Lure of the Monster

Bleeding

There was a dark patch on the ceiling. My arm hung off the side of the sofa as I stared up at the spot. Was it mold? Coffee? A water stain? Was it a figment of my imagination? I didn't know, but I wanted to know. Where did it come from? How long had it been there? Did Chance cause it or one of his friends? Maybe one of the people who had lived in the apartment before him?

Chance had disappeared into the bedroom after breakfast and shut the door. I couldn't ask him. He'd been yelling at someone about something. I hadn't paid attention. The pills he'd given me were supposed to be uppers, but all I wanted to do was lay on the couch and sleep. My brain was moving at a mile a minute, though. My eyes had focused on that spot longer than my brain had stayed on any other topic.

My brain thought about my father. Was I going to turn into him? Yelling and arguing with anyone and everyone? Fighting my way through life? Putting my family through hell? So far, that's what had happened. I wasn't capable of murder, though. I wasn't going to beat someone up because of what they believed in or who they loved. I wasn't that much of a monster.

I didn't want to make anyone feel helpless.

That feeling was still strong in me as I remembered how it felt to be chained to that chair, my skin raw and numb from how tight they had been. I could remember screaming anything I could at my father before he drugged me so that I wouldn't be able to scream. I had spent days on the brink of unconsciousness, watching as my mother slowly bled to death in front of me.

I was going to be in that same state if I let myself. At least it would be my own decision to go down that path. I was chasing my demons, much like my father had been. It was him that I was trying to escape. It was the image of my mother's body. It was the sound of her trying to soothe me and then the gurgling as she choked on the blood. It was the smell of her blood and, later, the smell of decay.

I forced myself off the couch, moving as quickly as I could over to the kitchen. I flung open the fridge, looking for some kind of alcohol to numb the pain. To rid the sounds. To mask the odor.

Beer wasn't enough.

I slammed the fridge shut and started looking through the cabinets. My mother's screams rang in my ears as I opened and slammed the doors. I could see her limp body after she had lost the fight. I could hear my father's laughter and his threats as to what would happen to me if I didn't leave Noah and get my shit together.

I swallowed back the bile, finally finding a bottle of rum. I worked at the paper around the cap, trying to ignore my father as he shouted curses and profanities at me. It was my fault that Mom was dead. It was my actions that led him to killing her. If I didn't want to end up like her, then I had to cut off all ties with Noah. Find a girlfriend. Be a man.

"Beckham?" a voice asked softly.

I cursed as the paper stuck to the bottle. My father's words were roaring in my ears. He was telling me all of the bad things that I had made happen. How I was such a failure. How I had brought disgrace to him and to the entire family.

"Beckham!" a voice said, hands covering mine as my body shook. "Beckham, you're bleeding."

I looked down at the blood running down my arm and then slowly drew my eyes up to meet Chance's. He was staring wide-eyed at my arm and the knife I held.

I dropped the knife onto the counter and stepped away, still gripping the rum as I sunk to the floor, pressing myself back against the cabinet. I couldn't remember grabbing the knife. I couldn't remember cutting myself. I hadn't even felt the pain. I still didn't feel it. All I saw was blood. So much blood.

"Beckham," Chance said as he knelt down next to me, pressing a wet cloth against my arm. "Beckham, look at me!" I winced and finally made myself look at him. "You're having a panic attack."