Breaking the Hold

I wandered into the dimly lit room like a child approaches a stranger. The room was different than mine; only one bed was in the room, pushed into the corner with the sheets laying more on the floor than on the bed in an undignified heap. A lamp sitting on the bedside dresser was on, but the lampshade was skewed, throwing dim light awkwardly across the bed and the lone chair sitting in the middle of the room. Two large windows on the same wall the bed was pushed against opened to some rather large rose windows bathed in moonlight. A cigarette took its last breath and suffocated in an ashtray where the window was cracked a bit, letting some cool night air seep in with a soft whistle. The walls were barren, the cream color seeming cold and distant. A wardrobe was standing where I had come in; one of the doors was hanging crookedly, like it had been punched too many times and couldn’t heal. The drawers to the dresser next to it didn’t close and jeans and shirts in various degrees of filth were stemming from it, like the many necks of a hydra. The only untouched thing seemed to be the desk in the corner. There was nothing on it and in seemingly the same condition as it had left the factory.

Brian had strode in without a backwards glance back over to the chair and gently picked up the guitar laying carefully on it. It seemed even this beast could be soothed with music. Curious, I took a cautious step closer. It was absolutely beautiful. A dark ebony neck and a glossy body. The white stripes shone like light in the darkest tunnel. Something glimmered and I noticed the word ‘SYN’ engraved into the neck with silver.

“See something you like?” Brian purred in a gruff voice, absentmindedly stroking the strings into a melody.

“N-No! I was just looking… its beautiful…I mean…” my tongue wouldn’t form coherent sentences. The way his eyes smoldered like the final stubborn embers of a wildfire had me absolutely spellbound. Looking away I added shyly, “I have one too. A guitar I mean.” Brian chuckled in the way someone might benignly acknowledge a valiant attempt.

“Play for me.” He demanded suddenly then, his eyes turning hard.

I panicked. “What? N-no! I’m not any good...I mean I am...but-“ I spun around and made to leave, but my attempts to dissuade him were immediately snuffed as a tattooed arm shot out like a striking cobra and he grabbed me tightly around the forearm. I winced at the pain; he was holding too tight. I was worried that I would have a hand shaped bruise in the morning. I could feel him twist and the muscles in his arm flex as he calmly set the guitar down flat on the floor, never once letting go of my appendage.

Then, without warning, he gave my arm a huge unexpected yank. Surprised, I lost my footing and fell into him. I was sitting on Brian’s lap, straddling him backwards, my head thrown back against his neck and my back flush against his chest. The breath that was coming in short gasps stopped completely. I could feel his hard muscle through his shirt that rippled every time he breathed. Heat radiated of him in waves, and the world around me became smothering. I moved with him as he grabbed the guitar back off the floor and set it in my lap. Grasping my left hand in his own, he curled it around the fret board, his fingers intertwining with my own as he did.

“Now,” he whispered hotly in my ear, his nose brushing the curls of my hair hanging down. I felt the tickle of it as his face moved slowly down, like a predator circling the helpless prey before going in for the final kill. “Play for me.” He continued in an animalistic hush before laying a scotching open mouthed kiss on the joint where neck met shoulder. I completely shut down. My mind was racing too fast to comprehend and my fingers had lost all feeling. I didn’t register the sensation, but somehow I registered myself hyperventilating. I heard Brian chuckle darkly behind me. The hand that was still grasping my arm moved down and curled around my other hand. A pick found its way in between my fingers, Brian forcing me to hold on to it. He brought our hands up to the strings and plucked, moving my hand along the frets for me, and continued the song from before. Still moving on this forced autopilot, I complied, my arms as limp as overcooked spaghetti. When he had finished, his hard hot hands still covered my own.

“You could use some work.” He told me seriously, his nose drawing a feather light line up my neck, causing the hair I had there to stand on end and goose bumps to break out on my arms. Brian laughed again and sat back, hands releasing mine and the guitar stood neck to the chair on a stand I hadn’t seen before. Jerking like I had been electrocuted, I shot up and sprinting out of the door. The doors on the hallway passed in a blur and the echoes my footsteps caused were only a constant dim buzzing. I didn’t stop sprinting until the door had slammed shut and the lock was firmly in place.

I leant against the door, my chest heaving and a vaguely registered Jimmy rolling over and blearily peeking an eye at me. A wave of nausea sprang up my throat, scaring me, and forcing me to run into the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet before what was left of tonight’s dinner came back up and out. I felt the coolness of the tile seeping through my jeans and my knuckles go white as I gripped the rim, my heaving not letting up. The sound of shuffling feet came from somewhere to my right and I felt Jimmy crouch down behind me, limbs folding up like a spider. His long fingers wound around my head and kept my bangs from my face. When I did nothing but dry heave uselessly, he unfurled, flushed the toilet and hauled me to shaky feet. Keeping a secure arm on me, he closed the toilet lid and sat me on it, leaning me against his leg while filled a tall cup with water. Turning back to me, he flashed a kind smile, his eyes gentle behind his black rimmed glasses.

“Drink this and rinse out your mouth.” He told me softly with the slightest trace of a lisp.
I grabbed the cup with two trembling hands and brought it up to my mouth, remembering at the last minute to take small sips. I swished it around my mouth and Jimmy helped me lean up and spit it into the sink. When I finished, he took the cup and placed it next to the sink. Wordlessly, he brought me back up to my feet and helped me shuffle to my bed. When my knees hit the edge they collapsed and I fell into a heap on the soft mattress. Jimmy bent down, undid my shoes and put them neatly by my bedside drawers. He then unzipped my jacket and gently took my arms from it like he was changing a small child into pajamas. He folded the jacket neatly and replaced it at the foot of my bed before turning and crawling back into his own. He barely took off his glasses before he was fast asleep again.
My eyes burned with fatigue as they wandered over to the clock. 4:17. I knew my chances of sleep were nonexistent for the next few days now.

I leaned back against the wall, my eyes roaming over Jimmy’s long sleeping form as jealously raged inside me. I could still fell Brian’s hands on mine like heavy armor, and the way his chest rose and fall against me like a buoy. My neck was still infected with his fire in the spot where his lips had touched, and my skin still shivered when I recalled the way his voice felt when he seduced me with his whispers. His voice repeated in my head, over and over like a broken record. His eyes flashed and burned behind my own, and I could practically taste his victory. Brian terrified me, but every time he smirked at me, cast his arrogant gaze upon me, touched me, I had no choice but to give into the feelings of pleasure.

I thought about many things in those hours, like why Brian’s song sounded so sad, how he seemed less angry but just as aggressive, and why he was in a room by himself. I wondered if he got lonely sometimes, if he wasn’t given a roommate or didn’t want one, and why he was such a fighter. The sun slowly crept into my room and made me realize how dead my body felt from sitting the same way. The hours continued to pass as morning arrived and my thoughts still trailed with Brian. I wondered now what his hair felt like, how his lips would move against my own, how it would feel to have his arms wrapped around me in an embrace. I wondered if he would protect me, smile at me, and tell me tender things. Jimmy started stirring and my feet itched.

I slowly inched off the bed and grabbed a new pair of clothes without looking to see if they would match. I all but crawled into the bathroom, blinked as I turned on the blinding lights, and closed the door with a gentle click. Setting my clothes on the toilet, I faced the shower and turned on the water without regard for the temperature. Lethargically I stripped down and stepped in. I felt empty as the water rained down upon me. My head pounded and my mouth felt like cotton had been shoved in and then taped shut. I couldn’t handle seeing Brian anymore, not anytime soon at least.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Jimmy had all but carried me out of the room and ushered me into a booth, telling me he would get breakfast for me. I sighed and folded my arms upon the table and rested my head upon it. It was days like this where I wished I was dead because that way I would at least be sleeping. Jimmy came back relatively quickly with a plate filled with cinnamon toast and a blueberry muffin and a cup of orange juice. He gently slid the plate over to me and set the glass down near my ear. He ushered his figments into the other side of the booth ahead of him, passing out individual plates of muffin and bowls of cereal along with two more glasses of orange juice.

“You should eat, Zacky.” Jimmy told me. I could tell he was worried about me by the concerned glances he kept giving the figments to his right. “You’ll feel better.” I responded with a sarcastic noise. I was too tired for words. Nonetheless, I sat up properly and picked at the muffin, putting the small pieces I tore off with my fingers in my mouth. It felt moist between my fingers, but as soon as it hit my tongue I might have well been eating sand. My appetite quickly diminished and I resigned myself to sipping at my orange juice. I felt myself slipping out of the moment and I stared at the table in front of me without really seeing it. I heard Jimmy’s loud whispering to Johnny and the mechanical clinking of silverware on plates as other asylum members ate. I was unaware of how much time had passed, only being startled into reality when I heard a voice screaming at me.

“I SAID MOVE FUCK FACE!” Jumping and turning my head as fast as I could in my zombie-like state, my stomach dropped as Brian's livid face was inches from my own. My blood started racing and I felt adrenaline rush down into my toes. In a moment of reflex I shot up, hitting Brian’s plate with my shoulder on accident and spilling his French toast all over his T shirt. I sprinted out of the cafeteria as fast as I humanly could, only registering for a second Brian screeching obscenities at me and Jimmy aiding the nurses in holding him back. Deciding my room was an unsafe place, as Brian knew where it was, I ran to an empty nurse station and hid under one of the desks.

I felt like a child. A small, vulnerable, helpless, stupid child. My breathing was rough and jagged like it always was making it impossible for me to listen for angry footsteps coming to find me. Trying to catch my breath, I closed my eyes and leant my head back when a surprised noise brought me back to reality. It was the nurse who had shown me to the garden who was clearly not expecting to see me hiding in her desk.

“Are you by chance hiding from Brian?” She asked politely. I nodded, keeping my eyes on my shoes. She bent down, her knees creaking with age. “Why don’t you come with me, hmm? Let’s go talk with Dr. Morrow. It’s almost time for your appointment anyway.” In my haste to get away I had forgotten this important detail. I nodded, and hesitantly uncurled myself, standing up like Brian was going to be behind me, ready to strangle me the second I was out.

We walked hallway after hallway, taking so many turns and going up and down stairs so frequently I knew I would never be able to find my way back on my own. When we arrived at Dr. Morrow’s office I was surprised at how homey it was. There was a beautiful brick fireplace with a carved mahogany mantel. Beautiful impressionist paintings were scattered around the room making the rich blue walls seem very warm and alive. Such a contrast to Brian’s room last night. Dr. Morrow was a petite woman, with serene blue eyes, short brown hair and a pleasant face. She had a lilting musical voice that sounded like something on Broadway. She showed me to a little couch and told me to make myself comfortable. My body oozed onto the chair like a squashed slug.

“Have you been able to sleep, Zachary?” She asked concerned. I shook my head no, thinking that much was blatantly obvious.

“Have you been having nightmares?” I nodded. “What have they been about?”

“The Shadows. Always the Shadows. Always chasing me down the hallway.” She nodded and scribbled some things down on her paper.

“Does the monster have certain, characteristics, features, or personality traits of someone you know?” Brian’s smoldering eyes glared at me from my mind. I shivered. Dr. Morrow nodded and wrote more. She waited like she was waiting for me to elaborate. I didn’t want to tell her yet, something about doing so seemed wrong, so I kept my mouth shut. Realizing I wasn’t going to say anything more, she moved her glasses down her nose and looked at me kindly.

“I think you should confront whoever this person is who is causing you so much intense stress. It doesn’t have to be immediate; however, it should be relatively soon. You should pick the place, and the time. If it makes you feel more comfortable, bring someone with you, a friend perhaps, who can act as your backup. You need to do what makes you feel like you’re in control.” I nodded, too sleepy to fully take in what she was saying. The rest of the session passed in a haze. I remember her asking me lots of questions and me giving a halfhearted answer back. It finally came to an end, and the nurse who had helped me get here reappeared with a wheelchair. Dr. Morrow rummaged for something in a desk drawer before taking out a bottle of pills and dumping one inter her hand. She filled a small paper cup with water in the little sink in the corner and walked over to me, presenting both.

“It’s a sleeping pill.” She told me as I took the pill and washed it down with the cool water. “It will let you get a few hours of sleep.” I couldn’t have cared less if it was poison or candy. I just wanted sleep. Almost at once, I felt my body becoming heavy and my eyelids drooping closed. I felt limp as the nurse negotiated me into the wheelchair. The smooth movement of the chair rolling down the hallway lulled me into a light, blissful sleep.

I cracked an eye open as the chair came to a stop and a pair of arms picked me up bridal style and tucked me under my covers. Jimmy’s face hovered over my own as he pulled the covers up around me. Turning my head blearily, I saw the nurse closing my blinds, and Brian staring at me from the bed, his normally intense eyes looking saddened and confused. In the furthest recesses of my mind I bristled, knowing that in that second, Brian was no longer an animal. He was just a boy trying to recover the pieces he had lost long ago just like me.