Be Somewhere

2 am.

Ricky watched the clock with hatred as the hands moved forward. Resentment flooded every sense as it moved and he stayed in the same old place second after second, minute after minute. There was no escaping the world he had created for himself. He hadn't ran, he hadn't screamed when he had the chance. He hadn't even put up a half decent fight.

You're weak, pathetic. You put up more of a fight when you were seven. Richard was right you stupid little faggot. You're worthless. Do you know what that means? I bet you're too stupid to even know what that means. It means you are worth nothing. I wouldn't even pay a penny for you, you cheap whore. Worthless.

Ricky clutched his stomach and curled into the fetal position again. He couldn't recall why he had left it in the first place. A sharp pain ripping through his lower back reminded him. He closed his eyes momentarily to keep the eyeliner he wore from dripping into his wide open eyes. He couldn't get back to sleep. Not after that.

The nightmare was still fresh in his mind; painted with crimson and black and rank with decay. He could still smell it, all of those corpses. The imaginary dirt under his fingernails; all of it felt too real. He heard a scratching on the floor boards and his heart quickened. He turned his head just slightly to see the intruder. A cat.

Scared of the dark now, pussy? You are so pathetic; jumping at shadows. You are weak! Worthless and weak! You stupid whore! You're scared of a fucking cat! Jesus Christ you really are as stupid as they all say. You think the cat wanted to fuck you like your daddy did? The cat has higher standards, honey. I don't even know why your dad wastes his time with you. You're just a stupid, pathetic whore. All you ever were, and all you ever will be.

Ricky tried to swallow the lump in his throat as the tears fell from his eyes, but couldn't. The voice in his head was right. It was in his head, wasn't it? It couldn't exactly lie to him. He felt his stomach begin to turn and he looked around for something to throw up in. There wasn't a garbage can in this room, and he had long forgotten where the bathroom was.

So go look for it, you dumb ass. If you take a wrong turn into the kitchen I promise the refrigerator won't eat you. What exactly do you have to be scared of? Don't even tell me you're scared of your father. You didn't even run away when you knew what was going to happen. You probably enjoyed it. You are such a filthy worthless whore. You might as well throw up on yourself, its not like you could get any dirtier.

He pulled his aching body out from under the warm blankets and tried to stand, but found the world to be spinning. He found the floorboards beneath him to be cold and unfamiliar. This whole place was unfamiliar. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, starting to breath heavily.

You aren't dreaming anymore, you stupid fuck. It isn't all that scary. Get your ass off the bed, find the bathroom, and just puke already will you? You're making this seem like an olympic sport. Yeesh.

Ricky felt his chest tighten with the resolve he now had. He walked over creaking boards to reach the door. He put his hand on the knob and waited for a second. He wasn't walking anymore, but the floor was still creaking. Not behind him, but ahead of him. Someone was at the door. He inhaled but found that the shallow air didn't fill his lungs and it left him gasping for more oxygen.

Just open the door, you wimp. Whose going to be there? The boogeyman? You are such a wussy. Why do I even bother trying to explain things to you? You're too dense to get them anyways. I'll spell it out for you, then. Open the door you stupid fag.

Ricky twisted the knob and gave it a firm tug. A shadow at the end of the hallway twisted and became a demonic silhouette in the moonlight. Ricky put his back against the wall and whimpered. He couldn't think of a place that was more terrifying than an unfamiliar house in the middle of the night when you didn't know where the light switch was.

Why don't you go climb into bed with daddy? I'm sure he'd like that. And he'd give you all the comforting you could ever need. You stupid slut...

Ricky felt the tears prickling at the back of his eyes.

“Why can't you be nice?” He whispered

I'm not nice, I'm realistic. Get over it. I'm the only form of backbone you have you spineless little jellyfish.

Ricky pressed himself against the wall harder; only to discover it wasn't a wall, but another door. He shrieked as it gave way under his weight and he went tumbling into the room. All of the curtains were closed and it was so dark that Ricky couldn't even see the hand in front of his face.

“Ricky,” his father asked, “is that you?” Ricky began to shake his head and cry. “Oh honey, what's going on, hmm?” A lamp on his fathers night table flickered to life and Ricky stared at himself in the mirror that covered his fathers closet doors. He was a wreck.

His eyes had gone red and puffy from crying and bruises drew a trail down his back that disappeared into his boxers. Numerous cuts and scars still lined his arms and at the sight of them, he only cried harder. Ricky felt a warm arm wrap around his waist and he leaned into the support; while his body was still convulsing with sobs.

“It's okay, honey,” his father whispered in his ear, “Shush now and go back to sleep, its okay.”

Ricky 's crying eventually ceased as exhaustion once again plagued his body. Crying always made him tired. He didn't remove himself from the floor, however; an act that troubled his father deeply. Ricky felt the floor disappear beneath him for few seconds, only to be replaced be the soft, warmth of a bed. In the final moments of his consciousness for that night, Ricky thought of how he had been comforted and picked up like a mere seven year old. And now he was in the same bed as his father to prevent nightmares.

The irony of how the cause of his nightmares was the cure for it as well didn't escape him, but he couldn't find the energy to laugh.

Once a whore, always a whore.