Mercy

Don’t go home to that prick tonight.

The words wafted lazily about the old bastard’s hospital room, mocking me with their enticing appeal. I couldn’t possibly articulate how badly I wished to float away, simply disappearing into another world, another life, another reality. One where abusive ex-boyfriends don’t materialize out of thin air and narcissistic ex-girlfriends don’t kidnap your own child simply to spite you. I longed for some sort of companion who wasn’t a fifty-some old man going on fifteen whose mischievous smirk and devilish gaze could not mask how he already mourned his withering body. A companion who wasn’t a fucking sociopath who enjoyed watching others writhe and squirm under that goddamn belittling gaze merely to take his mind off of the blood he produced every time he violently coughed into a tissue.

Fuck, I just wanted to float away…

It wasn’t like anyone would even give a shit, anyway.

The only thing stopping me? I had absolutely nowhere to go. I was doomed to inhabit that shithole of an apartment for the rest of my life with a violent, spoiled brat and an armchair that I’d never be able to sit comfortably in unless I was feeling a dreadful onset of self-destructive nostalgia. My fate was to forever roam the blasted hallways of the single most depressing ward in the hospital, not once gaining the respect I deserved because I wasn’t about to whore myself through thirty more years of school for a fucking doctor’s license. I didn’t think it was worth it to put myself at risk of getting HIV just so I could receive an elegant little plaque stating that I would forever be more medically adept than the entire nursing staff. I was forever trapped in a monotonous cycle of work and abuse – both potentially occurring simultaneously if Limpdick was feeling particularly savage that day – despite having nothing in my life keeping me tethered to such monotony. In fact, my lack of reasons to be tethered elsewhere was what truly kept me prisoner of my pathetic life.

I found myself wondering vaguely if I’d been dropped directly into Hell without being given the chance to make it elsewhere on earth.

And to think the old bastard had the nerve to dangle the chains that restricted me blatantly in front of my face without any hint of remorse. He seemed to know every other damned thing about my life, so how the hell did he happen to miss such an extraordinarily obvious flaw in his seemingly innocent request?

With so many uncertainties cascading throughout my aching head, all I could do was groan in repentance for being kind enough to suck his cock in an attempt to rid him of an embarrassing problem while he could manage nothing more than being an utter asshole in return.

My jaw clenched with anger as I narrowed my eyes at the old bastard, fingers idly toying with the handle of a drawer that could rid me of my Billie Joe Armstrong problem. An air bubble in his IV, or perhaps a lethal, yet untraceable, dosage of potassium chloride could do the trick. All I had to do was open that harmless drawer, where dozens of needles begged to be sterilized and utilized to wreak havoc on the old man’s fragile heart and respiratory system. It would have been so damn simple…

At the time, I could have killed myself for hesitating too long to commit the dastardly deed, but looking back…each and every instant I refrained myself from eliminating Billie was one of the best decisions I’d ever made.

“Fairy, why’re you lookin’ at me like that? I ask you a simple question, and you get all googly-eyed lookin’ like you wanna strangle me,” the old man pouted from his place, clothed and safely tucked away, in his hospital bed.

“I…don’t want to strangle you,” I muttered, though my hand still lingered forebodingly on the drawer handle.

“Bullshit you don’t want me dead. You’re fingerin’ the fuckin’ needle drawer!” he growled, pointing accusingly at my menacing fingers.

“How the hell do you know that!” I shouted, throwing my hands up in the standard indication of exasperation.

“I get injections every goddamn day, Fairy. Calm the fuck down,” Billie explained, obviously aggravated. “Now’re you gonna answer me or are you gonna keep murderin’ me with your eyes?”

I was silent for a moment, taking a few cautious steps away from the very idea that sounded so dreadfully appealing mere seconds prior to the old man’s outburst. His increasingly foul mood should have irked me enough to follow through with the task, but I didn’t find the severe lack of any element of surprise all that alluring. If I were to eradicate that practically senile old coot from my life, I sure as hell didn’t want him to see it coming. I craved to witness his eyes bulging wide with astonishment as the life trickled from his soon-to-be corpse. At least then I’d know for certain that one other person felt the same emptiness, the same lifelessness, I had to endure on a daily basis.

Then he would be dead, leaving me with one less problem contributing to my relentless insomnia.

“Where would you like me to go, Limpdick?” I asked, my voice a helpless ghost of an echo barely comparable to any humanly utterance.

“Anywhere,” he replied simply, eyes sparkling with what could have easily been mistaken for an earnest plea, but I assumed I knew better. I assumed he was, once again, dickin’ around with me.

“Problem is, I don’t have anywhere to go,” I snapped, attempting to shoot Billie the coldest glare I could muster. I wanted him to see, without a shred of fucking doubt, how much I despised when people tried to fix me. I wasn’t worth the time or the effort.

“Then stay here with me ‘til I can leave,” he offered. To me, it sounded much too similar to a naïve request, like something a child would request despite an imminent negative response. It was unnerving considering how up until that point, the old man failed to sling anything but the brutally honest.

“And just where the fuck do you think you’re going so soon?” I demanded skeptically, eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

“Home. I ain’t dyin’ in a hospital, Fairy. I’m dyin’ in the comfort of my own damn house with my older boy naggin’ me the whole damn time about how much money he’ll get once I finally kick it. And…and maybe I’m offerin’ you a place to stay until that day comes.”

I froze. No words could possibly describe the slew of emotions that cruelly chose to jump on my back, kicking and screaming for each option to be carefully considered and chosen at once. Of course, the notorious pessimist in me straight off was begging me not to accept. That side of me failed to see through the ulterior motives the old man likely possessed in offering a former prostitute to live with him. With my luck, he probably aspired to morph me into his own personal sex slave. Then again, there was a distant, shimmering hope in the back of my mind imploring my acceptance to such a generous proposition. Perhaps Billie simply wanted to make things right after unwittingly thrusting me back into the filthy arms of Elliot, and by suggesting that I live with him was his subtle way of fending off the karma police. With the options swirling about in my brain, making it virtually impossible to choose, I was once again struck silent by something the old bastard had to say.

Unless…

A sudden thought popped into my head and spewed from my mouth before I had the chance to truly contemplate its legitimacy.

“A blow-job doesn’t mean I love you.”

Billie laughed. It was an unpleasant sound that rattled from deep within his obliterated lungs, and all too soon the laughter reduced him to a coughing, spluttering mess before he was able to properly counter with one snarky comeback or another. After soiling yet another tissue and glaring distastefully at the bloody mess within, he muttered, “I never thought it did…and now that we’ve got that all cleared up, will you do it for me? Will you stay with me?”

“Why’re you doing this? One minute you’re an ass, then you act somewhat human to get my guard down before being a total dick again…and I can’t help but wonder if this is just some elaborate precursor to something evil you’ve got hidden up your metaphorical sleeve.”

“Nope, no dickin’ around this time. Elliot’s only back in your life ‘cause of me, and I wanna fix that,” he mumbled, eyes wandering to the floor as his usual pallor adopted a slight embarrassed glow.

“You like to fix things, don’t you, Limpdick?”

“I guess you could say that, yeah. Besides…the thought of havin’ you permantly around to bust my balls ain’t all that bad. You’d be like my little pet Fairy.”

That was it. The irrefutable deal breaker in all its hideous glory coming ‘round to bite me in the ass, as I knew it would. Billie Joe Armstrong was hopelessly incapable of empathy, and sadly enough, I was leaning towards accepting his previously innocent offer.

But not anymore. If I was only going to be a little pet for his amusement, then living with him would be no different than living with Elliot.

Oh, I was undeniably in Hell with devils like Elliot and Billie Joe dictating my life.

“Goodbye, Old Man,” I hissed, turning away from him and storming from the room without so much as a somber glimpse over my shoulder. If I had, I would have changed my mind.

Limpdick was crying.