3: Something to Hold

The cop didn't question my medicine, so that was good—odd, I thought… but good.
Also, he really didn't hassle me all that much, which was unusual. Typically, I am a little more tame when it comes to encounters with the police than my friends, but it always ends the same. They like to throw us around, assert dominance, take something … always men.

Sure, I was walking in the middle of the road, but is that really illegal? I dunno, maybe… but there's no fucking sidewalk here…

The least they could do is paint center lines…

I reach into my pocket and feel nothing.

I was surprised, but disappointed… I would have rather he rough me up than take Blue from me. I miss my knife already... I forgot he did that…

“What an asshole,” I thought angrily.

I look around and I'm lost again, but I know if I go south I'll eventually get to the main road. It goes east and west out of town. From there, I can just cross it to the trailer. Most of the time I would drive to town and park just to walk around. Typically, a church in the middle of town on main street, except on Sunday morning and Wednesday nights. Those busy days I would just park at a restaurant, or whichever fast food chain seemed like it had less people when I drove by. They're all terrible in this town…

I finally see main street.

I hope he is home… and has another knife… I think as I cross.

There is an alley way leading up to dilapidated wooden steps that gave you entry to a raised texture metal doorway with no window, annnnnd it's locked… of course it's locked … I knock loudly and stand waiting… annoyed… I look over at the broken doorbell. He's probably passed out… you live in a tin can—what's the point of locking the door?

“God damnit.” Every fucking time… well… unless he wants something from you. Then the mother fucker will be waiting at the door, hands outstretched like he's your best friend that hasn't seen you in ages. I've seen him do it with a smoke stain wifebeater and shorts in the middle of winter. He likes to hug and give hearty pats on the back when you arrive for his needs… or wants… I don't like him touching me … I don't like anybody touching me, not really.

Now, though, I know he is home. He's always home unless I take him somewhere. He won't go anywhere alone… everything is so annoying…

I bang on the door much more aggressively with the flat of my fist. I'm actually a little worried I might knock it down.

“High quality,” I think out loud. It's hard for me to keep things to myself when I'm frustrated. My internal filter is already low, but I'm an external processor.

I can hear music… well… what passes as music in this house of wanna be grunge garage band flunkies…

I always keep picks on me. They were useful when I traveled with the rodeos. That was a few years ago now, but the skills aren't that hard to keep up, or hide from the cops. I reach to the inner sidewall of my shoe for my flat turner and pick. I usually only keep a hook and rake. I'm kind of bad at rakes… the static is loud, it's hard to hear the clicks, and I'm annoyed. I've done this hundreds of times, but it takes me a while today. I want my knife.

“HEY! I KNOW YOU'RE HERE!” I shout as I slowly open the door.

It's still not wise to just assume. Once I ate a fist to the mouth—not from him, but from some “customer”—because they didn't expect me. Another time a girl attacked me and scratched up my neck, then tried to apologize by offering to give me herpes. I tend to knock everywhere now at minimum, and announce my arrival…

I hear hysterical laughing coming from the hallway to my right, followed by guitars. I put the picks back in the hole I've cut from my shoe.

I figured as much. Though the door is closed, I knew he was here. I tik “clicking” quietly as I walk down the hallway toward the closed door. I pass a bedroom on the left with a girl inside, sitting on the bed.

“Hey! How are you!?” She always thought I was... cute? I didn't understand or want to give her false hope… I was just nice to her… when I could be…

“Oh… hey, yeah… not bad… I got hit by a car and a cop took my knife… so it could be worse”

“Aw, that's sad…” Her words trail off. “Is there something I can do?”

“Not unless ya got another knife or something I can take for my leg…” I look to the door. Stepping in this room is a death sentence… “Who is here?” I ask eagerly, trying to find an out from under my politeness.

“I don't know who is here. You can stay with me for a while." She smiles as her voice softens, she leans forward on hands and knees to crawl towards me on the bed. "We can watch something or just…”

A loud crashing of what sounds like guitars being thrown around interrupts her misguided limerence. I hear muffled shouts from behind the closed door of the other bedroom.

I tilt my head to the side and "click" loudly as I propel myself to the door in a sprint. I shoot my hand in my pocket as I slam my right shoulder into the door.

“Fuck…” I realize… that god damn cop… I've got nothing… but it's too late now.

The chain lock at the top of the door may as well been made of plastic. You live in a tin can with panel doors, moron…

It's mostly a pretty minimal room: a closet, a nightstand, a window above the small twin bed that's not big enough for three guys, but they made it work regardless of the size… in more ways than I'd like to remember…

“Jesus, guys, can you just not right now…”

“Did you pick my door again? I told that bitch not to let anyone in.”

"Yeah I fuckin did. Fix your god damn doorbell or answer when I knock."

The girl has come up behind me now, I feel her hands on my back as she peeks around as if I am the door she's hiding behind. I may as well be, the paper thin piece of shit they pretended to lock was now half off the hinges.

"You broke my fuckin door man what's your fuckin problem?" the other two are silently watching as he stands to walk towards me, its a small room and he's in my space before I can think of anything to say.

I feel her fingers tighten around my waist slightly before sliding slowly and disappearing from my body. She has nails, I've always liked being scratched. I'm like a dog.

"Your door is shit anyway" just like you I think to myself.

The other two men I'm not familiar with, but he's always like this, an asshole.

"Get me a knife" I say calmly.

As I lean against the doorway, irritated, arms crossed. It's not much, but it signifies I'm not violent at least.

"No, you broke my door. Fuck off" he turns and waves one hand as if to shoo me like a fly.

I see light bulbs and pencils on the ground.

"I know what you're doing. Do you have one or not? A cop took mine." My eyes squint in irritation as I "click" I'm still leaning against the doorframe.

He walks over to me calmly, slides behind me and speaks into my right ear. His voice low and slow. "Did the pig get anything else?" he asks in a slight lisp, I used to think it was seductive in a way. I don't like "normal" sounding voices.

"No" I reply steadily looking forward, watching the two men on the bed. Despite the fun they were having before, they've sat silent the whole time, unmoving, they know better right now. Their best course of action is just to let it unfold.

"Don't lie to me boy" his voice now raspy, angry, I can tell. Of course he's angry, I broke his door.

"Fuck I said no. I don't have anything left right now besides this." I pull the bottle out of my other pocket. "You think they wouldn't have taken this too? My picks if they found them?" I've interrupted his playtime and mentioned cops. Too many mistakes, now I want him to give me something.

"Did he hurt you?" he smiled, fake concern... I didn't think this through properly.

"No, he just took my knife, I need another one. Butterflies are harder to get than I'd like"

Still behind me now I feel a hand on my hipbone, warm breathe on my neck as he sighs, I shudder... "You know I trust you Kev, but these boys just need to know" the words come snakelike, full of venom.

"Take off your shirt" he commands me, he knows I'm a dog.

"Is this necessary ?" I know better than to mention cops, "These boys don't care about the police and you know I'm not wired. Forget it, I got hit by a car and..." I trail off, I notice my leg hurts more now since I've been leaning on only it. "I just wanted a knife, maybe something to take the edge off my leg."

His hand still on my waist, I feel him shift behind me slightly as his other hand slides up my neck. I know it's not wise to move, I tik, a very audible "click" comes from the left side of my mouth. I taste bad candy, Shit, my head tilts to the right to make the noise.

"Oh, yeah ? " He moans slightly, quietly into my ear.

"No" I growl as I start to adjust off the door frame, I'm off balance, my leg hurts...

With him behind me his hands on my waist, my neck, he shoves me back to the doorframe with a jolt. The two men stand finally.

He leans in and runs his tongue from the base of my exposed neck line upwards under my ear, and grasps it with his lips. Sucking for an instant.

I spin my body and right elbow to the back of his head, but not fast enough.
He feels the movement and ducks away.

I committed heavily, and my elbow connects with the door frame.

I don't have time to feel pain, but I know it's there.

My back now to the other men, they are on me faster than I thought.

I see a door close, I forgot she was here…

The world turns and I see the ceiling with an impact from the ground. I gasp for air.
They're holding me down, and someone is on top of me now, straddling me excited, like a kid on a carnival ride.
I assume it's him.

"Aw you don't want to take your clothes off for me ? It's just a shirt right ?" his hand reaches for my throat "RIGHT?" he's louder now, irritated, but smiling, angry and still having fun. I fucking hate men.

"I have to buy a new door now. You know, now that I think you have to buy me a new door don't you ?" he smirks I think, it's hard to see as my head is being pushed up from the hand on my neck directly under my jawline.

"What is it with guys and doors?" he asks mockingly

"It's like all the abusive assholes want to ruin them." What a philosophical asshole, of course he wasn't wrong

I try to respond but there are only some random throat noises I didn't know humans could make.

I'm getting weak...

He removes his hand from my neck and bends to reach the nightstand.

"Can we just talk? Like we used to?" It's not really a question, he means shut up and listen... agree when he says. The other two men are still holding me down, but I'm not resisting at this point.

Opening the drawer to the nightstand, he pulls out a butterfly knife.
I know what happens next. Cold Steel-Sweet Pain I "click" as he turns back to face me knife in hand. The men are silent, unmoving, so am I as he flips open the knife in a very clumsy manner. He was never good at it, but his position now doesn't require skill.

"You know I love you right ? You're my favorite, I even wrote you in my will."

"Of course you did" I reply, he's told me that a million times.

"You're my favorite, such a good listener too." his hand reaches under the waist of my shirt and upward towards my neck again, I feel cold steel against my skin as it slides up my chest. I tilt my head backwards as if to look up so the knife can come out the neckline of my shirt.

"So all I want to know is that you're loyal, I need a right hand. You know that, someone I can trust." I can see the knife blade against my shirt poking out the neck line as if it were wearing my clothes itself.

"Of course you can trust me. "

I click.

I feel the flat side of steel settle playfully against my neck.

"I just want a new knife." I smile... I think... it's always hard to tell.

"Hmm..." He runs his left hand up the outside of my shirt, lingering to caress my shoulder before gripping the collar of my shirt.

"Well, I guess you could have this knife, if it's sharp enough."

"I'm sure it will be fine," I reply as his grip tightens around the collar.

"Okay then."

He starts to stand, but as he does the knife cuts into my shirt collar and slides through the seams as if they were stitched with paper, my shirt now becomes a thin jacket and my chest exposed.

He looks down and frowns expressively smug "I'm sorry Kev, I must have cut you, I didn't realize it was so sharp."

There are slight trails of blood where the knife had pressed against my skin on the way up between my shirt. I didn't feel it cut me, but the blood was enough proof.

He folds the knife back slowly "Wouldn't want to get cut myself"

"Have this one," he smiles as he sits the now closed knife on my chest, cold steel.

The men look confused, but I know what's happening. All they need to do is let me go, just one second. He will tell them to do it, and I'll have my chance.