What I Hate About You

Chpt. 7

The days went by as normally as they could. Tom watched Tord like a hawk and took note of every move he made. You could say Tom might have been a little over paranoid. His friends noticed for sure. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a tiny bit?"

Tom bit back his annoyance. "Yeah, no. When a deadly communist is in your home, you'd let him do as he pleases?"

Tom's new attitude was starting to tick Edd off quite a bit. At first it was tolerable and understandable, but now it was just a pain. What the fuck was going on? It was basically their fault Tord had gotten into this whole situation. Right? They never stepped. He never stepped in when he got all paranoid and stayed in his room all day. And god. All of that machine racket? I'm so stupid, Edd thought. Of course, Edd always blamed himself for other people's problems. Especially with his best friends...

"Edd?" Matt called from the living room, "What do you do if you maybe accidentally set fire to the sofa?"

"Oh shit!" Tord's shout was muffled.

Edd zipped his stubby legs into the room and laid eyes on the chaos. Matt sat in the corner and cried, trying to hide his face from the flames. Tom slapped pillows on the couch repeatedly. "This is your fault I bet! Stupid commie!" He spat.

Tord was obviously a little traumatized. He hesitated, looking around the room for something that could help put the flames out. Finding nothing, he dashed out of the living room and came back with a small fire extinguisher. No one had idea something this useful would actually be in Tom's apartment. Tord gripped the little red tank with all he had and shot it at the couch, trying not to miss a single spot.

Soon it was over. The battle was won. Well... except for the torched piece of trash sitting in front of them. They all stared in silence. The one thing Tom loved most of all was gone. You could even hear a few sniffles from him. He sighed and began pulling the pillow cushions out. Resting one on his foot he spoke in a monotone voice, "I guess I'll take these out."

With that he exited the apartment, dragging both pillow cushions across the floor. Edd and Matt heaved what was left of their beloved throne towards the door. They disappeared into the hallway, not a word was exchanged.

Tord was now alone. He kicked at the charred chunks of foam and fabric, not even bothering to help clean up. Looking out the window, he saw Tom finally exit the building. He threw the remains of the couch into the dumpster and closed the lid. He then leaned against it, taking a whiff of the air, and pulled out his flask. Tord squinted through the blinds and sighed to himself. "Little Tom, why do you hate me so much?"

It really didn't make all that sense. He had apologized for everything he had done to hurt his friends, yet he still couldn't get that one person to trust him again. Tord flicked the blinds closed and headed towards the bathroom, stopping when he noticed one of the doors were cracked open. He placed his hand on the cold wood and pushed it further, revealing an untidy room. Clothes littered the shaggy carpet. It was obvious now that this was Tom's room. Dark blue sheets and walls were often speckled with checkered patterns. "Wouldn't hurt." Tord muttered, walking in and closing the door behind him.

He wandered a bit, checking out the posters on the walls, the dangling ceiling fan, not noticing the desk he was walking a little too close to. He bumped into it with his hip letting out a small squeak of pain. There were piles of papers, books stacked on each other to hold a mirror, and broken pencils rolled around here and there. I hope you actually use that mirror, little Tommy. It'd be a shame to waste such a handsome face. For once he let Tom have some sort of privacy and chose not to open a single drawer.

Tord moved on, touching random items lightly to get a feel of what Tom's life was like. He stopped at one very special object. An electric guitar leaned against the side of the desk. It was worn which meant Tom cared about it a lot to even keep it around. Oh yes. Susan was what he called it. Oh man how he would play it every night. Tord actually sort of wished he could hear it one more time. Looking back at the door once more, he took his chance and picked Susan up. He cradled her in his hands carefully picking at the checkered duct tape that he realized Tom must have picked at too. He was about to run his hands down the strings when he stopped. "What the hell am I doing?" He asked himself.

"Yes what are you doing?"