That ain’t gonna happen, ya dick. You know that. It’s just a matter of time before she squeals.
“Fuck off.”
I’ve been trying the past few days to ignore him, but he keeps getting louder, and more of a dominant presence inside of me. More so than any other time in my life. I don’t know why. The only thing I can think of is that he reared his ugly head when I took her and gave her the last innocent piece of me by giving her the virginity I had held onto for too long.
It wasn’t really a virginity though. My cock has been wet before, hence why I hate any messes. The pussy I was buried in though was one that it never should have been in. She should never have done what she did to me, locking me away, starving me, and using me like trash. It’s all her fault. Even though she’s dead, the traumas she caused me have ruined me. My mother, the whore, the first one to die by the flame. It’s all her fault.
~~~~~
The air in my room is hot, too hot and I can barely breathe. Smoke from my mother’s cigarette filters in under my door, creating little puffs that waft through, then escape out my open window. At least I was able to finally pry the glass pane open after chipping away at the years’ worth of lead paint with my fingernails. My fingertips are bloody and raw, but the pain is worth it for the little bit of air that comes through the cracked window.
I can hear all the sounds of her and her male friend coming from the living room just beyond my door. Nasty sounds of wet flesh hitting wet flesh. Squelching and squealing noises that make my stomach turn. If there was any food in me, it would be coming up when I heave violently at the disgust of what I can imagine they are doing. I’m eight years old, too young to picture what they’re doing, but unable to ignore it as well.
I’m pretty sure they’re doing what she is going to do to me when he leaves. She always does. I think it’s why she keeps me. She tells me all the time I’m useless, a waste of space, a bother to her, and a nuisance. The only time she tells me I’m worth anything is when she’s alone and she comes to my room.
My bed is still dirty from the last time she came to me and touched me. I had an accident, and I made a mess from my “big boy” parts. It was white and sticky, and very gross. Now I sleep on the edge of the filthy mattress away from it, even though it has long dried up to a crusty yellow stain.
It’s not long before the commotion from outside my room dies down and the front door bangs closed, shaking the walls around me. Then the soft footsteps approach, casting shadows under the door that push away the remnants of the smoke. She’s coming for me, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
~~~~~
I can smell the sex lingering around me as I shake my head, clearing the memories of years ago. They’re memories that make me want to vomit, just like I used to when it was happening to me. It makes me glad that she died, and can no longer do those things to me anymore, at least not physically. Mentally, she still fucks me every waking moment of every day.
The sound of a door opening a closing breaks me free the rest of the way from my flashback as Phoenix emerges from her apartment building. She’s in black short shorts, and a pink frilly top with a scooped neckline. Sandals adorn her pretty little feet, and her hair is pinned back with little flower clips, keeping it off her slender face. She looks fresh and adorable, totally not the woman who sat next to me in the mud while the body burned earlier in the week.
She looks left and right, then crosses the street, holding her hand up for any oncoming cars to stop as she makes her way towards the bodega on the corner again.
“Dinner time baby? A little late tonight.” I say following her with my eyes as she walks through the other pedestrians on the sidewalk and disappears into the front of the store under the yellow canopy that advertises cheesesteaks, fries, and shakes done Philly style.
My stomach growls from the lack of food lately. I’ve been so busy working and watching her that I’m seriously neglecting myself. If I wasn’t in a cutting cycle for the gym, I’d be pissed at all the missed calories.
“I guess a snack would do me some good.” I say to myself, pulling the key from the ignition of the bike and stuffing it in my jeans pocket.
I’m in a t-shirt, and sans helmet until the new gear arrives, and my face is on full view of the world around me, so a snack and maybe, just maybe a quick bump into and nothing else.
She’s at the counter picking up her food when I enter the store. A little bell over the door jingles, announcing my arrival, and she instantly looks my way.
Not very stealthy, dumbass.
The smile that spreads across my face is impossible to stop when her eyes light up at seeing me standing there, looking her up and down, appreciating her long legs and pert little chest.
“Zeph?” She calls out, her hand waving at me excitedly. “Zeph. Over here.”
Putting a surprised look on my face, I waltz over to her, my grin widening.
“Hey Phoenix.”
“What are you doing here?” She asks, mindlessly going to brush her hair from her face, then stopping when she realizes that her bangs are pinned back and it’s just a nervous gesture.
“I saw this place the other day, figured I’d stop in on my way through to grab something to eat. How are the sandwiches here?”
“Excellent. I get dinner here all the time. You’ve got to try their cheesesteaks, they’re to die for.”
At the mention of the word die, she clams up, her hand going in front of her mouth like she’s bottling up a secret. In essence she is. The secret we share, the one I’ve been worried that she’s going to speak of to someone else.
Her cheeks flush a bright crimson under the tanned flesh, and she looks down at her feet sheepishly. I can tell that she didn’t mean anything about it, and by her embarrassment or shame or whatever else she is feeling, I know that she hasn’t old anyone, at least not yet.
Yeah not yet. It’s coming.
