Be Somewhere

“Honey; icing isn't the answer,” Ricky took a glance at the contents of his shopping basket and then returned his gaze to the checkout clerk. The woman looked to be in her eighties and was squinting at him. He couldn't help but notice the cross around her neck; in his small town, there was a fairly low percentile of the population who weren't devout Catholics. A small idea flitted back and forth in his mind and he decided to have a tidbit of fun.

“I know, but since my boyfriend broke up with me, I just feel like I can't go on,” Ricky replied with a twinge of hopelessness in his voice. He forced a single tear to slide down his cheek for the spectators that were now eyeing them. He placed some band-aid's and polysporin on the counter as well. “The icing and cutting makes me feel better,” he said tearfully.

“Have you ever considered being strait? A girl won't hurt you near as much as a boy will,” she said; her teeth grinding against each other. As Ricky figured, she was a homophobe. He shook his head and waited for her reaction. The woman's face morphed from sympathetic to sinister. A sly smirk spread across Ricky's face as the cashier's body clenched.

“I see,” she said through clenched teeth. She began to swipe his items. “Anything else?” Ricky asked for a box of condoms and fought to suppress a snicker when her wry expression paled.

“Thanks, Ma'am,” Ricky paused for a few seconds. “I think that because of your encouraging words I'll be back in the dating circuit soon.” The woman froze; all except for a slight twitch of her right eye. “Bye!” He shouted enthusiastically over the sounds of the grocery store. A small flame of resentment flickered in his mind when he heard her mutter: “This town is going to pot.” When the clerk cringed as he slid past her, a small chuckle of satisfaction broke through his otherwise composed exterior.

The bell tinkled on the door when he opened it and again when it swung shut. A small nagging feeling tugged at his stomach. He wandered slowly towards the south side of town; a place that always welcomed him. Something cold and bitter resided in the air, a nameless taste that rubbed salt in every wound.

His breathing became shallow and he was forced to sit on the curb. Noises went in one ear and out the other continuously and soon all he could hear was the sound of his own ragged gasps. He closed his eyes and embedded his fingernails in the palms of his hands.

“Please no, not now,” he whispered. When he opened his eyes he searched in vain for the sunshine that had been with him moments earlier. Nothing but the darkness surrounded him. he reached into his jeans pocket; hoping to find something, anything, to make it stop. But to his dismay there was nothing left to aid him.

He didn't try to stand, but instead tried to melt into the sidewalk. Ricky couldn't do anything until someone found him; hopefully someone that would help. A cough started to work its way up through his lungs when he attempted to ease his breathing. There was nothing left; no hope, he was doomed to stay like this; weak, pathetic. Fighting, but losing.

What's the point? You're doomed to be like this. Alone; with the darkness waiting to steal away your last breaths. Finish it.

Before he knew it, he was crying. The tears fell freely and he watched them as they disintegrated into the inky blackness that was squeezing the air out of his lungs. It felt like years before someone tried to help. A set of hands restricted his arms and kept him from fighting back while another forced his mouth open. A small object was placed on his tongue and he started to breathe in the scent of menthol.

Ricky forced his eyes shut again and tried to focus on the taste. It was sharp taste that felt like a thousand pinpricks tickling his throat. It burned, but the strength was what he needed. Something overpowering to block out everything else. Gradually, the darkness receded and he opened his eyes. A sweeping sense of paranoia gripped his stomach once again when no one's face appeared in his line of sight.

“Are you okay?”

Ricky tried to tilt his head back, but the world was still too surreal and his mind was still too confused. The sensation resembled inebriation. He once again tried to tilt his head back to gain a view of the person who had spoken; only to fall backwards and hit his head on the sidewalk.

~--------------------------------------------------~

”What happened to him?”

“The idiot passed out on the sidewalk.”

“And you brought him here?”

“Was I supposed to leave him?”

“Yeah.”

“You're a real bleeding heart, aren't you Danny?”

Ricky groaned as his conscious mind started to gain awareness of the situation. The room was draped in a haze and Ricky was almost positive that someone had slipped him an obscene amount of alcohol.

“Maybe he's having a wet dream. Should we tape it?”

“Does it look like he's having a wet dream?”

“He's groaning!”

”Shut up, you dumb fucks. I have a headache,” Ricky slurred; further proof that he had been slipped something. It was probably the checkout clerk. She seemed like the bitchy type.

“Do you think he's okay?” Danny whispered. Ricky heard some scuffles on the floor, but he didn't bother to open his eyes and take in the view.

“I don't know, he was in a full blown panic attack when I got there.”

“We aren't letting him out of our sight for a few days. With all thats going on, its no wonder he snapped.”

Ricky bit his tongue and tried not to swear at them. Had they known he was awake they never would have dared to insinuate he needed protection. They knew that he valued his independence and that the mere mentioning of someone being able to hurt him would have his temper flaring. He rolled onto his side and tried to block out there worries. His thoughts from earlier began to cross his mind:

What's the point? You're doomed to be like this. Alone; with the darkness waiting to steal away your last breaths. Finish it.

It never even occurred to him that they weren't trying to save him from others; but rather, from himself.