Funnily enough, he couldn't argue against it. People looked at him differently now. Even his mom. There was no doubt in his mind she was ashamed of him because of his stupid mistake. He was sure everyone in her neighbourhood knew about it. It didn't matter he was found innocent in the end because the damage was done.
"Yo Tom!"
He shook out of his thoughts, then glared at Doug. "What?"
"I asked who you think is the suspect?"
"I don't know," he shrugged. "One of the jocks maybe."
"What a great input," Doug teased.
"Well, I don't know. I haven't met any of them have I?" he shot back, annoyed.
Doug ignored him after that.
He resented the voices for ruining things for him. He felt alone. Like no one could ever understand.