Mercy

I cursed myself profusely the moment I realized how difficult my mission would be. Somehow, I was supposed to force Billie’s younger son into some sort of sanctified epiphany, making him realize that the love he felt for a man who relentlessly tortured him every night was merely a cruel trick played by his subconscious to shelter him from the true horrors of his situation. Hell, the old man probably hoped I could turn the kid straight while I was at it, but how would I even be able to go about that? Smash his skull with a bible, cry out a few heartfelt Hail Mary’s!, and wait for the kid to regain consciousness as a purified soldier of the Lord? No. It couldn’t possibly go down like that, and odds were that Jakob’s sadistic lover would take my life and rape my corpse before he allowed his prized little pet out of his possession.

I had a bit too much experience with the likes of such men, and not once did it end well for me or those who managed to stick their noses where they didn’t belong due to their self-righteous idea that I was just another helpless charity case. Maybe I was, but never in my right mind would I beg for their worthless charity.

With an exasperated sigh, I collapsed into the only piece of furniture in my pathetic excuse for a living room and absently wondered if I had a fucking nametag slapped across my chest that read Hello, My Name Is: Doormat. Or, even better, Hello, My Name Is: I promise I’ll suck your dick if you’ll just leave me alone. Chances were that the latter may have been a bit too lengthy or pornographic for the average person to glimpse at and brush off as if they had witnessed nothing out of the ordinary, but there was no denying the phrase had already been deeply embedded within their subconscious. There it would ferment and grow until it slowly ate away at their soul, compelling them all to come crawling back with wicked intent. They always came crawling back, yet like a whore, I never denied them the opportunity to suck the life from me.

In other words, I was a notorious pushover. The old bastard must have sensed it straight off and formulated an ingenious plan to use my misplaced generosity to his greatest advantage. Of course I couldn’t possibly turn him down, for his deathlike state and piteous frailty must have won me over the minute his unruly body was dragged into the hospital. Suddenly, I knew exactly why revulsion initially exuded from my pores the minute that man first degraded me…he wanted something from me. It wasn’t just the fiasco with his son, either. Fuck no, there was something else…something huge, but I simply couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it at that point.

One thing was for goddamn sure, though. No matter how loudly he begged, I was not sucking his goddamn limp-dick.

As I continued to stew in my own resentment, my body sunk deep into the sole piece of furniture in my shithole of a living room. The armchair was a lumpy, disastrously stained pile of cushions and broken springs, but I found the eyesore to be more than tolerable. Others might turn up their noses at such a filthy excuse for furniture, but considering I’d found it alongside the road to simply be thrown out, the ghastly state of the chair shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. Hell, it was actually a decent chair for having been so prematurely abandoned. Just a little bleach and this bitch might actually look expensive, was what I’d thought excitedly when I stumbled across the unlikely treasure, deeming myself lucky for finding a legitimate piece of furniture, and for free at that! It was a small miracle for the practically destitute medical student I had been.

Six years later and my ass-print permanently pressed into said armchair, those blasted stains remained and I no longer gave two shits whether I could make the furniture appear expensive or presentable anymore. The nag who griped about the state of my apartment left years ago with my sole reason to live, and not so much as a reason why was uttered before she briskly walked out of my life. It had been six years, yet I persisted to dwell on the baby girl who had been so thoughtlessly ripped from my arms after I rocked her to sleep, baffled once again by the graceful way in which she slipped into slumber despite the maddening groan of broken springs.

The worst part of it all was that I suspected the pair of them was dead seeing as my ex had a nasty habit of nagging a person to the point of insanity. She certainly didn’t have the sense to properly raise my child on her own, nor did she have a fucking stained armchair that sang songs of abused, rusted metal as they lulled the child to sleep.

There was no way in hell my little girl made it to her sixth birthday, and if she did, I swore to God I’d track her down before the day I die.

Through my clouded array of painful reminiscence, I vaguely recalled a task I had been requested to accomplish by a dying old man who may or may not have wanted his dick sucked. I sighed yet again, only the second time it more heavily emphasized hopelessness rather than exasperation. Even if I managed to make contact with Jakob Armstrong, how could I possibly rip him away from a domineering demon? I glared at the number scrawled hurriedly on my hand, one that was copied from an emergency contact list on Billie’s medical charts, and wondered bitterly if the number listed was even correct. After witnessing the way his father treated him, I wouldn’t find it all that difficult to believe that he had given a false telephone number. If I was the poor kid, I probably would have done the same thing. For a while, I simply stared at the number debating whether or not I had the balls to call the young man until, at long last, I picked up the phone and angrily punched in the numbers. Still, I had no idea what to tell him…if he even answered.

“Hello?” a fragile, whisper of a voice asked from the other line. I was momentarily stunned not only by how vulnerable Jakob sounded, but also by how he had actually given the correct number. With my luck, I would have placed my bet that the person on the other line would have been just another unaccommodating minion of the suicide hotline.

“Hi! Um…is this Jakob Armstrong?” I inquired hesitantly, making a desperate mental effort to build up a plausible reason for calling within a matter of seconds.

“Yes…who is this?” Jakob demanded, the fear in his voice more prominent and alarming.

“Oh thank God, this is Mike Pritchard,” I replied.

There was a slight pause from the other end while Jakob tossed the name about in his mind. At last, he decided he had absolutely no inkling as to who I was. It was then that I realized his father hadn’t exactly introduced me by name, as any normal human being would. Instead, he had used his own demeaning nickname to put me in my place in front of his sons.

“I’m sorry, who?” Jakob questioned, his tone an octave higher than his previous inquiry.

“…Fairy,” I mumbled, feeling my face as it burned with mortification despite Jakob’s inability mock me in person.

“Oh…oh shit, is Dad ok?!”

“He’s fine, I uh…I just need to go over a few things with you about potentially moving your father to the hospice,” I rambled, mystified by my own ability to so easily deceive him.

“Oh. So he’s really gonna die soon, isn’t he?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s why it’s so important I need to speak with you in person to go over the minor details. I would have asked your brother as well, but-”

“Joe hasn’t paid his phone bill in months, and he doesn’t exactly care if Dad…if Dad dropped dead tomorrow, so…” Jakob’s voice grew thick as a tiny sob escaped his throat, and the pity I may have felt for him increased exponentially the moment I became conscious of how indisputably the young man adored his father.

“I understand. When and where would be best for us to speak?”

“My apartment,” Jakob offered at once. “My boyfriend doesn’t like me being out late.”

“That’s fine…is he there now or should I come later?”

“He’s…out, and most likely will be for a while yet. It should be ok if you came over now,” Jakob assured me, though I sensed a deep hesitance within his words which was still quite present as he gave me the address to his apartment. As I hung up the phone, that voice haunted me for a moment or two with the timid way in which he appeared to seek some form of approval before opening his mouth. It was frightening…and all too familiar.

Before I set off to find Jakob’s apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder if his boyfriend might show up in the middle of my visit. I immediately dreaded for such an instant to arise, seeing as men like that violent prick were always the first to notice the lengthy message strewn across my fucking nametag.