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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@theonetruevisionary
Join us and be free. I am The High Visionary and I will lead you to salvation. Trust me. I can help you.
Dillon| The High Visionary in blue 🧿
High Priests are also blue but with this symbol and bold. 🪬
Hi, I’m Leila and I’ve just left a cult after being there for two years. Feel free to ask anything. I’ll answer as best as I can.
Leila is in white! 🕯️
Ask us me anything!
Leila here! It’s Phillip’s birthday tomorrow and I want to plan a surprise for him, nothing too big, just a small get together, John might be there, with his new girlfriend, as well as Derek. Charlie has been very busy with school, but I have his present to give to Phillip.
I want the day to be really special for him. It usually gets overshadowed by it being “Star Wars Day” and well, I’ve had enough of that for a long time what with…everything. So I want it to be Phillips day! I’ll let you know how it goes!
Yippee!!!!!
- @twig-the-little-fella
My goodness! You’re a curious thing!
Leave me alone, I beg of you.
-@gemma-of-shropshire
Oh Thomas, if only I could. I meant it when I said I don’t like seeing you in pain. Even back then, after our fights, I hated to have to see you that way.
You mustn’t do this to yourself Thomas. The people helping you are the ones you trust the least. It’s so sad to see. We only ever try to help you and you push us away.
@gemma-of-shropshire
(A dream comes to you, Dillon. Or at least, you think it's a dream, what with its fantastical, terrifying contents.)
(You wake to darkness, the only source of light the moonbeam streaming into your room. There's a pressure on your chest, pinning you down to your own bed—and you can tell it's your bed too, this is your room. You should be safe here.)
(A pinprick of pain on your neck. Before you can scream, a hand clamps down around your mouth, forcing any noise back in. You try to fight, but the grip it has on you is absolute and iron-tight, strength leaving you as it drains your blood.)
(It looks up at you, blood—your blood—dripping down its lips. The light is dim and hazy and its eyes are red, but you Know. It's Thomas.)
He squirms and screams against the hand but he can’t move. Nothing he does works, he’s not strong enough to get this creature off of him.
How is Thomas so strong? Why can’t he fight back? It’s Thomas!?
His pleas are muffled against Thomas his hand and he can feel his eyes drooping, he feels dizzy, hot and cold all at once. Is this what death feels like?
“Sthohp!”
“A familiar word. One that you never listened to. So tell me…why should I?”
His voice, smooth like silk lilts on Dillon’s head, like a trance, it’s so deep, so soothing, yet everything hurts.
He tries to talk again, but the sharp nails on Thomas’ hand dig in to Dillon’s jaw.
He screams in agony.
“Hmmm, of if I were my normal self, I’d pity you.”
Thomas hisses in Dillon’s ear as he lick the blood from his lips.
“But as I’m not…and I am this…I simply shan’t. Dillon, I will make you beg for death. All you are to me is food. Sustenance. That’s all your good for nothing more.”
He bites down again and continues to feed.
Dillon screams until he voice his hoarse. Just as he passes out, he wakes up in a cold sweat.
In the dark, he could swear he could see something lurking in the shadows.
“Thanks for the lift, John.”
“Don’t mention it.”
John gets out and open the back car door for Leila and Phillip. Leila gets out first and walks to the other side of vehicle with John to help Phillip out.
“Take it easy, we have plenty of time.” Leila says softly as she hooks Phillip’s arm around her shoulder. John unfolds a wheelchair that the hospital loaned them and put the breaks on so Leila could help Phillip into the chair; he then grabs their bags and heads to the door to open it ready for them.
“Not far now, then you can rest.” Leila says as she kisses Phillip’s cheek gently, before she wheels him up to the house.
She helps him inside, and John brings the chair into the hallway.
“Please call if you need anything.”
“I will, I promise. Andrea said she’d pop round too, same with mum and dad, but they’re take care of Charlie while we adjust. Thank you for your help, John, I’ll see you soon.”
“No worries, see you later Phillip, feel better soon.”
With that, John leaves and closes the door behind him. Leila guides Phillip over to the couch and fusses over him to make sure he’s comfortable.
She breathes a sigh of relief, glad to be home, and more importantly, glad to have Phillip back.
“Do you need anything?”
@assistant-and-lover
After enough time in the hospital the ting of embarrassment from being totally helpless starts not to be as prominent. Yes, he does love that his girlfriend can pick him up and stuff, but he never wanted to be a burden. Even if Leila would staunchly tell him he wasn't one.
Nope.
He responds to her question, without adding 'I'm fine'.
Just happy to be back.
It felt odd to be at her house again. The last time he'd left this place he was blissful and tipsy and about to be kidnapped. Now he was exhausted and mildly still in pain, and yet surprised to be alive.
Phillip reaches out and holds Leila's hand. Almost to confirm to himself this is all still real and not an elaborate dream he's having while still locked in that dingy cold bathroom again.
You can't fall asleep in a dream, can you? That would also prove it's real because Phillip feels like he could fall asleep right here. He smiles up at her, before kissing the back of her hand softly.
Love you.
He had to sneak a bit more sappiness in before his mum came round after dropping her things off at the farm. She'd be staying in his room at the Greenbrookes while Phillip stayed here. Not that his mum distrusted Leila anymore, but you couldn't exactly flirt with your girlfriend in front of other people.
Sorry I can't pick up where we left off. Yet.
Leila squeezes his hand gently and leans down to kiss his forehead.
"I love you too."
She says softly and rubs her thumb over the back of his hand. With her free hand she gently cups his cheek and check him over, checks his eyes, his reactions, checks to see if he's uncomfortable in anyway. Checks to see if it's really him...
She pulls back a little and huffs a laugh.
"There will be plenty of time for that when you're better. Right now, I'm just glad you're home."
She lets her hand linger on his cheek before moving it up to brush some of his hair out of his eyes.
“Can I get you anything? Anything at all, I’ll make it. A drink, some food? Are you warm enough?”
She knows it’s overbearing. Leila smiles sadly and kneels down to the side of him, looking up into his eyes.
“How about lunch?”
She says softly and rests a hand on his knee.
Phillip places her hand on top of hers. Realizing he's not getting away without letting her do something. After a brief pause to think it over nods in agreement to her lunch suggestion.
Lunch.
Then he jokes again. Smirking.
I'll sit here and look pretty. For you.
He looks better than he has in a while.
Usually they'd cook together, but he can't see Leila letting him help much in his current state. Damn torture injuries you don't heal from immediately. Damn muscle weakening from all the time spent lying in recovery, resting, and not doing anything.
She tries to ask if he wants anything specific, but honestly he'd be fine with whatever. What he wants is for things to go back to normal. As if they could just pick up where they left off. But that won't be for a while.
Nope. You pick.
She already knows his allergy anyway. Phillip trusts her.
Leila smiles on the side of her mouth and raises an eyebrow.
“Good. That’s how I like you eat anyway.”
She chuckles and stands, planting a gentle kiss to his cheek. She glances over him, silently checking that he’s comfortable on the couch before she stands fully.
Before she can ask him what he wants he’s already told her to pick. A soft sigh escapes her and she nods.
“Okay, I’ve got something in mind just let me know if you want something specific. I won’t belong just call if you need me.”
She lets her hand linger on his shoulder, as though letting go will make him disappear, and heads to the kitchen.
She starts to gather together pots and pans and looks in the fridge to make sure she has absolutely the correct ingredients. She’d been wanting to make this for him since he’d been rescued. While having brief trips home to freshen up, she’d been honing the recipe and now was as good a time as any to try it.
She looked down at her phone as it buzzed.
[New Message: Andrea]
Leila, it’s Andrea, I had some of Phillip’s things, I’ll be round in about twenty minutes minutes or so, see you then.
X
Leila read the message and poked her head around the door to Phillip.
“Your mum will be round soon. She’s got some of your things.”
It was a protocol they’d all put in place. Message with an estimate of an arrival time as not to startle anyone when knocking the door. It had been Eddie’s idea. That way it would less likely cause alarm. And if it was a stranger, Leila would be right to have her guard up.
[New Message:]
Thanks Andrea, see you soon. That’ll be just in time for lunch. X
She sends the message and gets back to cooking. As if on cue, and on time Andrea arrives just as Leila isolating up.
Leila opens the door and lets her in.
“Hey.”
Andrea higher close.
“Hello, Leila, dear, I’ll just see Phillip then I’ll help with the food.”
“No need, it’s ready, I’ll bring it in. Make yourself comfortable.”
Andrea nods and heads over to Phillip.
“Hello, Tribble. How are you feeling?”
He bites his tongue to not use one of the many well worn quotes about feeling and emotions in his arsenal by way of deflecting.
Relieved.
Phillip answers, because it's a relief that he's even still here, alive, and back to some semblance of normal.
Although it's a different sort of normal. A welcome one. A normal that includes Leila and Charlie. A normal where his mum is here. A normal where there's other people who cared about him and visited him. And he can still see a ghost sometimes if Adam's around.
What's that?
He looks up at the stuff his mom brought as she comes around the couch to sit beside him.
Andrea can’t help but smile at the answer. She does resist fondly rolling her eyes though. He’s bound to be relieved. He’s not stuck in the hospital anymore and he’s not near any of those dangerous people. For now.
He’s safe and that’s his main concern. She’ll ask him if he’s in pain later.
“Im glad. You can relax now, nothing to worry about.”
She sits beside him and gently pats his knee. It’s an empty comfort, she knows. The danger is still very much out there. But he’s safe with Leila, and he’s surrounded by people who love and care for him.
“This? Well, I’ve been staying in your room back at the farm, I haven’t moved anything before you panic,just tidied a bit, and I’ve just bought you some clothes that’s all. Some of your things you might need, like shaving foam, your razor, pyjamas, underwear…”
She nudges him gently with a grin.
“I found this stuffed in a drawer as well, you never used to hide it.”
She didn’t take it fully out of the bag, but she showed him a stuffed tribble he’d had since childhood. It’s at that moment Leila walks in and smiles.
“Oh that’s adorable.”
She says genuinely. It’s clearly been very loved. She sets everyone up with their food and sits in the next chair closest to them so they’re not crowded.
“I know what you’re thinking, it’s vegan cheese, not a drop of milk in sight. I wanted to treat you.”
Leila opened her mouth in surprise but let him seek comfort. She sighed softly as she looked around.
“He does that. Gets in to your head, he knows exactly how to weasel his way in to people’s minds. And twist your words. You have very right to be angry after what he’s done.”
She gives him all the time he needs.
“Don’t be sorry.”
Though she’s not sure if he’s apologising to her or himself.
“Those who got out are all healing in one way or another. It takes time, Thomas.”
His breathing slowly, slowly calmed, and he wasn't sure how long it took before he was able to actually think clearly. He rubbed roughly at his face, trying to swipe away the messy tears.
"I'm sorry." he mumbled, again, and then grimaced, "I don't... I don't understand what happened. I was fine, and then I was just... it was like my chest closed down." he whispered. "Like it was... in a bear trap." he swallowed hard again. "I couldn't breathe." he was exhausted, and sore. "I should go back to the... hotel..." his voice trailed off, remembering he'd checked out. Shit.
“Sounds like a panic attack, Thomas.”
She says as she looks at him.
“What did he say? Something must have kicked it off.”
Leila shifts her position as she listens to him.
“Does…does your wife know you’re out now?”
She looks around to make sure Dillon isn’t still watching from beyond the street corner. She eyes the place suspiciously.
Hotel. That can’t be very accommodating.
“You do have a room there, right?”
Leila guided him to the floor and crouched beside him. She relaxed a little when he shook his head, but that still didn’t stop her concern.
“Don’t apologise. You haven’t done anything wrong. Just, sit here for a minute, I’ll keep an eye out.”
She stays in a crouched position, being ready to move at any point.
“Thomas, what happened?”
He hesitated a moment before leaning into her, grounding himself against her solidity and the fact that Dillon was gone now. Slowly, his breathing was starting to get more under control, but his chest was aching and his hands still shaking as he wrapped them around his torso and shuddered.
"We... we were talking. I don't know why I... why I went over, I just... I was... angry and then... he just kept talking... and I couldn't br-breathe -" he rambled, even if it was wheezily. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry-"
Leila opened her mouth in surprise but let him seek comfort. She sighed softly as she looked around.
“He does that. Gets in to your head, he knows exactly how to weasel his way in to people’s minds. And twist your words. You have very right to be angry after what he’s done.”
She gives him all the time he needs.
“Don’t be sorry.”
Though she’s not sure if he’s apologising to her or himself.
“Those who got out are all healing in one way or another. It takes time, Thomas.”
“Oh dear now this is pickle isn’t it?”
His patronising words cut through the air as he continued to hold Thomas. He slowly moves one of his hands to the crook of Thomas arm as he curls in on himself.
“Thomas. You have to get a hold of yourself. You have to breathe. Why don’t we take this inside? Calm your nerves, maybe a spot of tea? Then as soon as you’re fine again you can go about your business?”
Dillon carefully starts to lead Thomas off of the street, taking advantage of his panicked state to lead him inside.
“Hey!”
A call from across the street cuts through the air.
“What’s going on? Thomas?”
A woman’s voice calls from the other side of the street.
Get ahold of yourself. You fucked up again. Couldn't breathe. His head was spinning and the panic was overwhelming and at least he understood, back then, what was required of him. He shouldn't have come here. He should never have come here. This was a mistake. What was he trying to prove?
His long legs were wobbly but he didn't fight as Dillon started to lead him. His wheezes were audible as he fought against his traitorous lungs, and the panic was getting worse, not better, he wasn't safe, why was he following?
Then there was a voice and he jolted, just slightly, trying to yank himself back, away from Dillon. As his head tilted back, head spinning and vision alarmingly grey because he still couldn't breathe.
"Let - go -"
“You! Get away from him!”
She runs across the street and pushes the man away from Thomas.
“I mean it, he’s done with you, we’re both done with you. You can’t make him go in there. Leave him alone!”
The red headed woman scowls as she pulls Thomas away from Dillon.
“Seriously, get away from him.”
Dillon steps back and smirks a little.
“I was only trying to help. But if you’ve got this. I’ll be taking my leave. I’m sure I’ll see you again Thomas. Remember, you’re always welcome. Everyone, is welcome.”
He leaves to go inside the building. The woman looks back at Thomas, an old friend. Her fists are balled and they’re shaking with adrenaline.
“Thomas? Did he hurt you?”
Leila asks and she watches to make sure Dillon leaves.
He stumbled back, into Leila's grip, and it was a million times better than the burning from Dillon's hold. He felt like a rabbit running from a dog, or frozen in the middle of the road, headlights blasting towards him. He couldn't think. he felt like he was about to keel over.
He shook his head and then suddenly his knees were buckling and he was sitting on the pavement, dropping his head between them as he tried urgently to gasp in air.
"I'm... so... sorry..." he croaked out.
Leila guided him to the floor and crouched beside him. She relaxed a little when he shook his head, but that still didn’t stop her concern.
“Don’t apologise. You haven’t done anything wrong. Just, sit here for a minute, I’ll keep an eye out.”
She stays in a crouched position, being ready to move at any point.
“Thomas, what happened?”
“Oh dear now this is pickle isn’t it?”
His patronising words cut through the air as he continued to hold Thomas. He slowly moves one of his hands to the crook of Thomas arm as he curls in on himself.
“Thomas. You have to get a hold of yourself. You have to breathe. Why don’t we take this inside? Calm your nerves, maybe a spot of tea? Then as soon as you’re fine again you can go about your business?”
Dillon carefully starts to lead Thomas off of the street, taking advantage of his panicked state to lead him inside.
“Hey!”
A call from across the street cuts through the air.
“What’s going on? Thomas?”
A woman’s voice calls from the other side of the street.
Get ahold of yourself. You fucked up again. Couldn't breathe. His head was spinning and the panic was overwhelming and at least he understood, back then, what was required of him. He shouldn't have come here. He should never have come here. This was a mistake. What was he trying to prove?
His long legs were wobbly but he didn't fight as Dillon started to lead him. His wheezes were audible as he fought against his traitorous lungs, and the panic was getting worse, not better, he wasn't safe, why was he following?
Then there was a voice and he jolted, just slightly, trying to yank himself back, away from Dillon. As his head tilted back, head spinning and vision alarmingly grey because he still couldn't breathe.
"Let - go -"
“You! Get away from him!”
She runs across the street and pushes the man away from Thomas.
“I mean it, he’s done with you, we’re both done with you. You can’t make him go in there. Leave him alone!”
The red headed woman scowls as she pulls Thomas away from Dillon.
“Seriously, get away from him.”
Dillon steps back and smirks a little.
“I was only trying to help. But if you’ve got this. I’ll be taking my leave. I’m sure I’ll see you again Thomas. Remember, you’re always welcome. Everyone, is welcome.”
He leaves to go inside the building. The woman looks back at Thomas, an old friend. Her fists are balled and they’re shaking with adrenaline.
“Thomas? Did he hurt you?”
Leila asks and she watches to make sure Dillon leaves.
Dillon held Thomas’ hands, firm but gentle, not letting go. Not squeezing too hard. He could feel him shaking. He looked to see Thomas had gone quite pale.
“Shhh, shh, shh, it’s alright Thomas. Breathe. Breathe for me. The last thing you want to do is faint or collapse in the middle of the street.”
He smoothed his thumb over the back of one of Thomas’ hands.
“It’s a lot to take on isn’t it? The burden of freedom. Knowing she may never take you back. Knowing your worth. And you do have worth Thomas. You’re worth a lot to me. It pains me to see you upsetting yourself like this. Breathe, Thomas. It’s alright.”
His words lilt in their like music notes on a silken sheet. Soft, gentle. Soothing. Sweet, almost too sweet, saccharine, and artificial. Juxtaposed to everything he’s ever taught.
Dillon watches Thomas closely.
The panic is overwhelming. Dillon's hold on his hands feels like an anchor and a chain all at once, dragging him down. This has started since he left, since the police, since - getting away from him. The quiet confidence he had in the cult, at knowing that Dillon loved him, the idea makes him feel sick now but -
This shouldn't be calming. His chest was tight, each breath a sharp wheeze, his chest so tight and now he's hyperventilating, can't get air in his lungs and the dizziness and he heard what Dillon said. Passing out in the street would be embarrasing, it would bring shame on the Visionaries, and you must always be an example -
He clenched his eyes shut as tears trickled down his face, starting to curl forward, still wheezing sharply. Breathe?! I'm trying! but his lungs wouldn't relax and his heart felt like it was trying to tear out of his throat and all he could feel was the burning of Dillons hands on his.
“Oh dear now this is pickle isn’t it?”
His patronising words cut through the air as he continued to hold Thomas. He slowly moves one of his hands to the crook of Thomas arm as he curls in on himself.
“Thomas. You have to get a hold of yourself. You have to breathe. Why don’t we take this inside? Calm your nerves, maybe a spot of tea? Then as soon as you’re fine again you can go about your business?”
Dillon carefully starts to lead Thomas off of the street, taking advantage of his panicked state to lead him inside.
“Hey!”
A call from across the street cuts through the air.
“What’s going on? Thomas?”
A woman’s voice calls from the other side of the street.
Dillon smirks and snorts through his nose.
“That, you’re correct about. She is strong, she knows her self worth. She doesn’t need anyone you’re right. But don’t you think she might want someone? On those cold nights? Those lonely nights.”
His lips draw in to a thin line.
“My kindness was very real. I give everyone at the commune a chance for a new life. I have you even more.”
He closed his eyes. Took a slow, careful breath. Tried to crush down the possessive side of himself, that hated when he thought about Gemma with someone else, anyone else. He wanted her to be happy, and God knew he hadn't been bringing her that for a long time...
"No. You're selfish, Dillon. And I'm... I'm done with you. I shouldn't have come here." he stepped back again. "I'm going. I'm... I'm going. You don't have any control over me now. And Gemma is none of your business." he wished it sounded stronger. He wished his voice wasn't shaking.
He wished his hands weren't shaking.
The smile on Dillon’s face was not a kind one. But he was intrigued by this new bravery. Perhaps he’d touched a nerve after all.
“Oh Thomas, you’re welcome here whenever you want. I’ll never turn you away, even if you turn away from me.”
His voice was soft, almost gentle as he cooed. He stepped forward, cling the space between them.
“But, I know you, Thomas. I know what you want, what you need.”
He steps forward again and slowly reaches out to take Thomas’ trembling hands.
“Your new found bravery is impressive my lamb.”
He gently squeezes the hands, not petting go just yet.
“Don’t hate yourself. Not for wanting to be better, not for wanting to protect her. Protect your son.”
Don't flinch, he remembered the command, clearly, it's an honour to be touched by the High Visionary. Then he felt a wave of nausea crashing over him as the programming fought with his new found confidence. He should never have come here. Damn his curiousity.
My lamb. His throat was tight. He was going to throw up. His heart was racing. Oh, fuck, no, he couldn't breathe right. His chest was too tight. Not here. Not now. Dillon's voice barely even came through the cracks as he stared at the other's hands on his.
Move. Get away from him. Get away now, his brain demanded, but it was like his limbs were filled with static. He was burning where he was touched. He couldn't breathe.
Dillon held Thomas’ hands, firm but gentle, not letting go. Not squeezing too hard. He could feel him shaking. He looked to see Thomas had gone quite pale.
“Shhh, shh, shh, it’s alright Thomas. Breathe. Breathe for me. The last thing you want to do is faint or collapse in the middle of the street.”
He smoothed his thumb over the back of one of Thomas’ hands.
“It’s a lot to take on isn’t it? The burden of freedom. Knowing she may never take you back. Knowing your worth. And you do have worth Thomas. You’re worth a lot to me. It pains me to see you upsetting yourself like this. Breathe, Thomas. It’s alright.”
His words lilt in their like music notes on a silken sheet. Soft, gentle. Soothing. Sweet, almost too sweet, saccharine, and artificial. Juxtaposed to everything he’s ever taught.
Dillon watches Thomas closely.
Dillon smirks and snorts through his nose.
“That, you’re correct about. She is strong, she knows her self worth. She doesn’t need anyone you’re right. But don’t you think she might want someone? On those cold nights? Those lonely nights.”
His lips draw in to a thin line.
“My kindness was very real. I give everyone at the commune a chance for a new life. I have you even more.”
He closed his eyes. Took a slow, careful breath. Tried to crush down the possessive side of himself, that hated when he thought about Gemma with someone else, anyone else. He wanted her to be happy, and God knew he hadn't been bringing her that for a long time...
"No. You're selfish, Dillon. And I'm... I'm done with you. I shouldn't have come here." he stepped back again. "I'm going. I'm... I'm going. You don't have any control over me now. And Gemma is none of your business." he wished it sounded stronger. He wished his voice wasn't shaking.
He wished his hands weren't shaking.
The smile on Dillon’s face was not a kind one. But he was intrigued by this new bravery. Perhaps he’d touched a nerve after all.
“Oh Thomas, you’re welcome here whenever you want. I’ll never turn you away, even if you turn away from me.”
His voice was soft, almost gentle as he cooed. He stepped forward, cling the space between them.
“But, I know you, Thomas. I know what you want, what you need.”
He steps forward again and slowly reaches out to take Thomas’ trembling hands.
“Your new found bravery is impressive my lamb.”
He gently squeezes the hands, not petting go just yet.
“Don’t hate yourself. Not for wanting to be better, not for wanting to protect her. Protect your son.”
Dillon’s smile drops. He stares coldly at Thomas, true colours showing.
“I did everything for you. Bent over backwards to accommodate you.”
He straights as his smile returns.
“If you won’t pay Gemma a visit. Maybe I will. Set the record straight. Give her my side of events. Must be hard raising a young boy all alone. I’m sure she’d appreciate some help.”
He sighs softly.
“Anger never did look good on you.”
He flinched, just slightly. He knew what it meant when Dillon was angry, like that. Remembered the hands. The anger. The demands. His throat bobbed. He has no control over you now, the voice in his head sounded a lot like Gemma, so much smaller than his doubt, but angry, too.
He scoffed a small laugh at that, though.
"Seriously? That's your threat?" he shook his head, just slightly, "She would tear you apart, Dillon, you know that. She''s stronger than you. She's stronger than anyone. And she would do anything, for Tommy." his throat bobbed. It was hard to believe that brilliant boy was anything to do with him, sometimes. He got most of himself from Gemma, Thomas was sure.
"At least it's honest. Unlike your kindness. You're only kind to get things, Dillon. You're selfish."
Dillon smirks and snorts through his nose.
“That, you’re correct about. She is strong, she knows her self worth. She doesn’t need anyone you’re right. But don’t you think she might want someone? On those cold nights? Those lonely nights.”
His lips draw in to a thin line.
“My kindness was very real. I give everyone at the commune a chance for a new life. I have you even more.”
“So you truly are aimless? You won’t back to her, you know she needs you, and you won’t come back to me? Thomas what are you to do? Wonder aimlessly? No purpose? You could have a purpose with her, you could have a purpose with me but you are to make that choice. Absconding both your families, is a new low I’d never thought I’d see from you.”
He stays still, watching, waiting.
“If that’s how you took my words, your interpretation is on you. I was merely giving you an opportunity to be the best version of you. You have potential. Don’t waste it.”
he clenched his jaw at that little comment. The bastard was always so good at sounding convincing, but he wasn't going to let him into his head any more.
"She never needed me." he said, softly. "Never. She was always strong. Always has been. Gemma is incredible. And I was wrong to let you convince me otherwise." his throat bobbed. "She's smarter than I've ever been, telling you lot to fuck off." he exhaled.
You shouldn't talk to her. She deserves better than you. She's better off without you. But... Tommy.
"You're a monster, Dillon. And what's worse is you're a monster with a smile."
Dillon’s smile drops. He stares coldly at Thomas, true colours showing.
“I did everything for you. Bent over backwards to accommodate you.”
He straights as his smile returns.
“If you won’t pay Gemma a visit. Maybe I will. Set the record straight. Give her my side of events. Must be hard raising a young boy all alone. I’m sure she’d appreciate some help.”
He sighs softly.
“Anger never did look good on you.”
Dillon purses his lips in thought. His posture is remarkably calm.
“Oh Thomas, it wasn’t all bad was it?”
He’s noticed the hesitation, the uncertainty and inner turmoil.
“I won’t physically make you come with me. I’m merely suggesting.”
His eyes scan over Thomas,waiting to see what move he’ll make next. Like a viper, he waits.
“Does Gemma know you’re around?”
It... wasn't. At first. He tries to remind himself of that - how it changed, as time went on. How smiling, friendly, kind Dillon twisted into controlling and aggressive. Thinks of the bruises. But there were good times, too. The respect. The... family of it all...
No. No, don't let him get in your head again.
"I'm not going anywhere with you." he tries to put all the anger and hurt into the words, to spit them at Dillon, but to his own ears it sounds pathetic. But at the last question, eyes widen for a split second. He doesn't answer, but the way he glances away, draws his shoulders in, give it all away in a moment.
“I’m not going to make you go anywhere. It’s your choice, Thomas.”
Dillon tilts his head as he watches the taller man’s reactions. If he weren’t the man he was, he would have almost felt put for him.
“Well that tells me everything I need to know. Honestly, Thomas, seeing me before your wife? Your son? It’s incredibly telling.”
He steps forward slowly.
“Thomas, only you know what you need. Do you need her? Or do you need me?”
"Is it?" he murmured. "I never felt like it was a choice. You made me feel like it was the only option. You made me feel like there was nothing... nothing else." eyes were narrowed, still looking away, but as he brought his head up and saw how Dillon had moved closer, he instinctively drew back.
"I don't need you. I don't..." he exhaled. "I'm not going to go back and be a burden on her, either. She deserves better than that. She... she deserves better than me. But I deserve better than you."
“So you truly are aimless? You won’t back to her, you know she needs you, and you won’t come back to me? Thomas what are you to do? Wonder aimlessly? No purpose? You could have a purpose with her, you could have a purpose with me but you are to make that choice. Absconding both your families, is a new low I’d never thought I’d see from you.”
He stays still, watching, waiting.
“If that’s how you took my words, your interpretation is on you. I was merely giving you an opportunity to be the best version of you. You have potential. Don’t waste it.”
Dillon purses his lips in thought. His posture is remarkably calm.
“Oh Thomas, it wasn’t all bad was it?”
He’s noticed the hesitation, the uncertainty and inner turmoil.
“I won’t physically make you come with me. I’m merely suggesting.”
His eyes scan over Thomas,waiting to see what move he’ll make next. Like a viper, he waits.
“Does Gemma know you’re around?”
It... wasn't. At first. He tries to remind himself of that - how it changed, as time went on. How smiling, friendly, kind Dillon twisted into controlling and aggressive. Thinks of the bruises. But there were good times, too. The respect. The... family of it all...
No. No, don't let him get in your head again.
"I'm not going anywhere with you." he tries to put all the anger and hurt into the words, to spit them at Dillon, but to his own ears it sounds pathetic. But at the last question, eyes widen for a split second. He doesn't answer, but the way he glances away, draws his shoulders in, give it all away in a moment.
“I’m not going to make you go anywhere. It’s your choice, Thomas.”
Dillon tilts his head as he watches the taller man’s reactions. If he weren’t the man he was, he would have almost felt put for him.
“Well that tells me everything I need to know. Honestly, Thomas, seeing me before your wife? Your son? It’s incredibly telling.”
He steps forward slowly.
“Thomas, only you know what you need. Do you need her? Or do you need me?”
