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I never knew what it felt like to be preyed on—to be a fly to a spider's den of webs. I've always watched in silent amusement, how the spider would lunge at its prey and whirl it into a cocoon, sucking the very life out of the tiny, inconceivable insect.
I never knew what it felt like to want to die so bad before I met that spider. Except he was everything worse—he didn't have hairy-spindly legs or multipled eyes to have at his advantage.
He was just a boy. With a gun. And my dad's blood stained on his boots.
"I trusted him," came the sickly cries of a beaten down boy who sounded broken and alone—one might feel sorry for him. If it wasn't for the fact hatred seeped through every word—a off-yellow toxin that derived any meaning of sorrow or despair. It was bitter, loathing, sick.
Sam was sick. He was always sick. But now, Sam was a monster. A monster with the face of a mere traumatized boy and a cry like an omen.
I shuddered a breath, biting my lip so hard I felt blood seep through. Tears benignly ran tracks down my face as I desperately looked for an exit. But every chance I managed to find a window, he came lurking. Stalking. Preying.
Gun. I should have reached for it when I had the chance—the one we owned in dad's lockbox beneath the couch. I had a chance, and I missed it because I was scared.
I was scared to die by the hands of a lunatic. So I ran.
But he always managed to find me.
"You know, I trusted you too," he inhaled sharply, a edge to his voice so hauntingly broken, I could hear him tease the plastic tarps with the tip of his gun. Against the dark lights, I saw his shadow caress the clear tarps—closer and closer. I backed further into the wall, but there was nowhere else to go—there was nowhere to run to now. Shivers ran down my spine every time I heard a crinkle and a creak. He suddenly laughed, like this was the funniest sick joke ever. I wanted to puke. "In fact, I actually liked you. I thought, we aren't that different, you and I. Always seeking for attention—always needing someone to console our darkest hour. . ."
I paled. I wanted to spit at him, punch him till he turned red. I thought of every murderous movie I've ever seen and I tripled that—I wanted to see him burn.
But I choked on my fear and I trembled. I trembled so hard, I began to no longer feel my body. My limbs went cold, but my mind SCREAMED at me to get up and go.
Or better yet, hurt him back for every pain and misery he caused my family.
I did neither. I just. . .froze.
"Max and Sam. Max and Sam. Max and Sam. Gosh, that always sounded right to me. Perfect, actually. The girl with the skateboard who always hides in her own solitary means, just so she could avoid everyone else around her, afraid she will never fit in, never be apart of everyone else's life. . . You're a girl with no sense of belonging."
