Broken- And Fixed Again- (A Jamilton Fanfic)

Chapter 18: The Demons Return

//TW: physical and verbal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, suicidal thoughts, swearing\\

Thomas

Rain streaked down the panes of the window, the city blurred and soaked in gray. So desolate, so empty. What is the point of having such a magnificent place, a beacon of light and refuge for so many, if the first rumbling of thunder over the distant horizon renders it lifeless? I shudder to think of the storm creeping across the sky, the threat of the waves toppling what hope had been forged here so many years ago. A sharp, heavy wind tore through the open window, carrying with it the earthy scent of rain and all the promises that bubbled up within it.

My fingers, despite being as gripped as they were around the frame of the window, trembled.

"You're going to be in so much trouble when I get home, Thomas." His words hurt more than any knife could.

They cut clean through the air, silencing the calming drizzle that pattered against the window. I closed my eyes, trying to ground myself to the music, the underspoken symphony that called out to me, but the tune was meaningless and broken when played behind the anger seeping into his voice, just barely contained.

"Do you have anything to fucking say?" he demanded. I flinched away from the phone, my heart fluttering against the confines of my ribcage, awaiting a strike that would not yet come. How pathetic, that even now, with him halfway across the city, I still flinch and stop and lose my breath at the mere intonation of his anger. What have I become but a scared, fragile bird, bouncing from predator to predator, desperate for a way out? What have I become but a coward, a fool, constantly praying for things to change without ever taking the first steps to ensuring it?

"Well?" he hissed out. It was not a bark. Not a threat. No, those would come later, when he was safely tucked behind closed doors. When there were no witnesses to watch his anger explode into violence, no witnesses to hear his truths poured out into his screams and demands as he grabbed me, shoved me against the wall with his exploring, greedy hands, and whispered all the ways he could kill me—

I bit down on my lip until I could taste the metallic tang of blood. "James, please, I didn't want that to happen, I promise. I told him not to tell! I really did! I'm so sorry, I—"

"You're sorry? Sorry doesn't fix anything, now does it Thomas?"

"James—"

"What? You're gonna fix this? Oh, I would love to see you undo all the fucking shit you've just caused Thomas. God," he hissed, his tone taking on that higher pitch laced with anger, the only warning that preceded the absolute havoc his next insult would wreak. "You're so fucking pathetic, somedays."

"I—I...I don't know okay I'm so sorry and I never meant for this to happen I promise I—"

"You are pathetic," he repeated, just as disgusted by my own weaknesses as I was. Perhaps he wanted to make sure I was familiar with that word, and that every time I heard it, I associated it with myself and myself only. "You know that?"

"I—"

"I'll be home in ten minutes."

He hung up with out another word. I dropped the phone, letting it hit the bed with a thud. A single hot tear rolled down my face, and I slowly wiped it away.

Crying did no good, not anymore. No crying, no begging, no praying. None of it would ever save me, not like there was anywhere to go even if I did manage to escape the locked door, the iron bars. There was nothing left for me to do but wait for the door to open, wait for James to step through, wait for the rest of the world to drown out and fade away as he slowly slid the door into its place properly secured in the frame. And that's when the screaming would start. Screaming like sirens, foreboding the oncoming storm.