Precious Machines
Trois.
I want to laugh at his utter fucking stupidity, but it comes out as a hoarse, ragged bark, ripping open a vicious hole in my chest and leaving me lying there wide-eyed and whimpering in pain.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he screams, almost hysterically, absolutely no laughter on his face as the pill bottle slips out of his hand and hits the floor again with a hollow clatter.
My lips move wordlessly, my blurry stare fastened like a deadbolt to the crucifix on the wall; I’m lightheaded and fucking minutes from losing consciousness, like someone is pressing an invisible pillow tightly over my face, and I just lie there and twitch, whimpering incoherently, terrified all the way to the bone of what comes next.
Gerard growls savagely, eyes flashing fragments of what might be fear, and I wonder vaguely, vainly, if it’s losing me that frightens him.
Of course he could get another boy. Another precious little mechanical boy-
And then a ragged whimper is torn from my lips, my whole body tensing up tightly in shock as he hits me, spitting “Fucking little bitch-” His strong hands grab both my forearms with enough force to bruise and he jerks me roughly forward, dragging my zombie frame off of the mattress like a body-bagged cadaver.
Flickering in and out of lucidity, I can’t feel myself staggering like a malfunctioning robot in his arms, tripping, choking, and moaning shakily, over and over; distressed animal moans. Next thing I know, I smell mold and bacteria and the chipped olive tile of his filthy bathroom is flashing by my face, piss-stained caulking around the toilet lurching dangerously close as he wraps both arms around my waist and lets my upper body jerk violently forward towards the toilet bowl.
My vision swims, black spots floating in front of my eyes. Not long now.
Gerard is cursing loudly, squeezing my shaky stomach with both arms like he’s trying to do the fucking Heimlich maneuver, and I slowly realize he’s actually trying to force me to puke up all of the fucking toxins I swallowed, but no more vomit is coming up my constricted esophagus.
I’m almost ready to let go.
“Goddamn fucking hell,” he spits violently, like he can’t believe he’s actually trying to save my worthless pansy-assed fuck-toy whore little existence, and then his icy hands are on my hot face, smearing saliva and blood from a split lip all over my cheeks as he pries my clenched shark jaws apart with difficulty. My whole body whiplashes instantaneously forward as he shoves two thin fingers so far down my throat that the gag reflex I thought I had muscled past a long time ago kicks in with a renewed vengeance, sending waves of corrosive battery-acid vomit spilling past my mouth as I retch repeatedly, spattering the filthy tile.
“What the fucking hell did you think you were doing?” he hisses as I puke helplessly, choking on the crushed pills and formaldehyde and stomach acid coming back up over and over and over. “You can’t pull shit like that, Frankie, you pathetic whore!” His fingers dig deeper into my ribcage as he snarls “It’s not your fucking choice to make!”
Burning liquid is spilling over my bottom eyelashes; streaking my flushed cheeks in glistening rivulets, the salt stinging my cracked lips as the tears splash to the puke-stained floor, and I’m shaking uncontrollably in his bruising grip, sobbing, retching, gasping for air as the last of the vomit fills my mouth. Then the dirty bathroom walls start to spin, already rotating faster than my medicated carousel ever did; so nauseating that I have to close my eyes. And suddenly, lost in the darkness, I don’t feel anything at all, like my spinal cord was severed into two perfect halves, and Gerard’s imprisoning arms release my torso as my broken body crashes numbly to the chipped tile.
And goes completely still.
“What the fuck were you thinking?!” he screams, almost hysterically, absolutely no laughter on his face as the pill bottle slips out of his hand and hits the floor again with a hollow clatter.
My lips move wordlessly, my blurry stare fastened like a deadbolt to the crucifix on the wall; I’m lightheaded and fucking minutes from losing consciousness, like someone is pressing an invisible pillow tightly over my face, and I just lie there and twitch, whimpering incoherently, terrified all the way to the bone of what comes next.
Gerard growls savagely, eyes flashing fragments of what might be fear, and I wonder vaguely, vainly, if it’s losing me that frightens him.
Of course he could get another boy. Another precious little mechanical boy-
And then a ragged whimper is torn from my lips, my whole body tensing up tightly in shock as he hits me, spitting “Fucking little bitch-” His strong hands grab both my forearms with enough force to bruise and he jerks me roughly forward, dragging my zombie frame off of the mattress like a body-bagged cadaver.
Flickering in and out of lucidity, I can’t feel myself staggering like a malfunctioning robot in his arms, tripping, choking, and moaning shakily, over and over; distressed animal moans. Next thing I know, I smell mold and bacteria and the chipped olive tile of his filthy bathroom is flashing by my face, piss-stained caulking around the toilet lurching dangerously close as he wraps both arms around my waist and lets my upper body jerk violently forward towards the toilet bowl.
My vision swims, black spots floating in front of my eyes. Not long now.
Gerard is cursing loudly, squeezing my shaky stomach with both arms like he’s trying to do the fucking Heimlich maneuver, and I slowly realize he’s actually trying to force me to puke up all of the fucking toxins I swallowed, but no more vomit is coming up my constricted esophagus.
I’m almost ready to let go.
“Goddamn fucking hell,” he spits violently, like he can’t believe he’s actually trying to save my worthless pansy-assed fuck-toy whore little existence, and then his icy hands are on my hot face, smearing saliva and blood from a split lip all over my cheeks as he pries my clenched shark jaws apart with difficulty. My whole body whiplashes instantaneously forward as he shoves two thin fingers so far down my throat that the gag reflex I thought I had muscled past a long time ago kicks in with a renewed vengeance, sending waves of corrosive battery-acid vomit spilling past my mouth as I retch repeatedly, spattering the filthy tile.
“What the fucking hell did you think you were doing?” he hisses as I puke helplessly, choking on the crushed pills and formaldehyde and stomach acid coming back up over and over and over. “You can’t pull shit like that, Frankie, you pathetic whore!” His fingers dig deeper into my ribcage as he snarls “It’s not your fucking choice to make!”
Burning liquid is spilling over my bottom eyelashes; streaking my flushed cheeks in glistening rivulets, the salt stinging my cracked lips as the tears splash to the puke-stained floor, and I’m shaking uncontrollably in his bruising grip, sobbing, retching, gasping for air as the last of the vomit fills my mouth. Then the dirty bathroom walls start to spin, already rotating faster than my medicated carousel ever did; so nauseating that I have to close my eyes. And suddenly, lost in the darkness, I don’t feel anything at all, like my spinal cord was severed into two perfect halves, and Gerard’s imprisoning arms release my torso as my broken body crashes numbly to the chipped tile.
And goes completely still.