Memories flood Tom's head as he stumbles to the bathroom, hand clamped firmly over his mouth. He finds himself hunched over the toilet, hacking up what little breakfast he ate. He clutched the porcelain until his knuckles turned pale. Heaving, bile stung his throat the same as the tears in his eyes.
Dr. Larkson, Tord, was asleep within twenty feet of him. The very man who had allowed him to suffer, who had controlled him, forced his hand to kill. Sleeping so peacefully, as if he could do no wrong. Once, Tom believed that. Once, he'd believed that the man he'd come to think of as a friend was nothing more than another power hungry monster.
Hey, he thought, bleary, we match.
The mere thought of having any sort of closeness with Tord brought another heave out of his body, scratching his already pained throat raw. He coughed a few more times before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Standing on shaky legs, Tom turned the faucet to the sink. He bent, drinking from the flow of cool water to soothe his throat. God, what a fucking nightmare.
Cupping his hands together, water filled his palms. The temperature brought him back to the forefront of his thoughts as he splashed it over his face, rivulets of cold liquid running down his arms. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, not much different than what he saw not an hour earlier. Tom runs a wet hand over his throat, not surprised to find more scabs decorating the area. His nail catches on one, the hardened blood scraping off under the cartilage and fresh blood beading on the wound. Sighing, he opens the mirror cabinet, hoping to find Neosporin or something similar. He finds the yellow tube and closes the door.
The tube clatters into the sink as Tom whips around. The moment he'd closed the door, a black apparition was behind him. He'd blinked and it was gone, but he couldn't stop from turning so fast it made his head spin.
He clutched the edge of the sink as his eyes darted around the small bathroom for any sign of intruder. He could've sworn, it had horns. The fucking Devil. He sighs heavily, deciding that, whatever it was, it's not here anymore.
There was something, however, within the household that bared a resemblance to it. What was he so scared of anyways? He'd seemed out cold. If anything, Tom could simply wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze until Tord slept forever. He sighed, wiped his mouth and picked up the Neosporin. He had no idea how long Edd and Matt would be out for work, or what time they'd even get back. Could be well into the night before he even hears from them, and only god knows what might happen in as many hours.
The transparent gel is cold, bringing his thoughts back to his surroundings. Should he even wake the man? Wait until he wakes on his own? What if he never does? What does he do then?
Live happy with the only friends you've ever known, supplies a voice. It's not the same one that he'd associated with the monster, this one felt more like himself. A conscience maybe.
His feet pull him out the bathroom, dragging him into the natural light as opposed to the yellowish glare of the tiled room. Tord still sleeps on the wide bed, only difference being he rolled back to facing the wall. Good. Tom wouldn't have to look at his ugly mug while he failed at distracting himself with cheap television. What a joy.
Settling stiffly into his previous seat, blanket discarded off to his left, he finds the remote and flicks through channels. Throughout his time away from the outside world, he'd had no access to any news. Tord would occasionally supply him with major events, weather updates, but anything else was omitted. It was weird to think about.
Eventually landing on a news channel, Tom absorbs as much information as humanly possible. Easy for him, not exactly human. World affairs, things within his country, escalating fear of nuclear obliteration. The usual. The terrorist group known as the Red Army was reported to be having issues in one of their bases, prices of their goods raising drastically in an effort to fix some massive blunder.
What a bunch of idiots, he thinks with a bored roll of his eyes. The next 5 channels provide nothing of sustenance. Eventually, he finds a corny movie that he'd vaguely remembered Edd mentioning. Dropping the remote on the floor next to him, Tom pulls the blanket up over his legs and settles in. A long day of waiting and glancing nervously at Tord's shifting figure awaits him.
By the time Tom wakes, it dawns on him that he hadn't realized he had fallen asleep. The apartment was dark now, the sun setting during one of the many hours he'd been mindlessly watching TV. Squinting at the clock on the microwave. 11:48 blinked at him in neon green through the darkness. There was no sign of Edd or Matt, and he assumed there wouldn't be for some time. He'd have to talk to them when they got back. Edd at the very least. Ask them why they had a murderous doctor in their house. In the same place as Tom existed. He wondered if they knew what had transpired between them. If they knew.
Tom's slowly simmering anger was snapped like a twig at a sound from the bathroom. Light shone from underneath the door, and there was a gentle creak as the quiet flow of water dissipated from the sink. Huh. One of the two must be home. Must've just gotten out of the shower, if he would follow his own return from work routine.
The sounds all but stopped, and he was nearly convinced it was a hallucination. Keeping a side eye on the door, Tom slowly turns back to the TV. His attention is still drawn to the bathroom though. Distractedness paying off, the handle begins to rattle as whoever is inside exits. The light flickers off before he can get a good look at their silhouette. There was a notable absence of spiked horns, so there was nothing to worry about.
They stepped closer, not realizing Tom was awake.
Just into the light of the TV, Tom's breath suddenly evaporated. In the bluish light, stood Tord.