I can feel the raw power of it charging through my blood. I've seen his face too often. I know what he's here for. It moves through me like a cannon ball, a wave that forces bile into my mouth.
I've tried worming my way through the covers. Getting lost in the many folds and patterns, my god the patterns I can see, but he's still there. He'll be there tomorrow too.
I feel for the cold comfort of the base ball bat beside my bed. Aluminum. Red. The wrapping slightly worn. I once unwound a baseball. I removed it from it's skin. Followed every little thread until it's cork heart lay bare before me. I remember the lesson well. Be slow. Methodical. Don't quit.
I know your eyes are on me. I can feel it burn my skin. I hate you, you *******. Do you know how much I hate you. I had a dream about killing you. I woke up with a smile. I used to be so nice.
My grip tightens on the bat. I hear you put away the last of your bottle. I know there are more to come. Do you have the ambition to come over here? Can you muster the strength to pull me from this bastion, kicking and screaming and swearing? Do you have it in you to hit me tonight?
Do it. Just do it you ******* monster. But this time do it right. Finish the job. I'm tired of this borrowed time you've given me. I want an end in sight.
I hear a soft yawn. Keys jangle. The wind chime sound of your walking. The door closes. Not tonight. Not tonight. I can still hear your keys. They are forever a reminder. Don't think you're safe. No one is safe.
I drew a picture on my wall. It was a pattern. Lines weaving in and out, in and out. Always. The lines never end. They connect to each other. They form a strange circle. People ask what it means. I tell them it means patience. Always patience. And sometimes, not always but sometimes, when I look at it, staring me down with it's impressive infinity from it's corner of the room I can hear keys and wind chimes and I remember the baseball I destroyed.
I'm twenty-four. By all accounts I am a man. But every night I check for the baseball bat by my bed. I wake to sounds like a door **** turning and I hate you still. You *******. I used to be so ******* nice.