Dull Little Boy

3

I'm dreaming of, strangely enough, water balloon fights in the suburbs where I grew up, when you yank my head back.

I snap awake. Your eyes are dark and hooded. I know you're white, I know you're tall- 6'5" at least- and I know you have closely shaven hair. You look almost attractive, in the ex military kind of way. But I have no clue what your face looks like. You never show me enough. But you're always on my mind.

The flood light is on, filling me with unease. You only turn on the light when you're gonna play doctor.

The light blinds me, so when you get close to me, I can't make out anything but a vague silhouette. You lift up my shirt with ease and I don't resist you. I'm so tired. I'm so done.

"How are you today?" Your fingers prob at my abdomen. One goes into my most recent wound and I feel my body flinch. It's one of those days where self control goes out the window.

"Fuck..." I can't finish. I'm so tired. Why can't you just kill me? "Fuck you."

"You took your time on that one." You say. I feel the needle thread into my skin. You don't numb it. The last time you numbed me up, you stole an organ from me. The time before that was when you gave me top surgery. That was the only time I was appreciative of you. Then you screwed it up and I almost died. Now, I wish I had.

"I hope you die." I mutter. I want to sleep so badly. It's my only escape.

"You sound like you have a fever." Your touch is soft and gentle. It makes me want to puke.

Why can't you just kill me? Why am I so special? I wish I hadn't fought to live. I wish I could just let go.

I open my mouth to tell you but my voice stops working.

You're muttering to yourself. I should be paying attention to what you're saying but my brain refuses to work. I see Julia's face flash into my mind. It fades, but her dead eyes still linger. I should join her. I don't want to be strong anymore.

You finish, tying it quickly. Simple uninterrupted stitches. You kiss me on the forehead and it snaps me out of my haze.

"Don't fucking touch me." I mean it to sound menacing but it comes out as a croak.

Instead of being angry, you just sigh. "I'll go get you some food." Your footsteps fade and I throw up.

I can't be sick. There isn't enough energy for that. I have enough to survive and enough to struggle. There's not enough to fight anymore.

You come back and force the food into my mouth. It tastes like shit. You suck at cooking. I want to spit it out but the motion hurts my brain so I stop.

You feel my forehead and my struggles are so weak that you chuckle. "I'll be right back."

"I..." What was I saying? My brain seems to hate thinking. Every time I try, it decides to hurl itself at the walls of my skull.

I hear you come back. You slip something over my face and it reminds me of the night I disappeared. Too late, I remember the chloroform and how you drugged me, but I'm already slipping away.

@___@

I wake up in the Bed, alone. I have no idea how long I slept, nor do I care. I try to get up but you chained me down. My legs are tied, my hands are cuffed to the railings. I wish it was a real bed, not a hospital one, but I don't care at the moment. There's a lamp on in the corner of the room, next to a chair. The room is the one that you put me in last time— sparsely decorated, locked, and warmer than the basement.