Chapter 67: Chapter 67
Chapter 67 Under the cover of darkness he takes
The moon scattered the light and cast a white glow on the man's figure as he struggled to sleep. The old, dusty room was filled with the sound of heavy gasps for air and shaky groans.
He thrashed around on the bed, suffering silently in a realm he has no control of. His fingers gripped the rough sheets of the bed tightly, searching for comfort. Searching for reality.
But he finds none.
The thin covers pools around his body and cold sweat seeped through his pores. His brown hair stuck to his forehead and terror paralyzed the man with no name as he fought his own mind. His own mind attacks him during something that is supposed to be beneficial.
Sleep.
The one thing the unknown man is terrified of. Something that is meant to be peaceful is a war-zone for the man. It ties him down to the past and haunts him of his deepest regrets and darkest days.
He relives every waking moment of his life when he closes his eyes.
Sleep.
His only fear.
His only weakness.
Something he would never admit.
And when he awakes, he throws himself off of the bed and tucks himself away in the nearest corner. His legs shake fiercely and his eyes are wide open in shock and terror. He shivers.
It's so cold.
It's so dark.
It's so void.
It's so lonely.
He's scared. He's scared and he's too afraid to admit it. He's disgusted with the idea of being scared. Having feelings to him means being weak and vulnerable.
But the more he casts out his emotions, the worse his panic attack becomes. As his mind brings him into a state of panic, he starts to hear their voices. Their commands. Their degrading words.
He starts to feel their hands on his flesh. His skin crawls with shame and disgust and his flesh burns from the pain of their abuse. Scars on his body are the ghosts of what their hand have done. They mark his body as a reminder.
Everything blurs around him and his eyes dart everywhere in a state of panic. He slides down the cold wall and hides his head in his knees as he shakes like an abused animal. He rocks back and forth, muttering incoherent words and his breath is like that of a hurricane.
He's been reduced down to a boy. A child. A vulnerable, weak child who cannot face the storms alone. A vulnerable, weak child who has been abandoned by all and used by everyone.
Under the cover of darkness he takes.
But under the cover of darkness he also suffers.
He suffers in silence.
He suffers in ways nobody would or could ever know. He's so good at acting and he's so good at swallowing his emotions that nobody would ever suspect a thing. Even if they did suspect something, would they care?
No.
No they wouldn't.
Nobody cares in the world of the unknown man.
Nobody has ever cared, so why would it be any different?
He's trapped. He's trapped inside of his mind that won't let go of his past. He's trapped in this room, in this life. Maybe he got himself here, maybe he didn't. Maybe he tried to drown out his past by involving himself in dark things.
Because maybe, just maybe, if he associated with the wrong people then maybe, he could focus on their flaws, not his.
Maybe, by associating with the wrong people he could feel better about himself. He could feel better about himself because maybe, just maybe, he could see he's not the only one with deep problems.
But in his quest for redemption, he failed. His attempts were proved futile because everyone around him was just as broken and twisted as he was. Everyone around him couldn't even fix themselves.
So how could they fix him?
Everyone around him was selfish. Everyone around him was greedy, gluttonous and murderous.
And instead of fleeing from them, he became them.
And now? Now he's....nothing. Now he's so far down the blackened streets that he can't see. He's lost the way and he's blind. He stumbles and falls.
Stumbles and falls.
Stumbles and falls.
Then gets up only to fall again.
And as he quietly screams in terror, he regrets everything. Everything, everything, everything. If only....he could go back in time and change his path.
But what's done is done.
And as he pushes through his panic attack, he digs his fingers into the splintering wooden floors below him. His fingers feel raw and they start to bleed. But when the voices in his head gets louder, he threads his fingers through his sweaty hair.
"Get out! Get out of my head!" He screams painfully as he hits himself over and over in the head. He can't breathe properly and he feels like he's being suffocated.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
But each time he tries to do so, he wheezes. His body shakes so violently and his muscles convulse painfully. He feels weak, he feels exhausted.
He just wants it to end.
Everything.
When his panic attack finally releases him and fades away, he collapses on the floor, exhausted. He breathes deeply.
And reaches for the pistol he keeps in his waistband.
It feels cold in his hand and he hesitantly brings it to his temple. His finger rests on the trigger and he has clicked the safety off.
One, little movement of his finger could end his life.
One simple movement, and he would be gone.
He's tempted, but he's ready. He's ready to die. His hands shake violently and the world seems to be begging him to just do it.
To end it all and give up.
He breathes deeply, conjuring up the willpower to take his life.
So he squeezes his eyes shut.
Moments tick by.
One, two, three, four.
He pulls the trigger.
Five, six, seven, eight.
Nothing. Silence fills the room as does ragged breathing at the realization of what's been done. Or, what was supposed to have been done.
A clicking sound meets his ears instead of a bang. He groans in frustration and pulls the trigger again and again, but no bullet is released. He should be dead! He should be gone by now!
Frustrated, he pries the pistol open and what he finds angers him.
Empty.
The pistol was empty.
In a fit of rage, he throws the pistol across the room and it clatters loudly against the wall. He shakes painfully and his head throbs at what he had almost done and what should have become of him.
He should be dead right now.
He sits there, on the floor drenched in the moon's light for a long time, in shock of what had just happened. This wasn't the first time he had tried to kill himself, and something always stops him from succeeding.
He remembers back from the time he was just a boy at fourteen years old. He remembers razors at a old motel he was forced into prositution at. He had wondered his way into the dirty bathroom of the motel.
He still remembers how his fingers gripped the cold, dusty coounters of the sink in anguish as he looked upon his reflection.
His soft hair had grown longer, just skimming the bottoms of his ears and hanging over one of his eyes. It was a scraggly mess but the thing that stuck out to him most was his lathargic appearence.
He was skinny. Too skinny, from nights of skipping meals. There was a time in his life where he was unable to consume anything because he was under a great deal of stress and depression.
Everything would just come right back up.
He remembers how pale he was and how his bones stuck out at odd angles. He remembers the bruises and various other marks.
But most of all, he remembers the hopelessness and shame he felt. He was stuck. Stuck in a life that had betrayed him and stuck in a life that had took his sanity and joy. He remembers the tears that rolled down his face as he pickde up a razor.
He remembers how he dug that razor deeply into his wrist.
Once, twice, three times, four times.
Then he lost count.
He remembers the feeling of his blood running down his arm and the way his tears dripped sore. He remembers as he repeated the action with his other arm.
He just wanted to die.
Even if it meant bleeding to death in a forgotten town at a forgotten motel, he didn't care.
He just wanted to die.
He remembers how his traffickers found him, lying in his own blood. They laughed at him and beat him. He had failed and even death had fled from him.
The man doesn't want to remember anymore. It sends his mind into a state of shock and it hurts him deeply. His memories wound him and they become too much. And yet, he can't get rid of them.
So, in an attempt to clear his head, he dresses himself and walks outside to observe the sky.
The sky is his only comfort.
A funny thing, the night sky is. It's dark yet light at the same time. If dark and light can coexist together, then surely, he could too, right? Surely, he could take on both sides, right?
His boots scuffles against the pavement of the sidewalk. His feet bring him to his favorite spot to observe the sky when he is conflicted. The cool night's air wraps around him and he breathes in.
Calm.
Tranquility.
The night can bring destruction and hide evil, but it can also provide a still peace in which he is starved of.
He sighs and looks at the stars. His mind is wild with thoughts and he ponders on his life. He has everything yet nothing at the same time, how can that be? How can he still be miserable?
The stars hang in the night sky and he digs his hands into his front pockets, finding them empty.
The emptiness is a familiar feeling....one that mirrors his soul and reflects in his eyes. Emptiness. Lifelessness. Maybe that's why he always studied the stars. Maybe he was simply looking for something, anything, to fill the void that at times, swallows him whole.
Shadows danced in his eyes and they twinkled like the stars. He wouldn't cry, his tears had dried up long ago.
Or so he thinks.
It's what he likes to believe, any way.
When his silence is shattered by the sound of approaching footsteps, he reached in his waistband for his gun.
But it's not there.
It's still in his room, on the floor.
He readys his fists, but quickly lets his guard down when he sees it's just another gang member. His name is Rio and he's a stocky little man with a death punch. He has a black mustache as well as dark hair that is buzzed.
"The stars again?" Rio asks.
"Yes," The unknown man replies, his voice low.
"I'll be damned, you're like Galileo Galilei. You study the stars like that man and his telescope." Rio chuckles.
The unknown man takes no amusement, and instead, looks down at his feet. "They help me think. It gets me mind off of things."
"Si, true. But I know something else that will do a much better job to get your mind off of things."
The man shakes his head, doubtful. His mind never stops. "And what is that?"
"Brothel," Rio replies, winking, "You know, women? Or men, I'm not here to judge."
The unknown man growls and his fists clench. His knuckles turn white and his stomach rolls with nausea. He had vowed he would never pay for a human. The act was disgusting to him as he had lived through it.
He had lived through the degradation that people's only worth is the price tag in which they come with. That their one purpose was to be objectified.
"No."
"Oh, come on! Live a little, amigo! You could be dead tomorrow, you never know! Don't you want to live a little? When's the last time you got layed, any way?" Rio eggs on.
It's been a long time. He's afraid. Scarred. The act of sex disgusts him completely. "That's none of your business, Rio." The unknown man growls again. He's becoming agitated.
He just wants to be alone.
His fists are craving blood and Rio may just be his next victim.
"Just once. We can go together. You need to lighten up, amigo. Tomorrow, how about?"
The unknown man sighs deeply. Maybe he should face his fears. Maybe he should live a little. Maybe he can compromise just this once.....
"Okay." Hollow. The man feels hollow. He doesn't even recognize his own voice.
"That's the spirit!" Rio says, landing a hand on his shoulder.
The unknown man recoils away from his touch and his eyes flashes like a thunderstorm. "Don't fucking touch me!" He doesn't like to be touched. It makes his skin crawl with disgust.
"Alright, alright man, sorry." Rio says, holding his hands up in surrender.
The man turns his head away and hides his eyes away from view. He just made a decision that made him feel guilty. He would be going to a brothel, something that he promised himself he wouldn't ever do.
But little did he know that his poor decision would bring about light.
His decision would be like the night sky - light and dark. Because in the presence of darkness, only light can shine.
He acts as the darkness.
And she acts as the light.