Strawberry Panic {TomTord}

Eye for an eye

Shadows crept along the sides of his features, grotesquely blending eerily well with the black, heavy set murky depths of his soulless eyes. Breathing ominously silent, his chest rose gently, the beat of his pulse fluttering in a rhythmic, calming pace. Lips twisted into a deep frown, his jaw clenched, mind blissfully empty despite the acidic words that bubbled up from his tongue.

Time slowed.

"Excuse me?" Pat spat, the question sounding as though it was being ground out through gritted teeth.

Without answering, Tom stood up leisurely- movements quiet, and measured, similar to how a predator assesses its prey. Bright splashes of neon green highlighted his features, moulding fluidly with the tight muscles of his face, emphasising the gaping, empty pits of his sockets. Brows furrowed, the haunting glow of the light seeped into the deep winding grooves of his pale flesh, filling in the long lines of exhausted sorrow that engraved his being.

Craning his head, a few sharp crackling noises erupted from the tense joints in his tilted neck, grossly intense against the stillness of the room. Shoulders squared, they unfolded to their full length, wide and intimidating, stretching the thin fabric of his clothing.

Anxiety vanished.

Stalking forward, his stride was confidently even and filled with purpose, his gait oddly graceful. Bare feet slipped inaudibly against the floor, ghosting across the linoleum, each step equal in balance. Limbs flexed to his will, unguided by invisible puppet strings, consciousness at the forefront of his mind. A powerful feeling flowed from his core, control buzzing faintly in his veins, humming in a chorus.

This time was different.

Why was it different?

This was him.

Visibly disturbed, Pat flinched slightly, expression twinging in fear laced discomfort. Body rigged, he kept his chin up, internally struggling to maintain eye contact with that lifeless, burning glare.

"I suppose it depends on what you think constitutes as a cage," Tom spoke smoothly, mouth moving steadily as he articulated the words.

"What?" Pat hissed defensively, curled fist rasing up in a protective gesture. Confusion leaked into his voice, tone wobbling- but still stubbornly standing his ground.

"It doesn't matter how big it is; a cage is still a cage. I might have been moved from my cell, but I still can't leave. I'm still trapped here against my will, I can roam but I am not free." Tom continued, unhurried as he leaned closer, "I have never had the privilege to do as I want, so by your standards, I am living as the subhuman that you've deemed me as."

You can't escape your own head.

Blinking owlishly, Pat swallowed drily, a hitch in his throat, "That doesn't exclude you from-"

"You're angry," Tom interjected, completely ignoring any stuttered mumbling, "And you have every right to be- I maimed your leader and made an embarrassment of your army, you're furious and I'm at fault."

Mutely, Pat nodded in confirmation, chewing at the inside of his cheek. A cold sweat trickled from his brow, circling his skin.

Amused, Tom sighed a laugh. It sounded empty and bitter on his ears, "But can you tell me with absolute certainty that I wasn't justified? That if I hadn't personally held back your schedule, I wouldn't be hurt right now- or better yet, dead?"