The Devil in the Form of Those That Follow: Lethiferous

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TW: Child Abuse, Slight Gore, Violence

"...their screaming..."

"Lance. Wake up," Greg shook him in an attempt to wake him, which worked. Lance's eyes slowly began to open. He flinched at the touch of Greg's hand. He relaxed after seeing it was him but then began to panic remembering what had happened, and nothing that he was tied up. He immediately looked for Beatrix, who was getting woken up by Ronnie. He let out a sigh after seeing her open her eyes.

"What happened?" Lance asked Greg.

He shrugged, "We just woke up too. But you guys somehow got out I guess. That's what Nixon told us."

"Oh yeah... and we almost got free too..." Lance said sadly, remembering everything.

Greg patted his shoulder, "Hey, don't worry. We'll get out of here sometime. Just gotta have hope," He gave Lance a soft smile before looking over at Tommy, who's breathing was going unsteadily. "I'm going to check on him, I'll be back." Lance nodded and Greg went over to Tommy.

Ophelia had woken him up, she was telling him to inhale and exhale. Trying to get his breathing steady, but it didn't exactly work, it was as if he didn't hear her. Greg went down beside him, "Hey, hey, hey, calm down. Remember to focus on your breathing. Ready? Inhale...." Tommy opened his eyes at the sound of Greg's voice and looked at him, he then took a deep breath with him, "Exhale.... Ok good, again... Inhale.... Exhale...." Tommy's breathing began to get more steady. "It's okay. It'll pass," Tommy began to calm down and was less shaky than before. "See, you're doing great." Greg gave him a smile.

Tommy nodded and closed his eyes and began to focus on his breathing once more. This was something Greg had to do for him a lot, well pretty much everyone had to do it at some point if he had a trigger. Greg and Lana were the best at helping him though.

As Tommy focused more on his breathing and keeping his eyes shut, Greg's voice overtook him. While Greg's intentions weren't bad, they weren't helping.

"Hey Tommy," he would mumble to try and get him to look at him, "Hey Tommy." It only made it worse.

⤀

Eleven Years Ago

"HEY TOMMY!" Tommy's father yelled at him, "GO DO THE DAMN DISHES BEFORE I GET THE BELT!" Tommy scurried his small fragile body to the horribly decorated and completely deteriorated kitchen. He grabbed a small stool and put it in front of the sink. While he was almost a teenager, he wasn't that big at all. He stepped onto it and rolled up his sleeves, revealing bruises and cuts, some of which were still bleeding.

He grabbed a plate and began washing it.

It had been his tenth birthday, not even his parents remembered nor did they care.

He always daydreamed about having loving parents and a pretty house and a kitten, just like his friend, Greg. As he was washing the mug that was currently in his hand, he looked back in the living room to see his father kicked back in the recliner and drinking beer. There were always bottles scattered all around the house. He was watching football and would occasionally yell at the screen, cursing it out saying, "That's bullshit, they cheated!" or "Bad call you bastard!" Tommy looked back at the clock that was beside him, Mom should've been home half an hour ago. Dad isn't going to like that... he realized.

"Where the hell is your mother?!" His dad yelled from the living room, beer flying off his mouth. Just at the right time, the door swung open, and in came Tommy's mom, drunker than his dad. Tommy knew that with his mom drunk, there's no way he could go to bed without being beaten to wake up.