#tom.

It's not enough, Tom.

Karen's voice drifted through the metal walls of the cylinder he'd been welded into. No amount of pounding, kicking, clawing, screaming could break him free. A small porthole was his only glimpse of the outside world, and it was fogged from his own protests.

I need you out of this war. If I kill your boys? It'll only strengthen your resolve. If I kill you? It would only strengthen theirs, and your suffering would end. I don't want your suffering to end, Tom Mason. I won't allow it to.

Light, a steady thrum, and frenetic energy consumed his world. It felt like being inside a nuclear reactor, but every cell in his body was the fuel. He was being ripped apart, atom by atom, unaware that the blood-curdling scream in his ears was his own. Karen watched the light vanish from the porthole, and smiled.

———

Out of nowhere, a spike of energy lanced through an alley across the street from Robbie, like the world itself had split open. There and gone in an instant, but in its wake? A tall, bearded, brunette man crumpled to the asphalt like he'd been shot. It took a long second for Tom's pale face to shift and tighten, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace as he attempted to push himself off the ground. He needed to assess the situation, he needed to get home, he needed to... he needed to lay the hell down. But, that wasn't an option, so Tom summoned what strength he had to at least sit up. Muscles ached and his head pounded. A shaking hand pressed over his eyes, and a deep breath stirred up nausea so bad, he almost lost his last meal right there on the ground.

you got it 👍

Starting over at a different state, far away from the big pockets of his parents had seemed like the right choice. He had a job, he had rented a little cabin in the woods that didn't look like home to the unabomb*r or a serial killer, it was actually nice--Gwen had approved when they video called. He liked working with his hands at the lumberjack. It was hard work, harder he had ever done (probably harder than any of his inmediate family had ever done), but he liked it. It gave him structure, it gave him a purpose other than feeling sorry for the things he couldn't change.

He had grown tired of social media, of people pointing fingers, of his sisters getting shit on his behalf back home. One night of bad jugment had fucked them all over. Well, no more. Gwen had her life's ambitions all set and so did Laura. Their parents were divorced and happier than he had ever seen them. He was the only one stuck in an endless loop of shit thrown at him and self-pity shit so moving here to this charming little place was good. No one knew who he was or what he had done (or hadn't done, depending on who you asked). If he only knew himself what had really happened that night maybe he could sleep better.

The one thing he had managed to do was drop the heavy drinking. He didn't even miss it. He would only have a couple of beers with the guys from the lumberjack or at dinner from time to time but had none at home. Alcohol and regret were not good friends.

He had also managed to fall back in love with reading--he would read through massive books over the weekend while nursing a small fire in the backyard, listening to the bird, smelling the forest. It was a nice life, nicer than what most people believed he deserved.

-@thepianomanonbway