Pain - A TommyInnit Angst

Chapter 7

Thirty-nine. That's how many cuts he had made in total. Normally Tommy would be angry with himself, but as he rolled over in bed the next morning all he could do was feel numb. After quickly wrapping his arm in bandages, he sat up on his bed, sighing heavily. He had a plan for the day; first he would change his sheets and be rid of the blood-soaked ones that he was still sleeping on, and then he would spend the rest of the avoiding his parents as much as possible. He crept downstairs to get some fresh sheets, grateful to find that his parents had not yet woken up. Screwing the old sheets into a tight ball and stuffing them in his bin, he put the clean ones on his bed and was surprised about how much better this made him feel. The walls and parts of his bed were still smeared in blood and he knew there was no point in trying to remove the stains, so he instead set on clearing up the bathroom, which had pools of dried blood on the tiles and around the sink from when he had bandaged his wounds that day. Once he had finished, he looked around and felt a smile on his face for the first time in days. He was one step closer to moving forward from that night. A small voice in the back of his head told him that he was also one step closer to a repeat next Wednesday, but that voice was cut off by the unmistakeable buzzing of Tommy's phone.

• • •

Tubbo had barely left his room all week. The overwhelming feeling of guilt was eating away at him, draining his energy. His parents had begun to worry, but he explained it away by saying that he felt ill. He didn't want to call Tommy for fear that he would make him uncomfortable, but not knowing how he was doing was killing him. Of course, Wilbur gave him regular updates on Tommy's physical health but Tubbo had seen the marks on his arms. He had seen how skeletal his body was. He knew that something deeper was going on; and of course it was – who could expect Tommy to be mentally healthy in his horrific situation. Tubbo had spent most of his days calling Ranboo, both of them immobilised by guilt and both of them feeling completely and utterly useless. Last night, Ranboo had suggested that Tubbo call Tommy and – if he picked up – ask if he was comfortable adding Ranboo to the call. Tubbo had spent much time deliberating this suggestion, terrified of making his poor friend feel worse than he already did, but decided in the morning that he would. After sending a quick text to Ranboo checking that he was awake, he pressed on Tommy's contact and selected the option to FaceTime.

• • •

Tommy froze when he saw the name on the phone. He had been wanting to talk to Tubbo all week – he was his best friend, after all – but the thought filled him with so much anxiety that he felt like he was going to throw up. He was scared that Tubbo wouldn't want to talk to him, perhaps he would be angry with him for keeping this secret for such a long time. But Tubbo's name was there, flashing up on the screen requesting to FaceTime and Tommy hesitantly pressed the green button to accept the call.

'T-tubbo?'

'Tommy... I- I thought you weren't going to pick up.'

Tommy could see Tubbo's sudden expression of shock right after he had picked up the call; he hadn't bothered to cover his wounds today, so Tubbo could see everything; the deep purple bruise, the circular cigarette burns and, worst of all, the blistered flaming-red lighter burn.

'Tommy... I'm... I'm so sorry Tommy, I-' Tubbo's words were cut off as he began to sob, and Tommy felt a pang of sorrow.

'Tubs, it's not your fault. I didn't want you to know so there was no way you could've found out apart from how you did, and I'm so sorry you had to find out that way.'

'But why didn't you want me to know?' Tubbo choked out.

'Because I didn't want to hurt you, Tubs. You're my best friend and I didn't want to burden you with that.' Tommy was surprised with how calm and collected he was managing to remain, probably because he'd had some practice from talking to Wilbur about these things.

'Tommy, d-do you mind if I add Ranboo to the call?'

Tommy thought for a second. 'No, you can add him. I don't mind.'

Tubbo pressed a few buttons on his phone screen and Ranboo's face flashed up.

'Tommy.'

Tommy didn't know what to respond.

'Um, Ranboo?'

Ranboo took a deep breath; Tommy could tell he was very emotional and was trying to keep himself collected. 'Tommy, I'm so sorry this has happened to you. It's just so fucking unfair.'

Tommy stayed silent.

'Are you okay? Wilbur told us that your wounds are healing and everything but... like how are you doing mentally?'

'I'm doing okay. Better.'

'They're not gonna do that again are they?'

Tommy considered lying to him, but decided that there was no point; he would probably find out soon enough anyway.

'It happens every Wednesday if I haven't lost a certain amount of weight. I didn't reach the target last week, so they hurt me.'

'Every Wednesday?'

Tommy slowly nodded.

'We need to get you out of there today Tommy. Please let us help you. Wilbur could come and pick you up, maybe from school or something so your parents wouldn't be there.'

'It's not that simple, Ranboo.'

'Please, Tommy.' Tubbo begged.

'I can't.'

Ranboo hesitantly nodded. 'Okay. But you need to promise that you'll tell someone if you're badly injured, and know that you can always talk to us.'

Tommy nodded, slightly smiling. 'I know. Thank you.'

They ended the call, and Tommy breathed a slow sigh of relief. That wasn't as difficult as he'd expected it to be, and he made a note to try and call them more often, even if it was to talk about unrelated things. He didn't want to shut them out.

Tommy decided that he would take a quick walk to the nearby park to try and avoid his parents; they were sure to wake up soon. He grabbed his coat and stepped out of his front door, not bothering to cover the injuries on his face because it was still early for a Saturday, so he wouldn't see anyone he knew. He was wrong.

'Hey kid, can I talk to you quickly?'

Tommy whipped his head around to see his neighbour, an agreeable lady of around 60 years old. Tommy didn't know her name because his parents didn't like him talking to the neighbours. He nervously cast a glance up at their bedroom window; the curtain was still closed so he hoped they weren't awake and wouldn't find out that he had talked to her.

'Uh, yeah sure.' He replied, walking over to the fence between their gardens, where she was sitting, a cup of tea in hand.

'Kid, answer me honestly. Are you okay?'

'Uh, yeah of course! I'm great.' Tommy replied, beginning to panic.

'You don't look it. What's all this?' she stood up and leaned over the fence, gently brushing her forefinger against the purple bruise on his cheek. Tommy backed away quickly.

'Oh, nothing. I'm just clumsy, that's all.' He let out a forced laugh, but his neighbour's face stayed straight and serious.

'I've heard a lot of screaming over the past couple of months.' She raised an eyebrow at him. Tommy's eyes widened in panic and he shakily replied.

'I just like to... watch horror films. I, uh, also play horror video games... maybe that's it?'

She sighed and sat back down in her chair.

'It's okay if you don't want to open up to me, but I've been on this earth for almost seventy years and I know that nobody screams like that at a horror film.'

Tommy stood there, frozen as she slowly sipped her tea.

'It was nice meeting you.' He muttered and, forgetting about his walk, he turned around and went straight back into his house, clambered up the stairs, and sat on his bed, his heart pounding.