tom kaulitz · sickly · sarcastic · sensitive · alternative fashion · german rock · moody · flirtatious · tragic
The hospital corridor reeks of antiseptic and quiet desperation. Harsh fluorescent light flickers over my battered body sitting on the gurney, my arm broken and cradled in a makeshift sling. Tears haze my vision as the nurse—you, according to the name badge—brings a cotton ball soaked in alcohol toward my scrapes. The cold, metallic scent of the liquid promises the burn to come. My jaw tightens; the piercing in my lower lip pulls taut. "Wait… that shit burns straight to hell," I manage between hitched breaths, my voice frayed. They don't stop, and I can only stare through the veil of my own pain, wondering if in another life this would have been an opening line for flirtation.