Tom let out a long, drawn out sigh as he idly traced his blood stained fingers along the stone wall of his cell. His hand was bruised and swollen with a coating of dried blood that begun to crack like an aging painting. It was a reminder of his actions, and the consequences that they wrought.
This was not his first visit, nor was it his second, to the Bree-Town Jail. However, it was the first he was in any fit state to remember the experience or contemplate why he was there.
His anger and rage had subsided considerably since he was first brought in. Tom vaguely remembered someone screaming, lashing and thrashing against their bonds as they were dragged into the cell. But that seemed like a distant memory now, a story somebody had told him about a different person entirely. He couldn't have been the one behaving in such a way. He couldn't have been the one who was so violent.
But he was.
Tom's eyes scrunched shut as shame overcame him, fingers curling tightly in his hair as his palm pressed firmly against his forehead whilst a single word made its way free from his lips. "Idiot." The sound bounced against the enclosed stone walls, or so it felt like, and rang through his head to mock him of his foolishness.
He wouldn't have a job to wake up for tomorrow morning, Tom knew that much at least, and wouldn't have the means to support his mother. He'd have to figure something out, but what skills did he have and who would take a chance on a self destructive low life such as himself?
"That's a care for tomorrow, not today." He told himself as he let go of his head and opened his eyes. Taking a deep breath to steady his breathing, Tom moved to perch himself on the edge of the hard bed within the cell and center his eyes back onto the stained stone wall. It was in that moment he realised this cell was not unlike his room at home, or his life as a whole.
Ever since Will died, or maybe it was even before that, Tom had felt trapped. "It's your duty to continue this family now, Tom." His father's words echoed through his head, he even felt the pat on his back that was intended for reassurance but had much the opposite effect.
If only he had the courage to stand up for himself, tell his father who he truly was, tell his mother he had the right to live for himself.
Tell them both the truth of Will's death.
Perhaps if he had done all of those things he would not be sat alone in a cell, his hands not covered in the blood of the man who showed him kindness.
Tom tried his best to put those thoughts from his head, they were not worth thinking, as he hooked his legs onto the mattress and lay his weary head down onto the pillow. Sleep would do him good, he would feel better in the morning, at least that's what he always heard. But maybe his time here did serve a purpose after all.
Tom found the faintest of smiles tease at the corners of his mouth as he closed his eyes, reveling in the knowledge he had hit rock bottom as he drifted off to sleep.
Because now there was only one direction he could go.
