A Beat for Cherry Bomb

Ch.16 What are We Supposed to Do?

Hot.

It was hot. It was sweaty. It was uncomfortable.

Tommy's head was pounding, constant waves of pressure pushing against his temples. He tried to open his eyes, but immediately closed them again when a shooting pain went to the back of his eyes from the light.

Bright.

It was bright. Everything hurt. It was uncomfortable.

Tommy slowly opened his eyes one at a time, letting each of them adjust to the newfound light entering his room. He looked over to see his curtains wide open and window closed.

Why were the curtains open? He always closes them. Why was the window closed? He always left it open at night.

With each passing moment, the headache only seemed to get worse and worse, the pressure building; he felt like he had lost a gallon of blood.

Wait-

He quickly pushed himself up on one arm, ignoring the soreness that shouldn't have been there (it was like he had been huddled on the floor for hours. But he hadn't done that, right?)

The blonde tore off the blanket that sat on top of his legs, eyes landing on the old shorts he was wearing at the stained bandages that wrapped his thighs.

His eyes widened as he recalled every moment from the night before.

Everything from the harsh words that needed to be spoken, a fist colliding with a strong bone, the sound of the sink running endlessly, the pain that shot through his thighs that he reveled in , the slam that came with the door being forced against its lock, arms wrapped around him with hands in his hair.

Every. Last. Moment .

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the rough fabric around his legs, eyes darting from each old brown stain to the newer red ones.

His breath quickened as he processed everything, his eyes starting to well up with water.

He needed something to ground himself, but what?

He desperately searched for something. He counted the posters in his room, he clenched his fists until they turned white, he breathed in and out in a pattern, but nothing worked.

His throat was still closing, his hands were still shaking, and his legs were still scarred.

Why had he done that? Did he just want attention? He didn't need to. He shouldn't have. Selfish. He's selfish selfish selfish selfish-

The quiet sounds of footsteps tore him out of his thoughts, his mind rushing to figure out what to do.

Whose footsteps were they?

They were too heavy to be Wilburs, but too light to be Technos. They were too put together to be Phils, each step sounding like it had a purpose.

Like that purpose was to build back up another's world brick by brick, even if it took a hundred years.

Tommy scrambled, trying to stand up out of his bed quickly to put some pants on, but his legs failed him. They collapsed beneath him, his knees bending underneath weight that they couldn't hold.

He had tried to catch himself, but his arms couldn't reach his bed and his hands couldn't meet the floor in time. His knees crashed against the floor, a jolt of white pain shot through his entire legs, his eyes watering once again from the pain.

The once put together footsteps seemed to get more frantic, coming closer at a faster rate with each step seemingly getting quicker. Repeated knocks at the door, along with words Tommy couldn't make out, grounded Tommy a bit more.