Thursday

School was a bitch yesterday, and he figures his the left half of his ribs are cracked. Everything hurts and it's hard to breathe sometimes. But today he's wearing a long sleeved shirt, so he was able to leave his sweatshirt (now in slight ruins) at home. His mum promises that she'll try to go out and buy him a new one. He thinks of her and wants to cry. She couldn't walk yesterday. She was bedridden and this only made Dad angrier. He shivers and draws his backpack tighter to his body, fighting the tears as he drops his head, walking slowly. The images of his dad, mounted upon Allison as if she was nothing more than a broken horse trying to please the rider… He feels his stomach flip and he wants to vomit again.

He passes teachers and fellow classmates but he can't really see them. He sees people moving and that's about it. He fears that if he lives through this abuse then he'll never again see the beauty of life and everything will be shades of grey. Nothing will have meaning and he'll be this mindless droid shuffling through life. His heart pounds and for a moment, in a place of safety, he's truly afraid for himself. He doesn't want to lose faith in life, but his dad makes it very difficult for him to hold onto anything beautiful.

He turns up the flight of stairs, heading for his locker. He's managed to survive first period; Adam arrived late and Tommy was off in his own world, not noticing much of anything like usual. He felt bad afterward, but Adam assured him not to worry about it, and the ginger had run off to go talk to another teacher. It's been pretty uneventful, and now he's on his way to put his stuff away and head to lunch. That was the nice thing about school; it starts late and you only have to suffer one class (which is the longest of the day) before lunch. Quite nice, though a little strange.

'Everything's a little strange, so it's okay.' Tommy tells himself shuffling past several people. His body is aching and he really just wants to go curl up somewhere and go to sleep. Not home, though. He doesn't get a whole lot of sleep there, sadly. But it's not a huge surprise. Sometimes he'll wake up to his dad shouting at him or because his mum is screaming at the other end of the house. The night's the worst for when Allison needs him, because he's supposed to be asleep. He's not allowed to run and help her. Otherwise it's bad for them both, but sometimes he wonders what is truly worse, the day or the night.

He sighs heavily, wishing that he didn't have to have thoughts like this. He wishes he was like other people, fretting more over chemistry tests and what they're wearing rather than if they're gonna make it to tomorrow or if they're gonna find their mother dead on the bathroom floor. He shivers. Fortunately, he's never come home to see Allison dead. But that doesn't mean he isn't afraid of the day that it might happen.

For a moment he lets his mind wander and he thinks about Adam. He allows himself a small smile thinking about the beautiful ginger. He's still astonished that Adam has singing lessons and writes lyrics. He wonders what his voice sounds like. He'll have to ask one day for Adam to sing to him. Maybe he can play guitar for Adam— that's something he likes to do, guitar. Guitar and bass, both of which he's good at. He imagines it for a moment, playing a soft tune and listening to Adam sing. Somewhere quiet, where they can be alone and not bothered by argumentative or abusive fathers. Somewhere where they can talk and be free together. His smile widens a little more. He likes that idea a lot.

He's not paying any attention, and Tommy accidentally bumps into a larger male, apologizing under his breath. But it's not enough, and rough, calloused hands grab him by his aching shoulders and shove him against a locker. His head slams into a hinge and he groans, blinking and looking up into the eyes of a football player. He doesn't understand the game, and he doesn't know this person, but the jersey and buzz cut is all the hint he needs to get the idea. He chokes softly, his lips slightly parted as his eyes widen up at the snarling face of the player.

"Punk-ass bitch, watch where you're going." Oh, this is just not his week, is it? Tommy glances to the left and sees two other football players strutting up the hallway. Aw, fucking hell! Not more of them! 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!' He thinks to himself, returning his fearful gaze to the player holding him off the ground now by his shoulders. The other two players see them, and stroll on over, mischievous looks on their faces as their hands grab his shoulders, one on each side. He shakes head slowly, begging them not to—

One fist into his stomach. For football players, they're weak in their punches. But then again, his dead used to be a boxer. Sure, the knuckles of the player's fist are taught with skin stretched white and angry, but he doesn't know how to use his strength in a punch. Sure, it hurts like hell against Tommy's broken and bruised torso, but it's nothing compared to what his dad has done to him in the past three days. It doesn't even come close to anything that's happened to him already.

Fist after fist crashes into his stomach. It's stupid, really, how pathetic this is. But it still hurts. 'Just let it all go.' Softly, he tells himself, as if it's a whisper. It doesn't even sound like his own voice. Strange. But he drops his head, clearing his mind and letting himself float. The blows seem less painful now; why is that? Weak punches become taps against his body, to feathery touches and nothing at all. He can't feel it anymore. Weird. He closes his eyes, breathing deeply. He can't even feel the pain from Tuesday. His mind is a dark, warm place and for a moment he feels at peace. His body is warm and comfortable and he feels like he can fly in this state. He's so weightless. He smiles to himself, letting his body drift… drift into darkness…

"Hey!" Suddenly he feels as if the world's turned wrong. His face is pressed to something cold and he feels more horizontal than vertical. This isn't right. Tommy wills his eyes to open, and he feels his lids shift, but he still can only see darkness. Why is that? His hearing is distant, but he can hear someone talking, trying to shake him. Dulled senses pick up that there are hands on his shoulders, gently moving him. He's still blind and nearly deaf, but he can feel the pain washing back into his body, and he cringes, groaning in pain. It's mind numbing how much pain he's in now and he feels like his chest has caved in on him. His body is screaming and he feels broken. Is he fully broken now? Can he finally tell someone?

'Never.' Fuck.

"Hey— kid, wake up. Hey!" His hearing, which is less distant and more muted (like someone's hands are cupped over his ears), begins to fade back in. His blackened vision starts to clear and everything's fuzzy at first but it's getting better now. It's not as dark. He sees a creamy-faced male with a slight Mohawk sprouting from his roots, a soul patch trimmed neatly on his chin. Soft eyes are wide with concern and the male helps Tommy into a sitting position. The blonde's head is swimming and he really, really wants to puke right now. But he didn't eat this morning, so it'd be closer to dry-heaving actually.

"You alright kid?" The man asks. Tommy blinks once, his face cold and sweaty. His hands are starting to shake. His body is cold and he feels the acids rolling over one another in his stomach. He shakes his head and tries to stand, his legs like jelly and he can't really walk. The man helps him to his feet and Tommy stumbles to the trashcan across the hallway. His cold hands grip the edge and his vision darkens again as he throws his head into the opening and heaves bile and saliva into the can. His body trembles violently as he heaves again and again.

There's someone else talking as he coughs up the emptiness of his stomach. His throat is burning like hell from this and he wants to curl up and cry. It's just not fair. Why does he have to suffer like this? He chokes on his own spit, and coughs it into the can. He can't hear anything so he figures the hallway is empty. Well, mostly empty— there are two voices. But they're muted again and hard to understand. His legs wobble and he falls again, his knees crashing hard onto the wood floor of the school. He feels arms wind around him and lift him to his feet, very gently. It's warm and Tommy doesn't care who it is. He turns slowly and curls into the embrace, smelling a sweet scent that he can't quite place. He sighs softly into the person's jacket. It's so warm…

"Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me?" He knows that voice, and his eyes open slowly. He knows this person, this man. But maybe man isn't the term. Perhaps "angel" is more appropriate. But he doesn't think about it as he tilts his head up, blinking once and staring briefly into those beautiful blue eyes. They're wide, afraid, concerned, but gentle all the same. Tommy buries his head into Adam's chest as the ginger's arms tighten around him, and Tommy feels Adam press his lips to the top of his head. He breathe deeply, willing himself not to cry right now.

Adam coos to him to calm him; he's still shaking a little bit. His throat hurts from vomiting, and his body is aching with a fire that won't ever go away. He bites done on his bottom lip as Adam rubs his back gently. He's trying not to let the pain push Adam away— not this time. That's happened once before and it left him upset. He wants to stay right here for forever; safe and warm and happy. Well, he wants to be happier and in less pain, but with Adam he feels so secure and comforted. Right here and right now, he's happy again.

"Tommy?" Adam says his name again, and Tommy hums in response. "C'mon— let's get you out of here. No school for you today." He finishes. If this were any other day, Tommy would refuse and rush to whatever class he was late for. But today, he doesn't mind skipping. In fact, he kind of likes the idea of it. It means he doesn't have to suffer the pain while trying to pay attention in class. Tommy nods once into Adam's chest, and the ginger kisses his hair again, before unwrapping his arms from around him. Instead, he slips his arm around Tommy's waist to keep him from falling. Tommy blinks and sees the male who'd helped him up— he's holding Tommy's bag.

"Good to see you're doing okay, kid. I was worried about you." The Mohawk guy chuckles lightly, falling in slow step beside Tommy and Adam. The blond would chuckle in response, but he's too out of it to do much of anything at the moment. Instead he lifts his mouth into a crooked smile towards the guy.

"Oh, sorry— Tommy, this is Monte." Adam says, nodding his head to the man beside Tommy. The blond nods once in understanding. Monte, nice name.

"Adam, we can deal with introductions later. Right now Tommy needs to sit and eat something." Monte says firmly to the redhead as they practically crawl at snail's pace down the hallway towards the lobby. Tommy winces from pain as Adam's arm tightens too much around his ribs, and Adam loosens up a little bit, but keeps his arm there. How many times is he gonna need to rely on other people to help him? He used to be so good at taking care of himself, why is he fucking up now?

"I know, Monte. I know." Adam replies softly, pulling Tommy closer to him. Tommy breathes gently, wanting to stay like this.