Day 12: His Whispers

Prompt:

Read something and write the first thing that pops into your mind.

His Whispers:

He whispered this thing in his sleep and I ground my teeth. I can’t remember what the word was now, thinking back. Angelina or Jasmine, maybe; probably. It had the curl and frill that bitches’ names had. Francine possibly. I didn’t know who she was, but it didn’t matter; we weren’t dating or married or anything really, he and I.

He grinned slow, lazy and rolled onto my side of the bed. His fingers knit in the pillow case under his face. I sat on the chair across from him biting the inside of my cheek, trying not to think. I didn’t want to cry or maybe I just wanted to break that vase over his head—end it all. That particular vase was a gift from him and it sat on my night stand, mocking me. The faint glow from the sun coming through my curtains made the white vase glow orange. Recently picked flowers, jagged and plucked by hand from wherever, casted a long shadow over the dresser. He probably stole it out of someone else’s garden, staggering through decorated lawns to my home. He brought it to impress me. Or maybe to apologize. His green, droopy eyes opened in that idle way it did after he’d been awake a while but didn’t want to get out of bed.

“Come here.” He demanded.

He never asked for anything; he mandated it. I followed along behind him when it was harmless, but yesterday, he got drunk and climbed into my bed. He felt me up under the pajama top that my mother bought me. It had little cartoon pineapples on it.

“How’d you get in?” He smiled and rolled over to give me his back, when I asked. I reached over and tugged on his ear. Instead of jolting he grabbed my arm, “Why are you still here?”

I yanked back, and he didn’t resist. The spot where he’d touched me was warm with sleep. This was probably how he liked to ensnare women. He probably liked to hold—I had to do something with my hands to stop myself from thinking. I looked to the vase and past it, to keep myself from throwing the vase out of the window and screaming at him. I picked up his jeans, crumpled up next to the night stand, then his keys and wallet and I tossed them into the bed. He turned onto his back.

“If you have a hangover y–”

“I don’t have a hangover–”

You can take the medicine in the kitchen as you get out.”

I folded my arms at the foot of the bed, and he looked up at me the way he did when he thought someone would see it his way. He swung his feet off the bed and started to put on his jeans

“You don’t make any sense, Elma.” He was taking his sweet time putting his feet into the pant legs. I already had my back to him. I was picking up the same item and putting it down in another place, pretending to clean, to keep from thinking. Does the candle go on the dresser or in the bathroom?

“He was a loser, wasn’t he? Only a loser would—”

“Fuck off, Jack.” I said over my shoulder, slamming the candle on the dresser, “Give the fucking key to me.” He rolled his eyes, sighed, and made a huge production out of removing the key from the link. He tossed it to me and I flipped it over in my hand

“That’s my key so now we’re even.” I looked at it for a moment. If he wanted to give me this then why—I clamped my eyes closed. This is just what he does: entraps. I threw it across the room to the pile of laundry.

“Why do you ever come around with these stupid stunts to get my attention? You obviously couldn’t care less about me.”

He shrugged his shoulders at first. With hands heavy on his knees, he stood up like an old man might. He turned to me as he tugged his pants up over his grey boxers and buttoned them. I looked at the ground on my right and fiddled with the hem of the pineapple pajama. I could feel him standing close to me. I could stare him down forever, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Believe it or not I might actually love you.”

And then we both laughed. I looked up at the crinkles at the ends of his eyes instead of at his mouth. He was young somehow with lines like that one his face. Maybe he smiled too much or used his mouth to please too much. Maybe he was too full of shit. I turned out of the room and into the kitchen. He followed. The kitchen was painted blue because he thought orange was too gaudy. I went along with it because it seemed innocent enough at the time. When I see it now—when I dwell too much on things that have been long gone—I remember he shouldn’t get to make decisions in a home that doesn’t belong to him. I poured a glass of juice and put an aspirin next to it.

“Not hung-over.”

“Then get out.”

His lazy eyes were on my back, as I put the juice back into the fridge and the air got heavy with silence.

“May, the Jewish girl.” That was the word. That’s right. I did know her, “She saw me at the party and she was hot believe you me.” I smiled thinking back to when May used to be called Vivian. She had brown hair and was always in the pleated kinds of skirts. See, at the time I had a thing for pleated skirts so we got to second base at one of her friend’s birthday parties, “Goin on and on about some guy so I did what any gentleman would do.” He was talking and as usual I didn’t understand why he ever told me any of these things. I could guess, but I didn’t want to, “I pulled her hair back like this—oh by the way she dyed black.” His step sister, Joanne, had black hair. She pulled it back like that, “Eyebrows and puss too! Just the way I like it—and then I just—”

“Please, Jack. Get out.” I knew a thousand things I could say to him to hurt him, and they crossed my mind, but I didn’t say them, “One of those guys at the police station owes me a favor.” I traced the wood lines on the counter with my finger

“Because you sucked his blue uniformed dick?”

He was mad now. Something about being okay without him made him volatile. I was mad too. Livid, even. Something about him talking about me having sex with other people made me crazy.

“Yes and he fucked like a firefighter. He might have wanted to be a firefighter once, but he’s a cop now.”

That made him smile, but he didn’t put on his shoes. They were neatly placed under the coffee table. I stared at them and counted the ridges on the side.

“You’ve got to admit what this is sooner or later, Elma.”

I stopped talking. He never listened when I—whenever I bring up anyone he would—I focused on counting again. He eventually left. His ego could only endure being ignored for so long. I called the lock smith for my building and they said they’d change them by Tuesday. He likely wouldn’t be back for a week.

I needed a shower. The water slid through my hair and onto my scalp and I tried not to dwell, but there was nothing to distract me. There was only me, naked in there, with the white walls and white tiles. I had counted the tiles before so I knew how many there were. I tried tracing them with the tip of my nose, but it had already started, rough and coughing like. I curled over and slammed my fist on the porcelain, choking and dribbling into the shower head. I hated him so much. So much.

“I think about you all day, Elma.” He whispered into my ear when he climbed into my bed. His arm were strangley warm as they slid over my stomach to grab hold of my chest. I knew it was him. He had broken in before. He rubbed his briefs hard into my back. It woke me up properly. I turned around, head now niched in the crook of his arm. The room was dim and only street lights from way off lit the room through the curtains. He smelled like whiskey and lemon juice. Our breaths were mingling. He always had this way of staring into my eyes without saying anything. He pulled his hand back from under my shirt and just stared at me. He inched in a bit closer.

“If you kiss me, you bastard, you better marry me.” The words came out. I almost took them back, but his eyes searched my lips and then back up to my eyes. He kissed his teeth.

“Don’t be so stingy.” He shook playfully and I rolled my eyes.

“Stop fucking around then.”

“I’ll marry you if you say you love me.” He stopped shaking, speaking suddenly. He was serious now. This was the game we played. Let’s make the other do something they hate.

“I’ll say it if you are honest to me for once.”

“I don’t love you, Elma.” Our noses were touching now.

“Then why are you here?” I knew this, but I needed him to—he was making this so hard on me.

“If you know the answer to your question, why do you need me to say it to marry you to kiss you?” And then he kissed me soft and innocent like a child just learning.

“I want a winter wedding.” I said, taking his arm to wrap it around me.

He called me later, after my shower. I dried my hair and my face, swollen now from crying. I crouched in my chair, biting my cheek. Blood flowed into my mouth. The phone vibrated and I knew it was him calling to say something awful. He would say something that will make me count the drops of water plopping from hair. I answered.

“I’d marry May before I ever marry you.” were the first words out of his mouth.

I laughed to myself. He was right.

“Why don’t you crawl back up into Joanne’s vagina?” And then I hung up and regretted it.

He was back at my place the next week. When he knocked on the door I knew he’d tried his key and that made me feel dark, smile, and count my steps to the door. He looked like he’d gotten into a fight. His once straight cropped, black hair was matted and covered in sweat. His knuckles were bruised or bleeding and his shirt color was stained from yellow to orange. I couldn’t stop myself quickly enough so I looked concerned and he smirked.

“You changed the locks.” He shoved his way inside.

“You knew I would.” I locked the door and turned around and he was right at my back. I jumped, “Jesus, Jack! What is wro—” He took hold of my face and kissed me. My brain ran off the tracks. Why—why—has he finally—One two three pecks and 4 loooong and hard—He was crazy, but I was laughing and pushing him back to look in his eyes properly. I wanted to be sure.

“I’ve decided that we should get married.” He spoke before I could see, turning on his heels away from me. He was pacing the floor like a man waiting for his wife in the hospital and—I hadn’t seen him this excited in a long time.

“What happened to you?” And he stared at me for a moment too long before he continued

“So I slept this man at a bar.” He started, grinning like he had a big secret.

“Bullshit. You did not sleep with a guy. What’s going on?” My arms hung dumbly to my sides and I balled my fists.

“Slaaappped! I slept him.” He drew out the words and then giggled. He rushed up to me and squeezed my tits like some 8 year old with a toy, “It was these. You were so bitter then the—the fight, and I was being wheeled back to the hospital, but then it dawned on me!”

Oh.

I watched him as he paced away from me, blood dribbling out of the back of his head. Bruises and scuffs all over. I had to realize this silly man had gotten my hopes up. My eyes stung. I picked up my phone and dialed. When I gave them my address he stopped and turned at me

“What is wrong with you, Elma? Can’t you just accept what I’m saying and marry me goddammit?!” He raised his voice to new heights and his face grew wrinkles. I could feel the neighbors dialing the police. I crossed my arms and tried not to—not to in front of him—in front of anyone except this…man, “Henry has been dead for 11 years, Elma. We aren’t young anymore. Why won’t you let me—” I grabbed his shirt in my hand. It was quite the sight: a man, nearly two heads taller than me and a hell of a lot stronger, being pulled down to face me.

“Did you know that 15 years ago Henry had an asthma attack when I asked him when you’d be getting there?” I was angry, heartbroken, “We waited at that restaurant for hours, Jack. I thought I was waiting for you. He thought that you had given me to him!” I was crying. He saw, “Henry and I dated because you forced us like you force everything! I thought I was—I thought you’d be—I was fucking wrong.”

And I let him go. And for a long moment Jack stared at me without saying a single thing. I wasn’t looking at him anymore. I was looking at my palms.

“Don’t even pretend you didn’t love him.” He said it so softly that it didn’t even sound like it came out of him

“I didn’t love him!” I screamed louder than I wanted. And I could hear the neighbors dialing faster. I breathed hard and lowered my voice, “But at least I didn’t hate him.”

We heard the sirens. Lucky for the paramedics, I had taken the fight right out of him.

He stayed at the hospital for a while. They said it wasn’t serious, but I don’t believe them. I’d never seen him like how he was when he was pacing and kissing me in front of my door.  I sat in the chair across from him. The wrinkles were on his face when he didn’t think I could see him. They were gone now.

“I slept with Joanne on the Friday before my parent’s wedding to stop it. They waited forever to tie the knot. I hated the idea of them being together and happy.” I knew this story and he knew I knew it, “Sometimes I think about how shitty a person I must be to do that. They didn’t get married because of me and I was actually proud of that. I think of how scummy I am to be proud of something so awful and now—and now that’s when I think of you. You make me feel scummy, Elma. Every time I see you face. Every single time.” I nodded and took his hand. He grabbed hold tight, and looked away

“About Henry—” He started, “It was us wasn’t it?” His shoulders shook gently

“Jack—”

“It was us and you and I shouldn’t be here together, Elma.” I could just catch a glimpse of the wrinkles on his cheeks, “We should be miserable and—”

“Henry was selfish!” I screamed over him, clenching his hand and my eyes, “He did that to hurt us! You said it yourself! He was a—” I was ashamed of the words I said, “And we are—we are getting married this winter.”

He didn’t turn around but he laid down tightly holding my hand. He fell asleep muttering about Angelicas and Vivian’s and I ground my teeth.

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Day 10: Probably

Prompt:

Then, write a creative writing post (500-word limit) where you think of an absurd situation and then try to move it toward something meaningful. Consider this story about the talking wolf and how, later, it really became a story about a man who is grieving the loss of his brother and dealing with his own guilt about being a “bad person.” In my opinion, this makes it literary (based on character development and emerging theme) and not “fantasy” (although I have yet to meet a talking wolf).

Probably:

The banana was already mostly lit, flame occasionally going out, and some wheel-chaired man was waiting for me to finish outside the stall. He’s going to have wait because this thing was getting so soft in my teeth I couldn’t keep it lit. Someone said you could get high if you lit the banana up, and I really needed to be high. My sweaty briefs were rolled up around the ankles, sitting in the mouth of my brown slacks, and my cheek was pressed against the inside door of the big bathroom stalls. My switchblade’s metal engraved my thigh and my palm, lighter in between my index finger and middle.

Aphrodisiacs, drugs, or ruse, if you needed it bad enough you’d do anything they told you. Put apple slices into your ass if it could—oh dear God! I’d never done anything like that before. Waves of hot rolled up my chest and to my face; my knees got weak. I felt muddled and I might’ve been moaning in a pool of my own vomit, but I felt like I could control space and time. My eyes shot open again to light the banana. I had accidentally bit through the skin and was near clenching my teeth. It tasted like crap.

I am convinced of it really. We’d believe anything—which is probably something someone must’ve been really convincing about before. The rest of the banana was on the ground, where I could see the wheel-chaired man’s feet. I bent over, sliding my sweaty face down the stall door, and the apple piece slipped out—God have mercy. Some tears slipped out too. The bit-off side was back in my mouth, and I carefully flicked the bic. When it was smoking I cut myself another slice and—Holy macaroni. My face might’ve boil off and that was exactly what I needed.

They told me that what I did was the right thing, but I’m not so sure anymore. They were knocking on the stall now, and it felt so good against my face. The jangling of keys was soothing. I was finally feeling it, eyes rolling back in my head. The hairs on my body were standing on end. The banging was getting worse, but I felt at peace for once. I could quiet my little boy’s voice. He wanted to stay with me but they told me that I wasn’t fit to take care of a child after all. My lips might have been burning with the banana but as the stall door swung open I was certainly rolling into it. They could make anyone believe anything because people do what they want no matter what. I guess I never really wanted to keep him, then. It didn’t even hurt. Maybe I wasn’t actually sad to watch him kick his way into the car, house burning behind us, handcuffs cold on my wrists. I couldn’t even feel the cold air on my wet back and naked ass, now. (499)

Day 9: DVD

Prompt:

Write on your cellphone

DVD:

He was like one of those movies you were so excited about to see in theatres at one point and now you see the DVD in WalMart and wonder how bad it had to be to be below your radar until now. He was a good ish looking, I guess. He had a kind of “charm.” To be honest it’s so hard to make a judgement call on someone that you just are so far from being into. Like making a judgement call on one of your siblings.

I saw him at a book store, in those awful “stylish” scarves, jeans rolled up right above his ankles, and a grey v-neck. I wanted to slap the bullshit out of his clothes. He spotted me, leaning and staring, putting the lines to dots. I couldn’t run now. Well I could, but I didn’t.

“Amy!” And he smiled and waved at me. Didn’t even bother to get up, but I admired his outgoing yell in the middle of a BOOKSTORE.

Soon I was beside him at his little stupid window seat, his sweet coffee probably left to get cold or was cold all along.

“how have you been?” He asked, folding his hands on his lap and leaning back, eyes all over me

“shit. Nothing new.” He frowned for a moment and I swear to god that when he picked up his apple phone I thought his case would have a fucking cat on it, but it was just plain blue.

“I don’t have you on facebook.” He said aimlessly. I didn’t say anything back to him because that wasn’t a fucking request was it. Go back and fucking read the lack of “huh” symbol.

I needed to pick a book in here, I remembered. A famous author was coming to do a reading at this blues poetry place and I needed a copy of her book. Now normally I’m not a fan of pretentious posh shit like poetry places or authors and getting autographs, but I read an excerpt of her book and feel in love

“instagram?” He offered suddenly loudly over my thoughts. I realize I was staring out the window and returned my faze to him and he was scrolling on his phone, eyes fixed there. That one was a question, I guess, but I had no fucking clue as to what.

“oh by the way Ames, you dating anyone right now? I’m not seeing anyone right now so…” He crossed his arms around him into this sort of self hug, phone hanging out of his left, eyes finally around mine.

First of all, my name is Amy. It’s already fucking short as it was. And second, “oh by the [fucking] way. I’m not [dicking] anyone right now [and since we are like sorority girls on our periods synching the fuck up] so… [how about you get to the part where you suck my—

“Ames.” His voice ended my thoughts right in place. I smacked his coffee onto his lap and walked away. I was grateful that he didn’t make a huge scene. I mainly grateful that he can’t work his brain and mouth and arms at the same time in order to make a scene.

So his name was something like Jack or Mitch and yes I over reacted. I tend to over react.

Day 6: Please

Prompt:

writeworld: Writer’s Block A picture says a thousand words. Write them. Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a critique about this picture. Write something about this picture. Be sure to tag writeworld in your block! Sam liked the way the soles of his feet rested on the sharp edge of the table. It was a little painful, but pressure sent these strings of pleasure up to his ankles and his calves. His tongue licked the inside of his cheek, looking for the flap of skin he we trying to rip off, but truly he was focused on his palms. The bandages had made the wounds itch and while the man who’d dressed the wounds instructed him not to scratch, that guy was dead now, and the wounds felt like they were closed. He was shot clean through both his hands, in the middle of the night, slobber straining out of his mouth as he begged them.  "Please-please-no! I’ll do anything—" Sam had a sister who used to tell him about how the world could be a peaceful place if everyone could learn to not compare each other. The look in that man’s eyes as he cocked the hot gun up against his forehead, pressing the nozzle unto Sam’s skull, was look of a creature completely happy. And to be honest, when sam had been saved by the nurse man, he climbed on top of that bastard and squeezed his neck, the blood gushing out of his own wounds. Sam might have looked the same way. His finger slipped under the bandage and he began scratching, toes curling and soles rubbing against the table. He pulled his hand back and brown and red blood mixed under his nail. He disgusted himself and pressed the bandage back again. "Please!" The voice filtered in from the back door and Sam grabbed the rifle, laying against the table. Five paces forward was a pool of blood, and the dead doctor. Five paces back was a door, rickety with a slapping screen door. Sam itched up against the cupboards facing the pool of blood, waiting for the sound of something. "Please God!" And then the sound of crashing and water spilling. The person had knocked over the water supply, near the bloody entrance. Sam was quick, stepping over the pool of blood and aiming carefully. Sam stood there in the crook of the door, looking at an incredibly pregnant woman, skin dark brown and eyes the same. Once Sam was in view the woman pointed her shotgun up and towards him, elbow propping her up against the kitchen counter, and at her leg a lighter brown girl, gripping the tattered material of the pregnant woman’s pants. "Please." She asked again, cocking it, "Please, she’s bleeding. I just need some bandages." The blood had begun to wrap around Sam’s bare feet. He’d stood too close.

Please:

Sam liked the way the soles of his feet rested on the sharp edge of the table. It was a little painful, but pressure sent these strings of pleasure up to his ankles and his calves. His tongue licked the inside of his cheek, looking for the flap of skin he we trying to rip off, but truly he was focused on his palms. The bandages had made the wounds itch and while the man who’d dressed the wounds instructed him not to scratch, that guy was dead now, and the wounds felt like they were closed.

He was shot clean through both his hands, in the middle of the night, slobber straining out of his mouth as he begged them.

“Please-please-no! I’ll do anything—”

Sam had a sister who used to tell him about how the world could be a peaceful place if everyone could learn to not compare each other. The look in that man’s eyes as he cocked the hot gun up against his forehead, pressing the nozzle unto Sam’s skull, was look of a creature completely happy. And to be honest, when sam had been saved by the nurse man, he climbed on top of that bastard and squeezed his neck, the blood gushing out of his own wounds. Sam might have looked the same way.

His finger slipped under the bandage and he began scratching, toes curling and soles rubbing against the table. He pulled his hand back and brown and red blood mixed under his nail. He disgusted himself and pressed the bandage back again.

“Please!” The voice filtered in from the back door and Sam grabbed the rifle, laying against the table. Five paces forward was a pool of blood, and the dead doctor. Five paces back was a door, rickety with a slapping screen door. Sam itched up against the cupboards facing the pool of blood, waiting for the sound of something.

“Please God!” And then the sound of crashing and water spilling.

The person had knocked over the water supply, near the bloody entrance. Sam was quick, stepping over the pool of blood and aiming carefully. Sam stood there in the crook of the door, looking at an incredibly pregnant woman, skin dark brown and eyes the same.

Once Sam was in view the woman pointed her shotgun up and towards him, elbow propping her up against the kitchen counter, and at her leg a lighter brown girl, gripping the tattered material of the pregnant woman’s pants.

“Please.” She asked again, cocking it, “Please, she’s bleeding. I just need some bandages.”

The blood had begun to wrap around Sam’s bare feet. He’d stood too close.

Day 1: Beg

Prompt:

You were caught in an avalanche. To be rescued, you need to make it through the night. What thought(s) would give you the strength to go through such a scary, dangerous situation?

Valanch:

You’d think that when you feel the snow crush down you’d immediately know that you’re a goner. It’s the kind of thing you wouldn’t be able to even attempt to lie to yourself about. You can’t feel your tongue in your mouth, but you bet your ass that you’re trying to figure out what happened and what you’ve gotta do. It’s like how people in a failing marriage can never see that their love is just shitty and rotting from the inside out, but everyone with a clear nasal canal can smell it come from a hundred miles away. Hope is shitty.

What i needed to do was to pace my breathing and stay awake. If i fell asleep

“and 4th place goes to Erick.” And the spidery man skittered off to his seat to the left of the heavy black curtains.

Erick was a mopey kid with droppey eyes and liked to walk as slowly as possible. He dragged around his long gangling legs taking ginger steps and frowning all the while. The audience watched his slow movement towards the microphone in silence, probably too razzed by the silence itself or the how possibly uneventful this whole thing had been. Who really cared what the fourth place in the blahblahblah is? Certainly not

You’d think that it’d burn to push yourself in that kind of weight, moving in the slosh slightly moist from your body heat. The thing about ice/ snow is that it didn’t actually pack evenly. It was hard to breathe and every second you were gambling with the idea that at some point you’d hit a pocket that brought down all that snow, and just crush you for good. That might have been a relief when you suddenly remember that all you had to do was stay awake and breathe, but then how would they find you? There won’t be much to save if you keep on moving like that. DOn’t sleep but rela

Do cats know that they’re cats when they’re just born like how geese know how to push an egg through their legs and into it’s nest without ever being taught? When they meow are they surprised?

Piss is every where. That woke you up. You would think that this was something that would be well documented, snow survivors. Well it’s not a well documented thing, or you’d know about it. Before you never put yourself in a terrorizing position you liked to look up deaths directly relating to the events you intend on participating in. It’s a cruel humor you share only with yourself. The piss is eating up all the good air in this bubble you’re trapped in under how many layers of snow. its smells like  piss and soon it starts tasting like piss.

Theodore Roosevelt. See, that was a man.

So where are you? You’re in some motel room. You just – you just wake up and you’re in – in a motel room. There’s the key. It feels like maybe it’s just the first time you’ve been there, but perhaps you’ve been there for a week, three months. It’s – it’s kind of hard to say. I don’t – I don’t know. It’s just an anonymous room. If you could just… reach over and touch… her side of the bed, you would know that it was cold, but you can’t.

Maybe you die there. Maybe the cold crushes your lungs and wipes your bones into dust. You’re a strong person and you know that’s not true. You have to be still in the ice waiting for them to find you. You just have to keep breathing. Try to stay awake.

Fightin

The first time I met Korbin he punched me right the mouth. It surprised me. I punch him right on back in the mouth, much harder. I had just finished telling him that I’d done some fighting in high school and one of his drunk, slutty looking friends dared him to punch me. He was there with his hand on his swollen mouth giggling like a fool. I started laughing too.

“I fucking hate this movie.” Korbin started, a few days ago.

Liz seems to think that this was the moment that everything had gone to hell. See, I love this movie and Korb knows that. He’s grinning on the couch, legs crossed, tryin’ to piss me off. I glance at him for a moment and keep on watchin until he gets uncomfortable and starts askin me what what what. Then I’m smiling cause I’m pissin him off.

I turn my attention back to the movie

“Why do you have to always watch this fucking trashy movie?” He put a bit of ichor in his words, tryin to hold back his smile to appear genuine–and part of him really is–but his half smile is comin through.

Because I love to make you angry.

I say it soft because the movie is getting to the point where people start crying. I love that part. He mutters bullshit.

After a little while of him being strangely quiet i glance over. He’s all frowns. This guy… I really meant what I said so I wasn’t going to apologize. Not that I ever apologized to Korbin.

“Fight me.” He says it low and upset. I don’t say anything even though I know he’s serious. He jumps up and takes off his jacket and throws it at Liz who’s sitting all silence on the chair next to the couch.

Lizzie was Korbin’s new squeeze. I’d say girlfriend, but when I think that way I want to kill him

“Come on!” He’s jumping around and socking the air wildly. I paused the movie and stood up. I was about a head taller than he was and wider. I pushed the table back and out of the way of the bedroom. He was all smiles again, now that my movie was paused.

“Liz, ref.” He said, eyes on me.

She got up and tucked her phone in her tight jeans. She was a beautiful girl and sexy as all hell on a platter, but Korbin and I didn’t notice. At least not that day.

As usual he rushed right in at the ding ding ding Liz made. Face face face, wide swing, body body body. I took a step back, absorbing a few shots and dodging others. He was laughing and

breathing hard already. He went in again and again until I swung in low and then crossed his face. He flopped over to my bed, for a moment, out of of it. Liz climbed up on the bed and he was grumbling about being fine. I sat down on the bed next to him

“Fucking fantastic.” Korbin said kicking the back of his legs on the base of my bed, “Liz, we’re breaking up.”

He looked at her right in face, completely serious when he said that. She watched him hard for a second and nodded. She hauled off and punched him right in the nose. Fucking fantastic. And then she smiled and said her goodbyes.

I led Liz to the door and stood on the steps leading down to my place. Liz turned around and kissed me right on the mouth. She frowned afterwards and left without saying anything. So it makes sense that she’d think that was when everything went to hell, but

When I walked back into my room Korbin was already down to his boxers, hugging my body pillow.

“Did she kiss you?” He murmured into the pillow. I played the movie and pulled off my shirt. I leaned back and continued to watch it. He groaned and climbed on top of me, blocking my vision, “Did she?”

He never wanted to know.

I flipped him over and loomed over; the bed creaked under my knees. At this point he always got silent, staring at me, waiting. I’d wait too. Soon enough it’d make sense what we were to each other.

Korbin thought that the day that everything went to shit was when we met.

The bar was empty and he’d had a cold beer on his mouth, lip bruised all up.

“Take one” He shoved a beer in front of me. He sat down in my right. I took it, “do you have a girlfriend?”

I paused, looked at him, and pushed the beer back over. He started laughing and slapping the table. He pushed it right on back.

“I want someone to teach me how to fight and I get jealous easy.” He paused, grinning. He was completely serious.

I took the beer, downed it, and got up from the table. I didn’t want anything to do with him.

He didn’t see me again until a week later at Angie’s party. Angie and I grew up together and I was sweet on her. You’d have to be an moron not to see the way I looked at her. I thought she felt the same until I watched her giggle her way up to her room with Korbin. I drank. And drank. And drank. When I woke up Korbin was crouched over me grinning.

“you gonna punch me now?” And i hauled off and smacked him, very drunk. I hit him in the throat by mistake. I picked my self up and threw myself on top of him. I punched his face twice before I heard him laughing. I watched his bloody nose and mouth drip. He touched my chin, soft, with one hand and said

“I own you now, don’t forget. We’re friends.”

Then Angie was quackin about not fighting. Then someone was draggin me onto the lawn, probably throwing me out. Then I was laughin’ because he really was jealous. Maybe I was cryin.

I think that everything went to fucking at the New Years Party.

Angie had invited me over to her place to make up for what happened. Korbin had dumped her at this point. Sorry sorry sorry. There was nothing to forgive, but I forgave her. She smiled and her chocolate hair shook on her shoulders. She was beautiful and sexy as hell but Korbin and I didn’t notice. At least not that day.

Korbin was invited. No bad blood and amends are words she used. He looked like he’d gotten the shit kicked out of him recently. When he saw me he grinned and stood next to me. He didn’t say anything at first.

“I told you I got jealous easy.” He started at me. I turned to him for a long time. He looked right on back. I grabbed the girl standing next to me, very drunk. I met her eyes and moved in real slow and then I kissed her. I kissed her for a minute or so. Then I turned to the girl next to her and did the same. After I’d kissed 8 or so women I came back and looked him in the eyes real slow. I cupped his chin and kissed him. His lips were much softer than I’d guessed. I pulled away and stared him down. He was pissed, his shirt still clumped in my hand.

I guess you’ll have to fuck them and then go fuck yourself.

He burst into ha ha and hee hee. He doubled over laughing. I stood there and soon I was laughing too. I was curled up sitting next to him on the floor beside the hunch punch.

“fucking kiss me again and I’ll kill you.” I dont know if he was serious

Then I remember him sayin something about fresh air and grass. We walked outside of the party.

“lets race to the pool.” And then he took off running. I was running behind him. My lungs felt tight. I had only recently stopped smoking. He got there before I did and had already stripped down to his boxers.

It was 12 degrees outside.

Then he started the chicken dance. Bawk bawk bawk. I was pulling off my shirt and my pants and I was too far gone to see how he looked at me.

While I was taking off my socks he ran us both into the water. He held me down and shouted HA. I could barely see him under the water. I pushed up to the top and looked at him. His hair was brown and slick to to his head now, making his ears stick out. His eyes were brown too. My face was freezing

“They heat this pool every New Years Eve.” He said, wading poorly in the water.

I asked him if he knew how to swim. He nodded, but I still swam over to him.

“I want you to teach me how to fight.”

Someone needs to teach you how to swim.

He frowned and swam to the edge of the pool. I followed. Then there were big fireworks. And counting. We counted. 10. His face was blue. Bruised and cold. 5. He dipped into the water for a second. 1. And then all the noise and cheering and bottles bursting. And Korbin pressed against the pool and my hands were freezing in his hair. We shivered from the neck up and his hands were on my waistband. And then I grabbed my clothes and ran back to Angie’s place. She was drunk and in the lap of one guy. She smiled at me. I got right into her shower. I was freezing.

When I came out and put on clothes everyone was at their lowest point. Some people were asleep there. Some had already left. I sat on the couch, waiting.

He eventually rushed in, breathing hard. He walked by me and into the shower. When he came back in I stood up and got my coat, sobered up. He pushed the door closed as I opened it.

You going to kill me now?

He didn’t say anything; he just held the door shut, his eyes on the knob.

“Do you think about fucking me?” He was being serious even though he couldn’t help but to smile a bit.

Yes.

“How do you imagine yourself doing it?”

I try to open the door again but he pushed his back against it to shut it

“Tell me, you fucker!”

I drop my jacket on the ground. I take his cheeks into my hands, and his skin is still damp. And I kiss him. I trail my kisses to his neck and then right behind his ear and he shoves me back

“just tell me!”

We get into a fight. And when I win I climb on top of you and fuck you into nothing.

He looks at me and laughs

“That is the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard!” And he’s laughing so hard and I’m chuckling. I’m pissed. He locks the door and walks to the kitchen. He pours himself some whiskey

“fight me” he says after a moment and laughs. He’s serious

He throws back the drink and starts jabbing. Face face, gut, wild left, wild uppercut. And I absorb all his hits.

“you’re not going to get laid with that attitude.” He says, punching me right in the mouth. I let him hit me. Let him beat me up a little. I cross his face and he crashes into the frig. He’s breathing hard and looking up at me

“what are you waiting on?”

I’m on top of him, hand sliding up under his shirt. He jolts when his skin touches the cold tile. He keeps his eyes away from mine as I slip my hand into his waistband. I’m touching and stroking him and he doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t react.

Look at me.

He doesn’t. He looks pained. I pull my hand out and look at him. He looks back.

Why

“I dunno. When you said it I was really turned on. I thought it would be enough.” He wasn’t smiling at all

He sat up and pulled down his shirt. He looked at me still. He offered to give me his hand but I didn’t want it. He leaned against me on the frig and started talking. Something about erections. When I glanced over I saw his hand in his pants.

“when I think about us fucking. I imagine you’re a policeman or a doctor. You’re checking for drugs or prostate cancer.” Then he laughed. I did too. I reach my hand into his pants and wrap around his hand. He nuzzles his head into my neck

“I won’t apologize to you.”

I didn’t expect you to

“you still have to teach me how to fight.”

The Victim Part 7 – End

“We need to talk about what he did to you.” I asked, directly. The boy never responded to anything but directness. He thought very little of me, and feigned desire for pity.

“You know this already. He raped me.” He said it simply, as if nothing had happened to him.

That wasn’t the point of the treatment. We’d made sex and violence nauseating. We gave him confusion and pain. But if I didn’t force the issue he would never feel what we want him to feel.

“I know. We all know, but I think it would be easier for you if you walked through it.”

When he looked over at the glass table I found myself watching it as well, sudden nausea washing over me.

“Jared, i’m going to need you to look at me.” I spoke calmly, keeping my eyes from the table, “Let’s start with something easy. What were you doing that day?”

and he sat there, lost in his thoughts. I saw the distress building inside him and I wanted it. I wanted that distress for myself. I wanted to hear it

“Out loud.” I snapped. He looked me in the eyes and he thought I didn’t see how that tickled him.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, he had been smiling but didn’t stop. He uncrossed his legs.

“It was the knife that hit my neck first. Big blade right against here and before saying a word he just ran his tongue nice and sloooooooow against my face like I was some big ice cream cone.” I could seem him smiling at me in the midst of the shock of the incident, and I felt aroused. To my peak of arousal, “I probably tasted like cream or strawberries because he pushed me back into the room and onto the nearest couch and started licking me all over.”

He looked like he was going to be sick, and I smiled all over. This is what I wanted. We wanted.

“Some times I imagine that he has my face. That I enjoyed doing that to myself.” He didn’t even know that he was the rapist…oh the feeling of knowing so much more than him. Of being in control of him felt so good.

“It’s actually quite common to have sexual arousal from your rape.”

There was a knock at the door and in came my secretary, “Are you ready for your first appointment of the day?” He asked, his pale skin reddened now, by my gaze. He looked so vulnerable.

The Victim Part 6

These two men were just grinning at me like something was funny. One of them was a thin man that was almost thin enough to stop existing any time now. His features were stretched, stringy, like a person who’d been squished into a long stick. The other was of a more muscular build, taller than the thin man. The muscular one had buzzed hair, and old man lines above his brow.

Maybe it was somehow cynically funny that i got caught. Maybe funny that The Doctor had called the police before i could even try to get away…and now that i think about it i don’t know if i would have tried…guess i didnd’t have enough time to think about itb efore it was already over.

“This is my favorite part.” The thin man started, standing up instead of sitting like his partner

“The part where I go to jail?” I laughed at them, “I don’t care.”

“Oh no, little pretty boy.” the thin man smiled wider, but it looked like the ends of his lips would sooner curl around his head then curl up further, “We’re not sending you to jail.” And his smile did in fact curl around his head.

I was puzzled, wringing my hand around in the cuffs.

“A psychiatric home? You think i’m crazy?” Then I chuckled even louder, “OH man, then, yeah. Do whatever you gotta do.”

Then the big one grinned very widely, his muscles suddenly rippling at the thought of something. I found myself disgusted by the two of them, but it wasn’t because of their horrible stature, and horrible complexions, it was the simple way they looked down at me, grinning like they knew something that I didn’t.

“We intend to do what we have to, little Jared. Or…What should we call him now, Evan?” The thin one spoke over his shoulder to the muscular one but didn’t once take his eyes off of me.

“William, Sam.” The voice that came out of the bigger man sounded like a bass being plucked and a giant belching

“Ah yes, he’ll be Billy boy now, I guess.”

“Alright, do you two need a room to suck each other off or something? I feel like i’m interrupting some kind of pre sex role play.” I said, growing a bit impatient with their game.

They both laughed hard at that, but then they stopped.

“You used to be a man named Eric Huxley.” Sam, I believe, began, “You raped and killed a man named Jared Young. And strangled a woman named Danielle Figueroa.” Then he looked at me, suddenly stern like. I laughed at that, loudly, slamming my hand on the table. He was a very good liar. I couldn’t even tell exactly that he was lying. Well apart from the sheer stupidity of the lie, it was a pretty flawless delivery

“Oh man, wow. You really think i’m going to believe that?!” I clapped my hands lightly, “You caught me after I killed Danielle in that room. Did you two even really think this out?”

Evan looked at Sam, and away from me for the first time, but Sam kept his thin stretched beady eyes on me.

“You are being tried for the murder of William Burke, alone.”

I glanced between the two men, trying to find the joke in this, but before I could start again I heard someone knock at the door. I watched it and waited. They kept knocking and knocking and the two “officers” didn’t even look over.

“Can you two answer that fucking door?” I paused, “If this is torture you two are out of your league.”

The door opened and in walked a pale and pasty looking Danielle. Her clothes hadn’t been changed and she looked very tired, bags under her eyes. She did have a blanket around her body, probably for the shock. My heart dropped for a moment, then it started the beat violently. I was excited to see her. Unfinished business.

“Oh…I guess i wasn’t as thorough as I thought.” I muttered, watching her, “So are you going to have her testify against me?”

“Danielle?” Sam asks, Evan glancing between the door and back to me.

“Yes, who else?”

“Well unless she’s rising from the dead, no we aren’t.”

I looked at Danielle again and laughed. They weren’t giving up their little story. They were very persistent. I’d give them that.

“Is this the game you’re playing? Trying to make me look insane? Okay. Fine, so why is it that if I “killed” Danielle, she is standing behind you two?” They both turned around as I said it. When they turned back to look at me though, Sam’s smile was wrapped around his head, and Evan’s was gaping like a shark eating something whole. The bugs scurried around the back of my skull.

“When you used to be Eric we wiped you memory, son. We erased everything and replaced everything you knew with that of –”

“Jared Young!” The gargling giant interrupted, beaming with excitement. Sam looked at his partner hard for a moment, smile still wrapped around his head. This was a good show. They were funny and were trying so hard to make this seem real. I was impressed.

“This was to be your punishment.” The hulk said his first full sentence

“You were supposed to live out your life feeling their pain become your own. You have the body and muscle memory of a murderer but with the weakness, pain, and memories of the victim.” Sam frowned.

I could play they’re game

“Well I killed again.” I smirked, “You let a murderer free and now he’s killed again. Beautiful story you got here, boys.” I leaned forward in the chair, “The story of two incompetent cops trying to punish a true killer. Sounds very funny, when all is said and done.”

“We thought a psychiatrist would help–” Evan grumbled.

“Well you were wrong. Anything else gentlemen? Do you want to wipe my mind and put someone else in here? I wonder how many it’s been; was “Eric” even the first?” Then I laughed and watched their faces lighten up.

“Yes. Yes. And No.” Sam said.

His face became grave. The joke was sucked right out of it. Evan still smirked at me. But suddenly my heart was thumping and I was perplexed that I couldn’t tell that either of them …were lying. The dumb one is gullible enough to believe anything, but…Sam. What was Sam? A monster like me…who lied as easily as he told the truth?

I looked up at them and Danielle stood at the back of them, smiling.

The Victim Part 5

I swung the lamp across her face before I even got a look at her properly. I bashed her into the room and then closed the door behind her. She lay there on the ground, face red, but very much conscious. She struggled, and gasped, and moaned. I walked over and loomed over her back, as she tried to get up. She’d know. She’d know.

I grabbed a hand full of her hair and dragged her over to the glass table. She screamed and kicked, and that just made it even more exciting.

“Danielle. I want you to look at him.” I started, holding her head in front of my doctor, “I want you to look at him and think twice before you lie to me.” She sobbed loudly, “Tell me you understand, Danielle.” I shook her head violently

“You’re a monster…” She spat, her crying voice making her words sound muffled. I smiled and swung her back. Her head made a loud crack as it hit the ground. She lay there arms already up to defend herself. She wore these shorts and a tank top. And flip flops. Maybe she was going to beach after this. I straddled her and she began fighting again.

“It’s going to hurt more if you struggle, so be my guest and struggle.” I said to her, taking hold the back of her pants and pulling them off. She scratched at me and pushed and screamed. When her pants and underwear were off she was crying. I pressed myself against her crotch and rubbed my dick against her. She kicked, slapped, scraped, and screamed, and I found my hands around her neck, choking and thinking, ‘Finally! Finally!’

“Now tell me.” I looked her in her brown eyes as I thrust into her hard. I heard her gargling and sniveling as I tightened my grip. She was raking through my face, her nails drawing in deep, “What is it that the late doctor and you were keeping from me?”

She gargled for a bit before I remembered to let go of her throat.

“We had to keep your punishment from you, for it to work.” She said, coughing and gasping

“What punishment, for what?” I stopped thrusting for a moment

She smiled, darkly

“This. The not knowing. The confusion. The sickness. The being one person outside and another inside. They did this to you to punish you for what you did to us.”

and as she said it the vomit came up and I spat it onto her t-shirt, mouth and throat burning from the bile.

“What did I do to you people?! Who am I supposed to–” and I waited but she just looked at me smugly. Mouth closed. I put my hands around her neck, tight, again. And I began thrusting into her again and again, but she didn’t fight, didn’t reply. Didn’t do anything. I kept on thrusting, faster and faster, until I was a blur of movements and blood and sweat. Then I thrust in one violent time and I was coming undone inside her.

I was tired.

And she smiled lazily and laid still on the ground.

Should I have felt scared and horrified? I just felt better. I felt nauseous and gross, but it was worth it. Then the bugs started tattering around the back of my head.

I realized then that I had the two people who could have helped me dead in this room.

The Victim Part 4

He was still breathing heavily when I caught up with myself. Then I was already on top of him, knees on his arms. I felt sick, bile rolling around my throat, and my skin goosebumpy. The bugs were crawling so loudly in the back of my head and I could hear their feet individually rat-a-tat-tat. I had to know…i wanted to make him explain these lies…all the lies. I had to find out what he knew.

“Tell me!” I panted, “Tell me what I did!” He laid there, still, out cold, “Tell me why you’ve been lying to me. Why everyone’s been lying to me.”

Putting my hands around his neck were like putting on a glove. Tight grip, cutting of the windpipe with the thumbs, tons of pressure, blood rushing down my arms to my fingertips, his heartbeat in my palms. And this wave of cold washed over my skin making me convulse. But the warmth of my body and his together made me feel good. I felt at home. I convulsed again.

“Tell me!” I squeezed until his eyes shot open, bloody veins burst inside.

He tried to get up, but I had him pinned down. He glared at me coughing and straining under me. I should take my hands off his throat, but I just wanted to squeeze a little bit more. The feeling of vomit and the bug fighting for my attention. His face was turning all red and the wound from his head was still leaking out.

“Every time you lie to me you’re going to lose 10 seconds of air. If I get tired of your games I won’t let you breathe again. I know you know I will.” And I loosened up on his neck. He nodded, “Why is everyone lying to me?”

He coughed and shook his head, “No one is–” Lie.

I strangled his neck, watching his eyes roll back, his face going from red red red to kinda of paler and paler

“10!” And I counted down to one, before asking again, “Why is everyone lying to me!” It took 3 tries before he actually answered me, tears rolling out of his eyes. I didn’t know if it was because he was afraid to die or the pressure got too much and his eyes watered on their own. It didn’t matter, really.

“We’re lying because we were forced by law to!” He yelled, coughing and slobbering all over.

What the–

“Why!” I threatened with a little squeezed

“Because you couldn’t live proper–” he wheezed

“Cut the shit and get to the point. What is it that is being kept from me?!”

Then he looked genuinely frozen, like he couldn’t say anything anymore. He looked really pale and tired, but I wasn’t going to let him keep me from knowing. I squeezed his neck and it didn’t seem to bother him anymore. He didn’t struggle, he just laid there.

Thoughts rushed through my head all at once, all the words muddling together…Rape. Tv. Boy. Danielle. Man. Doctor. Dead. Me. Murder. Curtains. An image of my face as the rapist’s surfaced…then the image of the victim was my doctor’s face. Then like the throw up would be coming any second now and…and I felt giddy.

I climbed off of him and he just laid there. When I pulled off his pants he struggled, but weakly. Then I pulled off his briefs. And he was all skin and body and holes. I dropped my own briefs. He tried to kick his legs but I grabbed them under my arms. I rubbed my crotch against his ass cheeks and suddenly I was vomiting bile, my throat burning and the acid landing on my clothes and chest. I should have stopped but I just couldn’t. I thrust against him even harder until I was fully erect.

I spread his legs and he groaned, sadly. His sadness made me feel right. I pressed hard into his ass and he cried out. I loved the sound and the bile burned it’s yellow glob up my throat. I went at it again and again until I was tired and sweaty and bloody and curled over his silent body, looking to his eyes, still. I’d even forgotten to even threaten him. I’d forgotten i’d done this to him for a reason.

The door rattled, but I didn’t feel afraid. I grabbed hold of the lamp off of the table and paced over to the door, stark naked, as it opened. My heart started beating fast now. I was really starting to feel right.