Apparently, he had been sick.
The next few days, he stayed in his room. The heat in his mind grew, and he slept deeply, a thickness in the air.
And eventually, the fever had broke and gone. Aunt Polly was bugging him to go back to school, but... Tom's stomach lurched at the thought. Huck was there. Becky was there. He had to avoid them.
Aunt Polly eventually made him go to school one morning.
She said he'd get a beating if he didn't, so he woke up before dawn, put on his school clothes, and put together his school bag. He woke her up, telling her he was going.
Tom left. Each step made him feel light. He thought of Mr. Dobbins and of every bad instance he experienced in the years of his life, there. And he wasn't sure if he was actually going to go to school, actually going to face him, until his mind fogged and it was just his feet leading him. And they turned sharply towards the forest.
He arrived there as the sun rose. Gold light raised through the leaves, and it was almost how it was those few nights ago with Huck. He set down his school bag, and took off his shoes, and sat down against a tree.
He felt everything compress into him. All this time, struggling with Becky and with Huck and with school and everyone. It was all too much, all too stressful. Everyone wanted so much of him. Tom ran his hands through his hair and kept them there. He closed his tired, hot eyes to the world. He had homework. He had relationships to fix and to break. And he felt so stressed, so isolated.
Wind picked up, moving past his hair. His skin gained a cold feeling. The twigs and leaves poked against his legs. He could hardly breathe, and he just wanted rest. But he just couldn't stop thinking of everything. Tom got up, brushing himself off, feeling a nauseated blur. He opened his eyes, seeing the blueness in all of this old air. He thought of Huck. And he started running.
He knew these woods so well-- when his vision clouded up with tears, he continued running. Heat was in his raw throat and aching through his legs, and he kept going. He thought of running with Huck, as if he was just a few paces ahead, laughing, smiling...
He thought of all the times, alone with Huckleberry. Alone with Becky. All the times something could've changed.
His feet pushed against the sliding ground, and he heard the horns of the boats on the river, and he heard the air against his ears. All he could think of was the years where he was happier. When he didn't feel so isolated. When he felt he really knew all the people around himâHuck was hardly a mystery, back then. Tom was so much closer with everyone, back then. He had felt so sure, then. About everything.
Tom knew this wasn't what he wanted. To be always thinking about Huckleberry instead of Becky. To always have a guilt hooked and weighing in him, at the thoughts of Becky. To be struggling so badly with no one else even knowing.
But it didn't matter what he wanted. It mattered what Becky wanted, and what Aunt Polly wanted, and so this was happening. He was going to be with Becky, and he would just have to push past this. Tom stopped running. His breaths were acidic, but he kept breathing. He fell to the forest floor, feeling its harshness and roughness against him. This place was the only thing grounding him right now.
He still wanted to run. Tom swallowed his breaths. He still couldn't face any of them. Despite knowing he had to marry her, she wouldn't let him, yet. He needed more time.