Benjamin tossed the diary back onto the table with a thud, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Stay where you are," he muttered, his voice low but firm.
Tommy watched with wide eyes as Benjamin moved over to the cupboard, his hands digging through the shelves, tossing aside old books and papers with a rustling noise that filled the quiet room.
Tommy's heart pounded like a drum in his chest. 'Man, what's he searchin' for?'
When Benjamin finally turned back around, there was something in his hand—an old, faded blue handkerchief.
"You getting cold feet, Tommy?"
Tommy flinched at the tone Benjamin used in asking like one promising to him something dark. "I ain't afraid," he whispered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
I mean, he had written a whole lot in that diary. Lots of shit! Doing everything or even anything there to him, would be what normal people that weren't masochists like him would call, Battery!
