Own Me

Chapter Ten

A.N. Yesterday I accidentally released chapter thirteen while editing it but unpublished before any of you saw. That might be why some of you got an update notif lol sorry. Also, I love this cute gif of Thomas Brodie so decided to randomly shove it in. I love shoving things in. Happy reading!

♔ Chapter Ten ♔

"I'll see you later," I'd told Isaac, earlier that day. I'd left him lying on his bed, sprawled out naked, his face and his sheets covered in our mingled blood.

His room was a fucking mess, since we fucked all over it. His door was cracked and splintered, from when he backed me up against it. All the clothes from his wardrobe were tossed across the floor carelessly. Everything that once sat nicely on his desk had been whisked off to make room for me. His pillow was somewhere near the window-sill, and one of his curtains was hanging on the door-handle. He was smiling, the last I saw him. I was smiling too, weirdly enough.

"See you later," he's said back to me.

We may have been all worlds of fucked up, but it was just a part of the people we'd became, I guessed. Or, more accurately, the people Tom made us become, after he left us behind. His death had been so hard on the both of us that it left us scarred in ways so similar that we couldn't help but be drawn to each-other. The people he'd tossed aside, left alone, and thrown away.

In the farthest folds of my head, a part of me knew and understood that he didn't mean to make us this way. He didn't want to fuck us up, but he still did. Maybe he thought we meant so little to him that it wouldn't matter if he jumped off a cliff and killed himself. He was probably so lost in his own insanity to even see how much we both fucking adored him. In our own peculiar ways, we loved him.

But Tom was a fucking mess, and looking back, even I had to admit it. He was a boy that had been tormented for years by his own past and his own ghosts, by insecurities that made him feel like he was worthless and disgusting. He became so twisted that he thought he deserved to be treated like shit. I'd never known a more fucked up human being in my life, until I met Tom. Then, of course, I met Isaac, too, who was fucked in a totally more twisted way.

Sadly, though, there were just so many things wrong with Tom that, in a way, he was incapable of ever realising that someone could actually love him exactly for who he was. Unconditional love was an idea to him that seemed so wrong - the idea that someone could love him despite his flaws, or even because of his flaws, seemed so foreign to him that he didn't believe it. Or maybe he just thought it was something that did happen, just not to people as fucked up as him. People as fucked up as us, now, though. Tom assumed love was something that you got to watch happen all around you, but would never necessarily happen to you.

The way couples would walk by, holding hands or staring romantically, and you'd see it, and a part of you would long to have a love like that. But all the other parts of you knew that you weren't meant to be happy. Happiness was just a far off notion to you, something you could try and find, something you could want with all your fucking heart, but at the end of the day, you knew you were useless and pathetic, you knew that you were just too fucked up for anyone to ever want to be happy with you.

But not Isaac. In an especially demented and fucked up way, Tom had screwed the two of us over so much that we squeezed together almost perfectly. We were both rough around the edges, to be sure, and we weren't like any other couple, not that I would be dumb enough to call us a couple. We didn't hold hands, we didn't kiss with tenderness or make love with care. We snogged with fire in our eyes and blood on our lips, we fucked with fucking on our minds, and we didn't give a shit.

It was just so fucking unbelievably easy for me to be around Isaac. That was why I was starting to like him so much. I could be myself around him, and halfway through conversations with him, I'd realise that this whole time, I'd been speaking my mind, I'd been doing silly things like scratching my head or picking my nose without caring.