❥ tordtom oneshots《

smells like regret, tastes like blood

so, i started reading the twilight saga by stephanie meyers again. havent read it since 6th grade. balled my eyes out multiple times.

i was opened up to the twisted romance and sadness i hadnt read in a while, so im starting to remember a lot of vocab i hadnt used. my writing has become lackluster, if you all couldnt tell, and i apologize for such repetitive words and grammar.

i really need to use the benefit of knowledge shown to be two years beyond my age group to use again.

WARNING:

ill be referencing (and basing some of this shit off of it) to a situation that happened in the book, "new moon," so please feel free to skip if you plan on reading said book.

i'm practically spoiling what happens between edward and bella, i dont recommend the disappointment if you dont want spoilers.

of course, im only taking inspiration from what stands by a quarter into new moon. if you think that the relationship is shattered and its all the end based on what you picked up in this angst, i can assure you, that's not the case, to put it lightly. there's still two other books after this (eclipse then breaking dawn, as well as twilight first), so dont take anything i say or write as the entire story. im only referencing off the conflict that both made me cry and mused me with its sensitivity, as i dont cry often, not to books at least ^^

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-toms pov-

I sometimes forget the date. Everything had become strangely blurred as time continued, like my brain had a mind of its own, as if I didn't have the ability to function my body by myself. My programming was set to the same schedule on the daily.

Shamefully hard to swallow down and admit, everything became dull after he left for "the big city."

When passion calls, it's a benefitial thing. I'm just horribly selfish, staring up at the blank ceiling every fucking night as I yearned for him to somehow end up back at our door.

Like that'll ever happen. Who am I kidding.

Every day functioned in the same, depressive loop. Over and over.

I was like a vacant house, the face of that house tattered with age, moaning as the wood splintered and shrunk.

Empty, braindead.

Like a zombie.

I didn't even remember what I was eating at the table sometimes, too bothered, mentally, to pinpoint the taste. I was reaching my nimble, porcelain fingers out for something too far out of my grasp, said thing shattering when the tips of my digits inched closer in. Painting a mental picture portrait of my nightmares, I suppose I am doing. Every night, I found myself drifting off into the uncomfortable forrest of my own mind scape, the walls bleak and muted, vines of regret, doubt, creeping along the cracks and grooves. Stumbling endlessly throughout my own thoughts, I picture Tord, distant and cold as he spoke with an elevated glare;

"I don't want you. You're no good for me, Thomas."

Legs crippling underneath your now heavy body, hands quivering and eyes swelling.

"Don't... don't do this," you plead, yet you already know that his cold eyes, his claim was already a descion; like a king, his word was law. There's no changing his stone mind.

"Just promise me something. You don't do anything reckless or stupid. Stay safe, for Edd n' Matt. They need you."

His iris of stone melted into a silver muddle as he spared a warm glance at you.