Status: Done.
The Blood, Sex and Booze: Boy called Kill.
At night he cries away his pride
Next morning I was called into Autumn’s office as per usual. Cold and sleep deprived, I took my place on the recliner opposite her. She balanced my file upon her slender, trouser clad leg and quickly tied up her auburn locks; a routine of hers before each of my sessions.
“You look rather…ill today. Did you sleep at all?”
I remained silent for a moment, contemplating the correct answer. I was already on enough pills to kill a horse and I didn’t want to add to it. God help my liver.
“Yes. I’m just tired.”
“Mhmm.” She scribbled something onto her notepad before placing the pen behind her ear.
“Today I just want to listen to you, like yesterday. Shall we call for drinks first though, as not to disrupt you?”
I nodded and, once again, she spoke to her secretary. Moments later a nurse entered with the same stash as yesterday upon her tray. This time I noticed a selection of tray bakes; things must have been getting serious.
After coffee was issued and before we initially began she talked about the usual stuff. My progresses, confidentiality, were my med’s alright and had I made any friends. Same shit, different day. I responded with the appropriate gesture at the designated interval and watched for the usual facial expression.
“Perhaps we should just begin.” She suggested, met by a nod on my behalf, “As per usual; take it at your own pace and in your own time.”
“Is never okay?” I mumbled.
“Bill-“
“I was joking.” I glanced up at her and attempted to crack a smile, by the expression on my face I could tell I had on succeeded in failing.
I grazed my thumb around the inside of my mug’s handle, taking in the texture of the smooth ceramics, savouring the silence soon to be broken by my hoarse speech. The cool air of the open window brushed against my skin and I glanced up at the clear blue sky. If only things were as simple as staring at the clouds.
***
Spring / Summer 2002.
It wasn’t the last time. Why he decided to pick on me, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he knew I wouldn’t say anything, because I was so small and easy to over power or because he knew I couldn’t fight back. I’ll never know, I never want to know, it just happened. He hurt me in ways I will never understand.
From then on I was terrified. No matter how I avoided him he still managed to corner me, alone and fragile. After a few months went by I had gained more than my far share of bruises and bites. I began to hide away from Mike as well. His touch no longer made me feel safe. I just wanted to lay in bed and cry. In fact, that’s what I did.
After my third week of lying in bed, crying and avoiding any food or physical contact, Mike called the doctor. Nothing good came of it only a packet of pills. He encouraged me to talk to my lover and to quit stressing myself to much. I hadn’t been to the studio in weeks, I hadn’t written anything or even laid eyes on my guitar; so how he came to the stress assumption, I have no idea.
“BJ, sweet heart, you have to get out of bed. The doc—“
“I know what he said!” I snapped.
“Please, just get up for me.” he cooed, gently stroking me hair.
I growled and, in a bid to get away from his touch, I launched myself from the bed. My knees buckled but I took hold of the bed post quickly for support.
“Fuck! Are you alright baby?”
Mike was by my side, his arm linked around my waist. I pushed him away from me and sat back upon the bed. My head came to rest in my hands.
“J-just leave me alone.” I cried, “Please. Tomorrow. I swear I’ll go to work tomorrow.”
“You promise?” he answered sounding rather hurt by my violent behaviour.
“Yes.”
He left after that, slamming the door behind him. Only then did I look up and stagger into the un suite bathroom. I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles went white; my face was inches from the mirror. The man I was gazing at was not me.
He had dark circles under his eyes, hollow cheek bones and dry, cracked lips. But he had the same crooked teeth. The colour in his eyes were dull but undoubtedly green. The jutting collar hones and clearly visible Adam’s apple caught me off guard.
I had become my own ghost.
*****
I did go to the studio the next day, as promised. On the journey I silently hoped that Tre wouldn’t be present, of course reality had other plans. He was sitting in the corner, a beer in his hand and a grin on his face. He talked to the other members as if nothing had happened; he greeted Mike as if what he had done to me was a mere dream. He even asked me how I was feeling. I grunted in reply and took the seat furthest from his. Mike nudged me roughly in the ribs.
“Baby, don’t so rude.”
I snarled back at him and folded my arms tight against my chest. Inside I was physically shaking.
“You look rather…ill today. Did you sleep at all?”
I remained silent for a moment, contemplating the correct answer. I was already on enough pills to kill a horse and I didn’t want to add to it. God help my liver.
“Yes. I’m just tired.”
“Mhmm.” She scribbled something onto her notepad before placing the pen behind her ear.
“Today I just want to listen to you, like yesterday. Shall we call for drinks first though, as not to disrupt you?”
I nodded and, once again, she spoke to her secretary. Moments later a nurse entered with the same stash as yesterday upon her tray. This time I noticed a selection of tray bakes; things must have been getting serious.
After coffee was issued and before we initially began she talked about the usual stuff. My progresses, confidentiality, were my med’s alright and had I made any friends. Same shit, different day. I responded with the appropriate gesture at the designated interval and watched for the usual facial expression.
“Perhaps we should just begin.” She suggested, met by a nod on my behalf, “As per usual; take it at your own pace and in your own time.”
“Is never okay?” I mumbled.
“Bill-“
“I was joking.” I glanced up at her and attempted to crack a smile, by the expression on my face I could tell I had on succeeded in failing.
I grazed my thumb around the inside of my mug’s handle, taking in the texture of the smooth ceramics, savouring the silence soon to be broken by my hoarse speech. The cool air of the open window brushed against my skin and I glanced up at the clear blue sky. If only things were as simple as staring at the clouds.
***
Spring / Summer 2002.
It wasn’t the last time. Why he decided to pick on me, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he knew I wouldn’t say anything, because I was so small and easy to over power or because he knew I couldn’t fight back. I’ll never know, I never want to know, it just happened. He hurt me in ways I will never understand.
From then on I was terrified. No matter how I avoided him he still managed to corner me, alone and fragile. After a few months went by I had gained more than my far share of bruises and bites. I began to hide away from Mike as well. His touch no longer made me feel safe. I just wanted to lay in bed and cry. In fact, that’s what I did.
After my third week of lying in bed, crying and avoiding any food or physical contact, Mike called the doctor. Nothing good came of it only a packet of pills. He encouraged me to talk to my lover and to quit stressing myself to much. I hadn’t been to the studio in weeks, I hadn’t written anything or even laid eyes on my guitar; so how he came to the stress assumption, I have no idea.
“BJ, sweet heart, you have to get out of bed. The doc—“
“I know what he said!” I snapped.
“Please, just get up for me.” he cooed, gently stroking me hair.
I growled and, in a bid to get away from his touch, I launched myself from the bed. My knees buckled but I took hold of the bed post quickly for support.
“Fuck! Are you alright baby?”
Mike was by my side, his arm linked around my waist. I pushed him away from me and sat back upon the bed. My head came to rest in my hands.
“J-just leave me alone.” I cried, “Please. Tomorrow. I swear I’ll go to work tomorrow.”
“You promise?” he answered sounding rather hurt by my violent behaviour.
“Yes.”
He left after that, slamming the door behind him. Only then did I look up and stagger into the un suite bathroom. I gripped the edge of the sink until my knuckles went white; my face was inches from the mirror. The man I was gazing at was not me.
He had dark circles under his eyes, hollow cheek bones and dry, cracked lips. But he had the same crooked teeth. The colour in his eyes were dull but undoubtedly green. The jutting collar hones and clearly visible Adam’s apple caught me off guard.
I had become my own ghost.
*****
I did go to the studio the next day, as promised. On the journey I silently hoped that Tre wouldn’t be present, of course reality had other plans. He was sitting in the corner, a beer in his hand and a grin on his face. He talked to the other members as if nothing had happened; he greeted Mike as if what he had done to me was a mere dream. He even asked me how I was feeling. I grunted in reply and took the seat furthest from his. Mike nudged me roughly in the ribs.
“Baby, don’t so rude.”
I snarled back at him and folded my arms tight against my chest. Inside I was physically shaking.