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Thomas shut the room to his room, making sure to lock it tight. Today had sucked, hard. He had awoken to Edd's annoying chirpy voice and had been dragged to another battle for his life against zombies.
He was getting tired.
Tom was absolutely drained from constantly going along with everyone's games and adventures that he despised. He was done with everyone's bullshit. Next to that, in a turn of events, Susan had been shattered to shreds, and none of his housemates even bothered to attend her funeral.
Tom had come to the conclusion everyone in this house hated him a long time ago. Edd was always complaining about how moody he always was, never wanting to have any fun, and Matt didn't really care about Tom at all. The only time the two spoke was when Matt lost his beloved mirror or when he couldn't find Edd. And Tord? Tord hated Tom's guts. With how much they fought, Tom was surprised the communist hadn't murdered him in his sleep by now.
Tom made it to his bed and reached under the mattress for a pair of scissors, planning his next personal attack. His old scars were fading away, and that made the feeling worse. Tom knew he didn't deserve to be this clean. He should have just hurried up and killed himself, but that was too scary to think about. So for now, simple cuts would do.
Tom grabbed his bottle of Smirnoff and downed the entire half empty bottle, he would have to buy more whenever he had time. With veins at maximum capacity, his lowered the scissors and slid the blade across a healing scar, blood seeping out in small beads. Tom let out a breath he had been holding and was about to cut another before he heard a knock on his door.
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By now, Tom had memorized everyone's knocks. It was crucial in not getting caught. This time, it was two solid knocks, before a line of repeating knocks, until Tom opened the door, pulling down his sleeves.
Tord smirked up at Tom with an evil grin. He looked around the room.
“Mind if come in?” He asked smoothly, pushing past Tom and snaking over to his bed. Tom glared at Tord and clenched his fists.
“What do you want, commie?” Tom said lowly, crossing his arms. Tord raised his eyebrows.
“Well obviously, I just wanted to help.” He gave a toothy grin. Tom paused, unsure of Tord's meaning. Help him with what?
“What?”
“Did you not hear me? I said I wanted to help!” Tord said cheerfully, reaching under the mattress and pulling out the scissors covered in dry blood. Tom's eyes widened.
“How did you-?” He took a step back. Tord stood up and walked over to the door, slamming it closed and locking it, dragging a folding chair over to block the door handle. Tom watched in horror and confusion.
“What do you mean, help? I don't need help. I'm fine.” Tom lied, shoving his hands into his pockets. Tord chuckled and turned to face Tom, scissors wide open.
“And that's the problem. I've noticed you've been getting more time outside, socializing.. Pretty out of character. What happened to the suicidal, stubborn drunk you were?” Tord drug the blade of the scissors over his hands, tracing the lines without contact. Tom scrunched his nose up.
“That's not my fault. If you guys would leave me alone-” Tord interrupted Tom with a laugh.
“Oh that's hilarious! No worries though, I'm here to help you remember who you are. A sad, pathetic, loser.” Tord's face was inches away from Tom.
Tom's eyes widened. He finally understood.
“You want to…what?!” He squeaked, backing up against the wall. Tord grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to the bed forcing him sit down in front of Tord. Tord's arms wrapped around Tom's torso, his face pressed into Tom's neck. Tom shuddered and kept his eyes on the ground.
“What's so scary, Thomas? I thought you loved this?” Tord teased, dragging the tip of the blade over Tom's neck, barely scratching it.
Tom held his tears back and took sharp choked breaths. He felt Tord's teeth against his neck as he grinned.
“Don't worry, Thomas. I wouldn't kill you. I'd much rather like to see you suffer for as long as possible. We have common goals, dear.” Tord breathed into Tom's neck, dragging the scissors down to Tom's forearms.
“Just relax~ The louder you are, the worse it will get, ok?” Tord's free hand held Tom's trembling body close to his chest. He pressed the blade down on Tom's arm, then dragged it along his skin. A strip of blood ran down Tom's shaking hand. He sobbed quietly.
Tord kissed Tom's neck and muttered insults in Norwegian as he settled down on another clean spot on Tom's wrist and sliced it open, gaining another sob from the shaking figure. Tord figured that was a good enough start and started cutting deeper, messier cuts, one's that reached the yellow fat under Tom's skin. Tom put a hand over to mouth and squeezed his eyes shut, holding down vomit and tears.
“Oh stop crying. Do you cry like a baby when you do this alone, or are you saving your tears for me, like a bitch?” Tord muttered into Tom's neck, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Tom sniffled and shook his head, wanting this to end soon. Tord laughed and cut another line.
Soon enough, his arm was covered in blood and cuts. If they weren't treated correctly, they would get infected and hurt even worse. Tord didn't seem to be concerned as he lifted Tom's limp arm to his lips and slid his tongue over the bloody mess. Tom felt disgusted and terrified. Tord consumed the remaining blood on Tom's arm before discarding the scissors onto the floor. He stood up and left the room, leaving a bleeding, wounded, and horrified Tom.
“What the fu-”