Genre: Angst, drama
Disclaimer: I don't own Tommy or any character here and I'm not making any money out of this, so don't sue!
Summary: Tommy has to deal with some really bad new that affects his life. (I suck at summaries...)
It was late night. The room was dark and cool, as a soft sea breeze filtered through the tall and opened balcony windows. The long translucent curtains rustled gently, dancing to the rhythm of the wind waves that entered and exited the room. The soft and dim moonlight sneaked shyly inside as well, illuminating little to nothing. There was only enough light to reveal the immense chaos hidden quietly inside this dark room. The turmoil disseminated through out the place contrasted with the soothing and relaxing ambience that the night and its elements had managed to create.
Everything laid on the floor. Clothes, glasses, broken bottles, shoes, guns, books, magazines, bullets. It looked as if an intense fight had taken place in that very room few moments before. In the middle of all that disorder was a spacious bed. It was located in a privilege spot close to the windows, placed in a particular way so that the owner would wake up with a gorgeous sight of the immense ocean. The sheets and covers that enveloped the luxurious bed were made with the most expensive fabrics money could buy. The true bed of a ruler. But right now, all the splendor of such a magnificent furniture was dulled by all that chaos that had managed to overwhelm it as well. The delicate sheets and the pillows were scatter randomly and messy, and the covers laid limply on the ground. Placed on top of the sheets was an opened suitcase. A couple of wrinkled T-shirts had been thrown carelessly inside it, laying half in, as if they were trying to escape the enclosure.
He was still in that dark and cool room. The same person that created such disaster, the same person who had been sleeping in that bed a few hours ago, the same person whose life changed completely.
He was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the edge of the bed. His breathing was heavy and his whole semblance looked exhausted. He faced the windows, letting the fresh sea breeze caress his tired features and cool down his temper. The silent man followed carefully the gentle dancing of the curtains. He needed to relax, if he kept thinking about all of what had happened he was going to break down the whole place. Closing his eyes, he let his head fall back against the mattress behind him. Why everything in his life had to be so damn hard?
Right now he did not appear capable of generating such terrible disorder. He looked fatigued, old, almost defeated. The thirty six year old man had freed a terrible battle against his own demons, his room had been the fighting arena and the furniture the enemy. He needed to free all of his anger somehow and the best way he could think of was that. Now he laid on the floor, drained and still enraged, trying to leave his mind devoid of any thought but failing miserably. One thought, one memory kept circling his brain, tormenting him. He was definitely not getting out of this one the easy way.
Opening his eyes but without lifting his head, he blindly searched for a package of cigarettes he had left besides him on the floor. Feeling the area around him with his hands he finally found the box and the lighter next to his right side. He grabbed both and now lifted his head to see what he was about to do. The man took a cigarette out and after placing it between his lips, he lit it on and took a long drag. As he exhaled the thin smoke, he remembered how he had promise to never smoke again a few years before. He smirked humorlessly and shook his head. He couldn't help it, he was far too nervous and at least one cigarette helped him relax. He settled against the edge of the bed, trying to get as comfortable as he could and he looked around himself. This was sure a hell of a mess. The man groaned tiredly, unable to think of a way to clean this whole place up. But at least now he felt a bit better, he felt liberated of some of his anger for the time being. As he continued to look around, he spotted his wallet not far away from him and found in it a good way to disperse his troubled mind. He reached out to grab it and placing the cigarette in his mouth, he used both hand to search inside the black leather item. After a quick scan, he found some dollar bills, false identification with many names and the same face, and hidden behind his lucky dollar was and old and wrinkled Polaroid picture. He carefully took it out and tossed the wallet besides him. The little photograph was folded in four parts and he unfolded it with extreme caution, as if afraid of breaking it. The photo was very old, the colors were masked under a layer of brown and on the creases were marks that the years had turned white. But even though he could still see the picture and remember that day as if it had been minutes ago.
There was a young boy, around sixteen, may be seventeen years old. He wore short brown hair and a toothy grin. His arm was over a slightly shorter man's shoulders besides him, who resembled the boy very much. The older man was grinning as well.
He drew away the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his fingers for a while. The tiniest smile made its way through his lips, as the memories of that day came back to him. He had forgotten about this photograph as he considered it lost. He had never imagined that it had been all these years hidden in his wallet. That simple photograph was the only physical connection he had with his past. With those times when he was a young lad full of life, and plans, with the whole goddamned world before him. And for some reason all that seemed so far away, as if part of a movie he had seen some time. It didn't look real after all he had been through. He had it all back then: youth, health, the looks and charisma, and a bright and profitable future ahead... Who would have thought that a few years later his childhood friend, his best friend would betray him in such manner as to lock him up for fifteen years? If someone would have come and told him that Sonny was going to betray him, Tommy was sure he would have ripped the guy's throat on the spot.
Quick flashes from those times came back to hunt him, like they have done for so many years. Images of Harwood, the eleven corpses, the blood, the smell of carnage, the feeling of betrayal. And then the trial. For the first time in his whole damn life he was an innocent man and nobody believed him. His lawyer had been bribed to do as little as possible and so were everyone in that court. Every single bastard had been paid by the Forellis and Tommy never stood a chance.
He closed his eyes tightly and put the picture down on the floor. Tom tried to push back all the unwanted memories back were they were. That matter was finished, Sonny was dead. But he knew from the beginning that he would never be able to get a closure on that, as he could never gain back his lost years at the joint. He took a deep calming breath and exhaled slowly, then he continued to finish his cigarette. As he smoked, Tommy gazed out the window and focus on the dark blue sky before him. His attention was caught by the extraordinary amount of stars spread alongside that night sky. He had never seen so many all together. He watched them twinkle for a while, and realized how nice this city actually was. He had been living in Vice for about two years and just now he realizes how beautiful this city was. HIS city was beautiful. This place was nothing like Liberty, crammed with all those large and tall buildings placed one after another, and with all the cars and people wandering uselessly around the dark and dirty streets. That disgusting hell hole. Tom did not remember seeing more than two or three stars at night when he lived in Liberty. His old man liked the stars, and he complained to no end about Liberty and its 'damn orange street lights'. Vercetti remembered when they both sat outside their little house in Portland with Tom's little brother, and how his father began complaining about the street's lights, and blaming them for not letting him see the stars. Then he would start rambling about a glorious Italy, where everything seemed to be just perfect. Apparently the Italians did not have street lights. A soft chuckle escaped him at the memory. He had listened to those same stories for years, but still Tommy never got tired of them. He liked to see his dad narrating about his home and his past life, the older man looked truly happy in those brief moments. After all that happened to him, he deserved some happiness.
Vercetti shook himself out of those thoughts, he was supposed to get his mind to think about something else. He needed to stop thinking about his old man for fuck's sake!
Tom closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his index finger. A series of images assaulted his mind without warning. He saw his father at the trail. He saw the deep disappointment in his dad's features, the shame his old man felt for all that situation. The moment the judge declared him guilty of all charges and a couple of cops handcuffed him and dragged him out of the room, while he struggled to get away still claiming for his innocence. The first night in jail. He had never received such a savage beating as the one those bastard delivered to him that night, just as a welcome. He remembered the many times he tried to kill himself and how there was always some idiotic cop to save his pitiful life.
"Shit...", he whispered hoarsely, overwhelmed by the strong memories. A thick lump began to formed at his throat and he tried to swallow it down but with no luck. That had been the beginning of the end, the precise moment where all his ideal life crumpled down and crashed, turning into small pieces at his feet. His youth slipped away inside a cell, learning how to survive the beatings, learning how to fight back and finally earning the respect of the other bastards. He never understood the purpose of jail. He left that dump without feeling any better, and he was definitely not a reformed citizen. Tom had learned new tricks, made contacts, and if anything he knew more about crime after jail than before. So, what was it purpose then? To smarten up thugs so next time they wouldn't get caught? He guessed so, cause Tom was positively sure that he would never return to spend one freaking minute in that place ever.
Tommy looked down at his hand and realized that his cigarette had consumed itself. He tsked annoyed and with a swift movement of his fingers he threw the tip out to the balcony through the open windows. Vercetti actually wanted to end that cigarette. And why was he whining about some stupid cigarette when he had a full box right besides him? He looked down to his right but found no box. What the... Oh right, Tom had a cigarette before and probably changed the box from its original place. Looking around him, he finally found the little white box a few meters away from him. The man stretched and got the box. While he retrieved the little paper box, something caught his attention. His black cell phone. Tom sit back against the edge of his bed, his eyes never leaving the small device. He was about to pick one cigarette out of the box but stopped himself, as he studied the debris that laid spread at the farthest left wall's feet of what once had been his cell phone. Tom gaze at the broken phone with disgust, his anger accumulating inside his chest once more. That little bastard. He should have got rid of that shit ages ago. It had been troubles the moment he got it from that chef, and yet again that crap had managed to make his life a living hell.
Tom's jaw tightened as the memory of the phone call that had ruined his night returned to his mind. The caller had been the most unexpected person, his grandmother. Yes, that bitch apparently was still alive, against Tommy's expectations and hopes. He hated her. He loathed her. To Tom, she was the most despicable, sadistic bitch that nature bothered to create. No one deserved death more than her. And she had the nerve to call him and call him to his cell phone. She sure had enjoyed that, showing Tommy that she had the means to get to him, that no matter where he tried to escape to, she would find him. Tom's hands turned into fists without him noticing, crumpling the box and all the cigarettes inside it. Why it had to be her? From all the people in this goddamned world, why her? Why was it that life always managed to find new and unexpected ways to spit on his face?
/What did I do wrong in a past life?/
She called with news. Terrible news of course. She had called a few hours ago, while he slept. The bitch woke him up in the middle of the freaking night with her rusty and old voice.
"Your father is dead Thomas. He died this morning. Apparently it was a...'heart attack'"
Her laughs pierced through his tormented mind and he closed his eyes once more, trying to escaped from the screeching sound. The Mafia did it. The Forellis did it. SHE did it. That sordid bitch had been dealing with the Forellis way before he had been born. And this was just the prelude of their comeback. Vercetti knew how this people worked, he had been part of them for some time, but he never imagined that they were going after his old man. His dad was a decent person, with a job and the whole paying taxes shit. He didn't deserved this. He didn't.
Vercetti's rage was gaining new heights. The Forellis had taken away his freedom for fifteen years, and now they took the only person Tom truly cared for away from him. They were going to pay. They were all going to be very sorry for this. They were going to regret the day they all had been born.
Tom felt an uncomfortable pressure on his chest and his breathing grew heavy. When was the last he saw his dad? He remembered. Jail.
His old man visited him. It had been the first time since they locked him up. He remembered the look in his father's face when he appeared through that door. Tom had sat on the chair in front of his dad and stared back at him. He must have looked terrible judging his dad's expressions.
"What happened to you?"
"I...", Tom chose his words carefully, "I had a disagreement with some people here, you know how it is."
"But...why didn't the police stop them?"
Tommy laughed quietly. His dad was so naive sometimes. The guards had beaten him to a freaking pulp that time, that's why nobody stopped it. But he didn't tell him that. He invented some story calm him down. They kept talking for a while, but Tom could sense the irritation in his father. The older man was not happy about being in jail visiting his son. He remembered how many times he tried to convince him that he was innocent, that he had not killed all those people. But his old man was stubborn and kept repeating him that he had earned all of that. Tommy couldn't count the times his dad told him to stay away from all that Mafia business. But he never listened to him, and he paid a high price for his disobedience.
Out of his reverie, Vercetti suddenly realized that the last time he had spoken to his father had been that one time in jail. The lump in his throat that he thought he had under control intensified in a very dangerous way with this thought. It was not letting him breath. A wave of panic rushed through him. He couldn't fall down now, he couldn't do this to himself. Hot tears stung at his eyes and his breathing quickened. No, he couldn't, he just couldn't! He had to be strong, he had to handle this the best way possible.
Vercetti ran a broad hand over his face and sniffed noisily. That's it, he just needed to keep breathing. In and out, in and out. Little by little, the breathing exercise began to work and Tom calmed down a bit. But it only lasted seconds. The unwanted feeling returned again with force: the pressure on his chest, the lump in his throat, the tears stinging at his eyes. He couldn't fight back, he didn't have the strength any more. Tom tilted his head back against the soft mattress and covered his face with both hands. This was what Vercetti feared the most. This moment, when he was completely alone in his dark room and his mind finally began to understand that his father was gone for good. That all the things he had been planning on telling him, the apologies for his choices, that he...that he loved him...all of it, was going to be choked in his throat for ever.
Tom clenched his teeth tightly behind his hands, trying to hold back all that shit that was trying to blurt out. He hated himself for being so stupid, for letting all this happen. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Vercetti stood up with a growl grabbing the Colt Python that rested near him on the way up. He turned swiftly and aim to a little cupboard not far from him. He shot several times at the defenseless furniture until he ran out of bullets. Tom pulled the trigger a few times after the last bullet drew a hole trough the small cupboard, but the Python only clicked. Angry and yet not satisfied with all the damage he had inflicted on the poor furniture, he tossed the now useless gun on the bed and unleashed his fury kicking the cupboard. He kicked at the furniture as much as his foot allowed him. Exhausted and still not content, he took hold of the cupboard and pulled it down against the floor. There was a rumbling noise as it fell and then silence, a deep silence that was only disturbed by his heavy breathing. Furious, he realized this was leading no where. He could go on like that all night that things would remain the same. Nothing was going to change because he destroyed some furniture.
He should have seen this coming. It was plain clear that the remaining Forellis were not going to sit back with their arms crossed for too long. He should have foreseen it instead of concentrating in all the money and luxury. He paced nervously the small space between the wall and the fallen cupboard. He had it all and all he had was surrounding him, and Tom never felt so empty in his whole damn life. He could have bought the most expensive house in this city for his old man and have him living near him so that Tom could protect him. But he didn't. His motivation in life since he regained his freedom had been revenge and after achieving that one, money. Vercetti had managed to get this whole city at his feet and now all that power, all that money meant nothing. He had lost his freedom for the sake of money once, and now he lost the one person in this pathetic world who gave a damn shit about him, who kept believing that Tom was a good guy. Now, for money's sake, his old man was gone, vanished for ever.
Realization hit him hard and he felt dizzy. He had lost. The Forellis had outdone him once more, they had ruined what was left of his life. He had been their entertainment yet again. Rage built up dangerously inside him, fed with his thirst for revenge, consuming him like fire. He could just picture the whole thing: the Forellis' thugs breaking into his old house in Portland, his dad laying dead on the floor, bathed in blood. He shut his eyes, his teeth clenched tightly. He failed. He was the only one to blame for what happened to his old man.
Guided by his boiling wrath, Tom kicked the fallen furniture one last time and with a furious cry, his tall figure collapse to his knees. He stopped himself with both hands right before reaching the ground. And there, with a labored breathing and facing the floor, Vercetti finally began to accept that nothing he could do was going to take the pain away. That he would have to learn to live with that emptiness in his life for the rest of his days.
A startling sob choked in his throat and he gasped. This time the pain he felt was too great to hold it back. Another sob escaped him and in a few second he was crying in earnest. His arms began to feel weak and he let himself fall onto his right side. Rolling on to his back, Vercetti unleashed all his pain in tears. He wailed disconsolate, feeling alone, feeling dejected. His whole body shook violently with each sob that ripped from his chest. He didn't even have the strength to stop himself anymore, he just kept weeping miserably, moaning in pain, feeling like the lonely child he once was.
The great and powerful Tommy Vercetti, king and ruler of Vice City, laid heartbroken on the floor, reduced to bitter tears.