Sweet Dreams…I’ll never have them-2

…..uh.
……uh
…….uh
There’s the swirl of his tongue and mine. Alex’s strong hands gripping me, hard yet soft. Almost synonymous with his massive cock.
Pressing into my stomach…I want him. I want it so bad I cramp in aching need.
Alex breaks the kiss and squeezes my breast.

Tuesday, September 21rst, 2010.

I wake up from the nightmare, wet, red hot sex dream and I’m cumming pressed into the ratty old mattress I sleep on. I swear I can feel his touch…I’m not gay!, I’m no faggot!
But as I’m laying there and the cum is getting cold becoming the wet spot…his touch or his dream touch fades from me and I’m not sure if I’m crying in relief or bereavement.
But then again it's more of an anguished moan into the mattress. I don't cry, I can't.

Then my day starts as usual but I feel even worse than usual. I fucking hate what’s going on in my head. I unlock my room and step out. It fucking stinks, drugs, burnt food, sex and vomit. I move through the apartment and Mom’s passed out on the floor of the living room, she’s naked with a blanket thrown on her and there’s three of the Step-shits loser buddies around her. Way to lead by example mom. A Monday night gang bang. Bottles are everywhere as are bags with weed in them and pill bottles with prescription meds like Oxy and Dilauded. They’ve been crushing them up and snorting them or shooting them up. There’s puke in the garbage cans. I clean a few things up, I do it quietly letting the hurt and betrayal of this being my life trickle away like tears on the inside.

I’m cleaning up because it’ll be a smack if I don’t. Any excuse to make themselves feel better by beating the shit out of me.

The Step-shit’s not here he must have took off because the living room window to the fire escape is wide open.

No food again...

Mom and her fuck buddies ate everything while stoned, burned shit too. I’m dumping dark brown fries into the trash and rock hard over cooked chicken nuggets. I crunch on some of those as I do the dishes. Sort the empties, I wash them so they don’t leave the leftover booze smell through the place. It’s just a bit of soap and hot water, but It’s something I do to cope.

I’m not going to school today.
I hurt too much.
Plus the cops will be there.

I look for some clean or semi clean clothes. I don’t have much. I walk into Mom’s room and look through her old stuff. She doesn’t wear half of the stuff she used to own. She can’t fit into them. She used to be a tiny little thing but the booze and everything slaps on the pounds. Plus all the junkie friendly foods they eat.

I stare at some of it. I take a few things and go and shower. Ice fucking cold again. I’m still really bruised from the beating they gave me. I stare at myself in the mirror, I’m trying to see what’s there. Why did Alex kiss me? What did he see?

I go through my little mental dance as I see the razor blades there at the bathroom counter. There’s a part of me that almost quivers at the thought of this just ending. Of my wrists cut or slicing the artery in my throat or in my leg. I have the crazy urge to cut my dick off…That makes me throw up and so much for my fucked up chicken nuggets. I curl up for awhile in the shower stall shaking.

I’m not going to cry, I’m not, I’m not!, It never solves anything it never makes anything better. I take the razorblade and take my time cutting little lines into my upper arms and on my thighs adding to the scars I’ve already got on myself.

I get this tiny little high as the blade parts my skin. I like the pain, the pain is real, it forces my head from the thoughts that never stop, never stop rushing through it. I sit there like that for awhile then look for some aspirin. I see them and some of the stuff that mom has. I look at the pills they gave her when the ripped her ovaries out. Hormones…If I was taking them than it might have made sense being what I seem to be, or am going through.

I take three aspirin and leave going to get dressed in my room.

My clothes. One of mom’s t-shirts, a pair of black stockings and pull on my boxer briefs over that. My jeans, and an old well worn red and black plaid shirt that’s too big for me and a matching homemade bandanna I made from it’s brother shirt that I’ve gotten from a thrift store. Wool socks and my sneakers and my jacket. I dress in layers because I’m always fucking cold. I stuff all of my clothes into my hockey bag even my sheets.

I leave taking a couple of packs of smokes with me and half a joint and take off. I’m not running away. I’m not gonna be one of those homeless street kids. No three more years and I’ll get a scholarship. I’ll get the fuck out of here and away from all of this. No, I need to do laundry. I stop by my safety box and take out some money.

The money that Alex gave me. I hit the Circle-K and buy some shit and get on the bus. I know where there’s a out of the way Laundromat away from my shitty neighborhood and mom and the step-shit.

I sit and eat a bit of the stuff I got. A pre-packed sandwich from the cooler section, a bottle of V-8 Splash and a pack of cookies. I fall asleep for a bit from being full and kind of safe it’s a public bus so it’s safer than most places. I mostly look out the windows. It's strangely meditative for me.

Detroit is a messed up city. I guess it’s getting better unless you’re trash like me. All this urban renewal is going on and it’s slowly displacing the older shitty neighborhoods like the ones that I live in. I take in the sights of home. Burned out buildings or places with boarded up windows. Old factories with the grasses overgrown and the windows all knocked out of them. Yards filled with rusting machines. There’s some places still lucky to be hanging on. A few dozen cars in the parking lot that used to hold maybe a thousand. Concrete slaps that mark where people used to make a decent living dotting the area like giant gravestones.

It’s depressing and yet there’s a stark beauty of it. Like every once in awhile you’ll see piles of stuff left shrine like in memory of somebody that’s been lost. Gang violence is everywhere lately. The city has been stained with blood ever since the race riots. There are still places from then where too many people died back then where they still leave flowers and things.

I stay on the bus for a few hours. I stare and hate those from the nicer areas of the city. I hate the places they live at, I hate them and their pretty little lives. These people get on and off the bus most don’t see me, don’t want to see me. Those that do look at me like the piece of trash that I am. Sometimes I close my eyes to them and drift off into sleep. In those short dreams I see Alex, touch Alex, taste Alex, have Alex inside of me.

I can’t help but look around just to keep safe. I check out the women, I check out the men trying to figure out which I’m more attracted too. I’d have sex with some of the women on here for sure. The men don’t interest me at all.

It’s around lunch by the time I get off the bus and carry my things down the street to the Laundromat and start to wash literally everything I own. I actually run down the street to this local drug store and grab a few things and whatever detergent is on sale. I’m not paying for the stuff out of the machines there.

I use it to kill the day, I read a few magazines left there by other people. I sit in the window, in the warm sunlight. Mostly I think and like some messed up cat I lay down on top of the washers with my jacket behind my head. I think and think and I stew about my life, about myself, about Alex and stare at his card and stare. I go for a walk after I’ve put my stuff in the dryer. Nobody’s going to touch my stuff, It’s not really worth taking.

My feet or something takes me in front of an adult bookstore & boutique. I go inside and there’s this guy behind the cash he looks about seventeen so I’m not too worried about getting ID’d. He’s got goth make up on and his hair is long and dyed silvery. He’s wearing jeans, sandals and a black t-shirt with a choker. I observed a lot? I couldn’t help it…I was as hard as a rock within moments of looking at him. I’m so confused, I really wish I understood.

I look through the place there’s everything from magazines to all sorts of sex toys and freaky stuff. There’s things that I’m feeling from awe to disgust to this ache? Do I really want to…?
“Can I help you find something?”
It’s the hawt silvery boy from the cash.
“Uhm, no I don’t think so.”
“So what are you looking for?”
“Truth.” I say it kind of bitterly.
“The truth can hurt.”
“I’m used to pain.”
“I can tell.” He kisses me and my brain goes WTF? Then he drops to his knees. I’m in shock unable to really do anything other then watch as he pulls out my dick and begins to make me shake and quiver as his mouth engulfs my rod…It feels so good it hurts. It’s my first blowjob. My first sexual experience in going to be with a guy.

I’m such a fag, I hate myself, he’s…he….he’s not Alex….no..no.. “No.” I try it again “No!” and I push his face off of me. “No, please I can’t….I can’t” The guy looks at me, pissed, sad, hurt…. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m sorry…I’m sor…” My apology is cut short by a backhand to my face.
“I said get the fuck out!” he screamed it at me.
I pull my pants up and fasten them as I leave there as fast as I can. I get to the end of the building then I’m puking in the alley. I wipe my mouth and leave, I stagger back to the Laundromat where I curl up again on the bench hurting.

I sit there past the point of my stuff being done, actually I go to the bathroom and change and toss the stuff I had been wearing in the wash. I step out side and go to the drugstore freezing without my usual layers. I get some chocolate milk, a couple of 5th avenue bars and a loaf of sliced bread and a small thing of peanut butter. I carry it back to the Laundromat and eat and drink my fill. I even wash my hockey bag. That makes me go back to the drug store and buy some Mr. Clean and some paper towels and some of that Febreeze stuff.

I have a couple of smokes waiting for the bus once I’m packed back up. I smoke that half a joint I took too. Yeah, I’ll smoke pot once in awhile. It takes me away a little, messes with me thinking too much like I always do. It helps with the headaches I get.

I ride the bus, a little stoned and numb to the world. I like looking out the windows at the lights and stuff. I stay on the bus all the way until last ride. I get off at my stop hours later. It’s quiet when I go home. They’re watching TV and ignore me. I hit my room and lock myself in then take out cleaning stuff. I open my windows and I tilt up my mattress. I stomp out three cockroaches hiding under it. I toss them out the window. I’m pissed and hurting over where I live, how I live and what happened at the porn store. I go on a cleaning jag. I scrub the mattress first so it’ll be dry first I spray it heavily with Febreeze. Then I scrub my floor, then my walls.

It takes me awhile to get it all done and my things put away. My bed made. I put my bread and milk and peanut butter in my hockey bag and hang it in my closet to keep it from the stuff that might get at it. I’ll have to, no I finish the chocolate milk right now. I make another peanut butter sandwich too and go to sleep full for the first time in a long time. I sleep in a baggy old t-shirt and track pants, It’s cold here and I don’t have many blankets.

Wednesday September 22nd 2010

I wake up to the sounds of the Step-shit and mom screaming at each other. I pull the pillow over my head as they’re screaming and fighting over money, food, the place looking like a shithole. Things start getting thrown, smashed.

This morning though there’s a gunshot.

In the apartment.

I run to my door, fight and fumble with the padlock. There’s screaming and shouting.
I get the lock off the door and run out, down the hall and see mom lying on the floor, she’s been smashed around there’s glass everywhere.

The Step-shit has a small 9mm in his hand, not his choice of piece plus he’s the one who’s bleeding. She caught him in the shoulder right in the meat.

He spins and shoves the gun in my face and I here the first click of the guns action as the barrel is pressed into my forehead. “Drop the knife you little bastard.”

I feel the carpet knife in my hand that I didn’t realize I had.

I feel the gun barrel kissing my skull.

It could be over, it could be…I stare at him and push my forehead against the gun harder, and harder. “Just at what point did you think me dying wouldn’t be a fucking improvement Cliff?” I know it’s crazy, I even know I’ve lost it really I’m not all the way there. He seems to know it too but them he’s so fucked up it doesn’t really phase him.

Just to make everything worse I cut him. I lash out and cut him acrossed the chest. He screams. “Jesus fucking Christ!” and He lashes out hitting me with the gun to my temple. I go down. Dazed he kicks me three, four, five times. I feel my ribs break, something in my arm as I tried to cut his leg. Then he’s ontop of me. It goes into blurry sights and sounds of slow motion as I feel his fist hit my skull. Then my skull hit the floor.

My head bounces.
Again and again and again.
My vision is out of focus.
Oddly the things my eyes can focus on are the drops of my blood in the air.

My mother, my mommy pulls him off of me.
“Cliff, Cliff stop it he’s not fucking worth it!, He’s not worth the murder rap. Just stop it.”
“He fucking cut me.”
“I know baby, I know….”
She’s holding him soothingly, lovingly not me….why…why…mommy why?
“I should fucking kill him you know.”
“I know, it’s his fault all this happened.?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, the little bastard smells and so does his room. He’s been holding out, stealing from us again Cliff, that’s why we didn’t have enough stuff. It’s his fault we’re going nuts with the shakes and everything.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m telling you the truth, I bet you he’s got change, got some money in his room.”
That’s my mom.
That’s the person I ran out into gunfire to save.
That’s her blaming the entire fucking thing on me….
Why?

Cliff literally drags me off and down the hall by my ankle. I can’t resist, I can’t really do much other than breathe. I almost just want that to stop too. My hate actually is saving me at this point. I’m going to live because I hate them.

They tear my place apart looking for my money. I have the food and detergents and $8.40 in the hockey bag. It gets taken by Cliff who kicks me one more time and leaves. My mom’s going through withdrawals and she starts to scream at me. Hitting me, telling me I’ve got to have more money. Screaming that I have to have more money, that she’s gonna have to pull a few tricks because I’m not giving her, her money. She goes off on a Methe freak and I remember her fingers in my hair and her beating my head into the drywall until I black out.

Thursday September 23rd 2010

I can’t see my eyes are that swollen.
My room door is open.
They’re partying.

I try to crawl to the bathroom a few times.

My Mom comes in just as high as high gets, drunk and slurring her words and NOW she’s the good mom? She takes care of me. She does help me too the bathroom. It’s hard to breathe. I get given a joint to smoke to kill my pain, some whiskey that tastes like fermented cat-piss. I manage a half slice of crappy pizza.

That’s it... I’m unconscious the rest of the day or stoned.

I remember her in my room crying and babbling at night coming into sit on my mattress with one of those big scented candles.
I think she was trying to apologize….
I couldn’t stop giggling over this, like losing my mind giggling at her. I can’t help it, I can’t really talk either. Her trying to apologize to me as she’s so high and drunk and fucked up out of her mind…It doesn’t help she’s got me high too.

She screams at me doing her instant 180 she does when her life doesn’t agree with her. Mom splashes me with hot wax as get gets up to leave. It just drives me further into my laughing giggling fit. Until the drugs, the injuries and everything fade me to black.

“Life it seems will fade away.”
“Drifting further everyday.”
“Getting lost within myself.”
“Nothing matters no one else.”

“I have lost the will to live.”
“Simply nothing more to give.”
“There is nothing more for me.”
“Need the end to set me free.”

“Things not what they used to be.’
“Missing one inside of me.”
“Deathly loss this can’t be real.”
“Can’t stand this hell I feel.”

“Emptiness is filling me.”
“To the point of agony.’
“Growing darkness taking dawn”
“I was me, but now me’s gone.”

“No one but me can save myself, but it’s too late.”
“Now I can’t think why, why I should even try.”

“Yesterday seems as though it never existed.”
“Death greets me warm, Now I will just say good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

Friday September 24th 2010.

I wake up alone. It’s quiet in the apartment.
I literally crawl to the bathroom. Sit on the toilet to use it, crawl into the shower.
Crawl out finally able to stand, sort of.
Look at myself in the mirror, sort of.
My eyes are all puffy and stuff.
I take the razor blade and cut myself, blood runs out relieving the pressure like you’d do for a boxer.
I head to the kitchen, almost literally the only thing there is my jar of peanut butter. It’s nearly gone.
I look around the apartment. There’s almost nothing left. The trash, the furniture but the TV, the toaster, the toaster oven ect. Are all gone. I look in their room. Mom’s shit’s gone for the most part. She left her furniture because they didn’t want to bother taking it.
But anything of value is gone.
They left me.
I’m alone.
Part of me is relieved, more than relieved.
But I’m alone, more alone than ever.
I crash sleeping in her bed. It stinks, it smells of sweat and bad sex but it’s easier to get off of than my mattress on the floor.

I looked but they took my fucking cleaning stuff.
I put up with the smell.
After awhile I stop smelling the funk.
I could get more but I’m not in the shape to walk to my box.

I eat my peanut butter and fall asleep in little fits and bursts. I dream a bit of the violence and the gay guy in the porn shop.

I dream of Alex again.
Alex…
Why…Why can’t I get you out of my head?
I spend the day sleeping, dreaming and looking at his card he gave me, at his phone number.

I can’t stay here. If I can pay the rent, they might find out and I wouldn’t put it passed Cliff or mom to not break in and take everything I have or will have. They would especially if they’re desperate for a fix.

I fall asleep exhausted. I know I’m sleeping too much but it takes so much out of me to heal from my injuries. I feel like shit. I’m hot and I know it. Infection…? Maybe…

It takes a lot of effort to move to get dressed and down to my box and get some money, to get a payphone. I take out the number and dial.

It rings, and rings, and rings, and rings then I get his voicemail….I nearly hang up…
“Alex…It’s Hunter. I’m…I’m…I need you…1391 Tunney Park apartments…”
I hang up and trudge home.
I barely make it home.

Saturday September 25th 2010

I wake up and I’m warm, and it’s dark and I’m moving?
I open my eyes and I see Alex driving his car. It’s dark out. Night time and I’m in a warm fuzzy blanket curled into the corner spot of where the car door meets the seat. He’s got the heater on.
It feels so good to be warm.
The clock on the car say’s 1:37 AM Alex is partly changed with the eye black still on and his football jersey still on, tape still on his hands and he’s got sweatpants on instead of his football pants and sneakers. He smells like sweat but not sweat I know, this is clean sweat? His hair’s a mess and I have the strongest urge to smell him, to tidy his hair with my fingers….Why…Why does he make me feel like this? Why did he come to save me?
“Alex…”
“Yeah?” God his voice, it so…But it’s quiet too. I hurt him. I know I hurt him.
“I’m sorry…”

My voice chokes up on me, I…I want to cry…I do but I can’t…I flashback on the stick pins, stick pins from Cliff until I shut up. Putting out his smokes on me.
The fist hitting my head, my head hitting the floor, the gun to my forehead…

I’m rocking in the seat, hyperventilating and losing it holding myself as tight as I can. I rock back and forth and each time there’s the whack of my head hitting the window for the door.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”