Status: Completed
Psyche
11
Jamie once read this book on Germanic folklore, and in one chapter it talked about a creature called a Mare. It likes to sit on people’s chest and cause nightmares till they can’t breathe and feel like they’ll never wake up. Zack is a nightmare; he’s doing it now, except Jamie isn’t sleeping. He wishes he was. Maybe he wouldn’t feel anything.
But in the end he always does and he's naive to think any differently.
Little Nightmares run around in his skull and spill from behind his teeth. Jamie never speaks, keeps his eyes staring out the slight crack in his curtains. His stomach is crushed, his legs feel broken, and he can’t move.
Zack asks stuff. Says things like he knows they’re right.
“Girlie’s worried about you and you don’t even care. We’re both worried. What’s wrong with you? . . . you don’t like that boy the same way you like that girl, huh? He’s a nice kid. Do you like him? I can tell, y’know. You’re not good at hiding anything. You know you can’t do anything with him. It’s not safe. You’d probably scare him once he sees how messed up It is . . . what are you? Hermaphrodi – wait, you hate that word, right? Intersex, is that right? You’re lying to him. It’s why your mother didn’t want you.”
Jamie’s throat shakes, he doesn’t speak, he can’t move.
The Nightmare scratches and sits until there’s nothing but blood left, and a heart that can’t tell if it’s trying to live or die.
-- And Jamie shouldn't be acting like this. It's just like before, nothing new. He should be used to it by now. He should be numb. He should be.
Zack gets off, gets up, and leaves when he’s done. Jamie bets he’ll wash his hands, wash everything he’s done like Jamie wants to scrub his body but he can’t, because he’ll have to look at himself (pounds of ugly, stained skin).
He wants to sleep. He wishes this was a dream in his head; at least he could wake up and know this was never real.
But in the end he always does and he's naive to think any differently.
Little Nightmares run around in his skull and spill from behind his teeth. Jamie never speaks, keeps his eyes staring out the slight crack in his curtains. His stomach is crushed, his legs feel broken, and he can’t move.
Zack asks stuff. Says things like he knows they’re right.
“Girlie’s worried about you and you don’t even care. We’re both worried. What’s wrong with you? . . . you don’t like that boy the same way you like that girl, huh? He’s a nice kid. Do you like him? I can tell, y’know. You’re not good at hiding anything. You know you can’t do anything with him. It’s not safe. You’d probably scare him once he sees how messed up It is . . . what are you? Hermaphrodi – wait, you hate that word, right? Intersex, is that right? You’re lying to him. It’s why your mother didn’t want you.”
Jamie’s throat shakes, he doesn’t speak, he can’t move.
The Nightmare scratches and sits until there’s nothing but blood left, and a heart that can’t tell if it’s trying to live or die.
-- And Jamie shouldn't be acting like this. It's just like before, nothing new. He should be used to it by now. He should be numb. He should be.
Zack gets off, gets up, and leaves when he’s done. Jamie bets he’ll wash his hands, wash everything he’s done like Jamie wants to scrub his body but he can’t, because he’ll have to look at himself (pounds of ugly, stained skin).
He wants to sleep. He wishes this was a dream in his head; at least he could wake up and know this was never real.