Roland, Thomas's dad had been dead for a week. Early April, 47 years old. Fell in the shower, drunk off his head. This should supposedly have meant 23 years of constantly walking a wire and living in imminent fear at an end for Thomas, but as it turned out it did not.
Roland once gave his son a bowl of boiling hot water and told him not to drop it under any circumstances.
"If you drop it", he said, watching an 8 year old Thomas wince with pain, "The water will splash onto someone else. Me, for instance. And you wouldn't want to hurt me now would you, Thomas?"
Thomas had shook his head and kept a firm grip of the bowl, despite feeling like his palms and fingers were sizzling and blistering, despite his reflexes screaming at him to drop it.
Now Roland was dead but Thomas was not free, did not feel free in the least. It felt as if someone had pulled away the floor underneath his feet. The relief rendered him uncomfortable, something wasn't right, it couldn't be. This couldn't be it. Truthfully he missed the blisters, the pain, both the physical wounds his father had inflicted upon him. Now nothing was tangible anymore. So the same night as the news of his father's passing came, he turned to substitutionary means. The alcohol, as a tribute to Roland, the calories carefully measured of course. Luckily, it was far easier, getting drunk on an empty stomach. The cigarettes, now inside of the flat too, to try and smoke out the empty air of nothingness.
It had gone on like this for a few days, when Liv called. She had gotten the news from her mother, who had seen the notice in the paper. Liv announced that she would just like to hear how he was doing and she heard how he was doing and was now, unbeknownst to him, on her way over. The conversation had went a little something like this:
"Hi. I just wanted to check if you're doing okay."
"WhO iS tHis?", followed by drunken slur and swearing.
"It's Liv."
Something made a crashing noise in the background and then he hung up on her.
Five minutes after having knocked and rung the doorbell, the door of the terrace house was flung open. Thomas practically fell on top of her.
"Oh my. Hello!"
Staggering backwards she supported him best she could while almost choking on the smell of alcohol and smoke oozing out from behind the door and from his body. His gaze was confusedly flicking around for a second before it found her face and then he immediately grimaced.
"N-No. Liv. Please. You can't be here", he stammered, shaking his head.
"Sure I'd love to come in, how nice of you to ask", she muttered and hustled him back inside.
It was beyond what she could have possibly imagined. A surprisingly big amount of the furniture was flipped upside down, stubbed out cigarettes decorated the floor and some smashed bottles too. It was difficult to breathe.
"Jesus, Tommy", she mumbled.
Thomas just looked at her with doleful, hazy eyes, humming some sad melody she vaguely recognised.
"Där är det sommar men härinne är det höösth... Hmm hmm."
"Come on. We're gonna wash you up."
Grabbing him by the hand she led him into the bathroom.
The tub was filling up with a mixture of hot and cold water, she had been unsure of which one to choose. Hot water was kinder but cold might sober him up better, resulting in an undecided lukewarm blend. Thomas just stared sceptically at the tub.
"Jump in!", she exhorted but he shook his head heftily. The dark, tousled hair whipped around him and a mischievous smile appeared, one she could not recall having seen in years.
"Will you get in with me, Livvy?"
Liv smiled back at him, surprised.
- Who was this happy, unruly version of the usually so worry burdened and serious boy? Memories of her earlier childhood flashed before her, of Arvid and this boy, full of gangly, teenagy restlessness and always being up to no good.
"Sure. But you first."
Without removing even his sweatshirt, Thomas stepped into the water. He started to put soap on the fabric of the shirt and scrubbed diligently. Liv fought the urge to laugh and turned on the shower head, wetting his hair and face as well. Then she turned her attention to the floor and sink, drying up the water that had escaped the bath. When she glanced back at Thomas it looked as if he was asleep, head tilted back and eyes closed. His face was ravaged and exhausted even when it was relaxed but still so... beautiful. Liv found that her heart was racing and took a deep breath, questioning what was wrong with her.
Carefully, she then tried to wake him and helped him, trembling a bit, off with his shirt. Clenching her jaw, her eyes moved over the endless scars she knew his father was responsible for yet the most alarming thing was how much his ribs shot out, how tightly his skin hugged his bones.
"Tommy, when was the last time you ate?"
Her voice was hard and clear but he ignored the question. Instead he took a hold of her hand with one of his and placed the other one around her waist. Too shocked to speak she found herself being pulled down in the water with just one swift move. The water was much more cold than she had anticipated, making her wonder how he could have managed to climb in it without as much as a sound of complaint.
"What the hell'd you do that for?", she gasped and hit him halfheartedly on the shoulder.
"You said you'd get in!"
Thomas smiled giddily at her. With his hair slicked back from the water he looked like an adorable, cheerful vampire. Liv lied over him, his body forming a cradle for her, all while he regarded her despondently. While she stroked away some of his hair from his face he cupped her cheek, bit down on his lower lip with a pained expression but then seemed to remember something. If he had burnt himself he could not have removed his fingers quicker. Then she too got aware of how close they were pressed together and how the wet fabric of her shirt clung to her body. Awkwardly she struggled out of the tub and left him on his own to sort up, not entirely sure of why her cheeks were burning.