“I’m going to do it. Today. No more being a bitch.”

The condensation of Dexter’s breath wet his forehead which lay on his desk. His hand twitched from the fear that swelled in his heart.

Fear. One of the three feelings he experienced. Depression. Anxiety. What’s the difference? All plagued him. He couldn’t get rid of them.

“I don’t belong with the living.”

Another twitch of his hand. He’s sweating now. His back is cold like ice.

“You say something there, Dex?”

“Please,” Dexter grumbled. “Not today.”

He raised his head from the desk, realizing the first time that no one else remained in the classroom. When had class been dismissed? How long did he nap for?

“I asked you a question, Dex,” said Tommy, sitting at the table next to him. “You can tell me, Dex.”

“Maybe in the past,” answered Dex. Under his breath, “You’re the reasons for the pills I’m taking tonight.”

“What’s got you looking like you got the flu?” Tommy stood up, “Don’t you dare fuckin’ get me sick.”

“I won’t. I’m not sick.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Tommy jumped the desk and stood by Dexter, hovering over him.

Silence. Dexter listened to the uneasy breath of his personal terrorizer. As always, he could hear the dick’s heartbeat… if he listened hard enough.

A hand slammed his face into the desk, pain streaking through his brain. Dexter put his hands to the desk to pull himself up, but it was no use.

“I said,” grunted Tommy. “Why would you come to school when you’re feeling ill, buddy?” He pushed harder. “You want me sick? You want me to die?”

“Yes.”

The word slipped from Dexter’s lips without him telling his mouth to move. A sudden warmness moved over him.

“You… what?”

“I said,” Dexter moved his head sideways, Tommy’s hand now pushing against his eye. “I want you to die. You make me sad.”

Tommy’s fingernails moved into Dexter’s face feeling like thousands of ants eating at his skin. He gritted his teeth but savored the pain which numbed the Mr. bad thoughts.

“You want me dead?”

Dexter despite the increasing pressure, nodded his head horizontally on his desk. The pressure removed itself as Tommy switched hands on his head. Hot breath came to his ear.

“You… should have been aborted.”

Tommy shoved his dirty nailed finger into Dexter’s ear, pushing as far and as strongly as he could. Dexter struggled against the pain, his arms and legs flapping aimlessly at his side.

But he refused to cry. He smiled instead. He concentrated on the pain, changing it to a mere vibration that tortured his body.

“What is going on here?!”

Mrs. Bresie walked into the room, slamming her hand on the desk. The pain dulled immediately, and a warm trickle of blood dripped down the nape of his neck.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Bresie put her hands to her mouth seeing the blood and Dexter’s no doubt distorted face.

He gave her a smile.

“Dexter here got something stuck in his ear!” cried Tommy, his voice cracking slightly. “I was trying to get it out and—”

“You!” Mrs. Bresie moved to Tommy, her hand flinching as if she were about to grab the overly tall teenager by his thin wrist… but no teacher could grab onto a student. “You’re lying! Principal’s office! Better, yet, the officers on campus will be seeing you too!”

“No,” Dexter mumbled, burping slightly. He drooped his head and blinked. “I have something stuck in my ear.”

Both Mrs. Bresie and Tommy looked at Dexter as if he were insane. Silence. Beautiful silence.

I want him to eat rocks. Big rocks.

“Yeah… yeah! See? I was just helping Dex here.”

“It’s Dexter.”

Tommy shoved him just hard enough to send his emotions through to Dexter.

Mrs. Bresie’s eyes flicked from Tommy, to Dexter, and back to Tommy. She opened her mouth to speak, raising her finger, but said nothing.

“Let’s just forget about it,” said Tommy, turning to Dexter with a Tom Cruise nice smile. “Was just trying to help.”

“No… you did good, Tommy.” Mrs. Bresie looked as though she were about to cry after her own outburst. She was a feeble woman. “I’m sorry. I just thought you two weren’t friends.”

“We are,” said Dexter, the pain in his ear making him lose his balance slightly.

Tommy let go of his actor face replaced by confusion. Usually, Dexter put up a fight. Not today.

“Go see the nurse,” instructed Mrs. Bresie, wiping the corner of her eye and taking a shaky breath. “Now. I’ll follow up. Tommy, a moment please?”

“Yes ma’am!” he turned to the sad boy leaving. “Bye Dex… see you later?”

Dexter turned, one eye drooping. Already it began to bruise like a swollen asshole. “Yes. Let’s see each other again.”

***

“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU!”

Mom grabbed his face, moving it this way an that. She turned and rushed to the black fridge and quickly put many cubes into a Ziploc.

“I fell.”

“Dexter…” she put the ice to his face, and he winced. “Tommy did this, didn’t he?”

“No mom. I did it.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“You’re lying to me, Dexter. You know how I hate lying!” She shook her head, biting the bottom of her lip as she looked down. Why was she always looking down? “If it’s Tommy we can do something. We can… hire a lawyer or something. The principal isn’t doing shit, but we can take action, Dexter!”

He grabbed her hands. They felt warm to his cold. “Mom, please. I handled it. I’m a man.”

Mom’s lip quivered. “Right…” she gave the Ziploc to him. “Right. I just… sometimes I don’t know what to do. My heart aches for you, baby.”

“I know, mom. I love you.”

Her mouth curved into a frown, the muscles on her chin shriveling. “I love you too, honey.” She gripped him in a hug. More warm.

“I’ll see you later, mom.”

“Yes,” mom said, wiping her eyes. “Keep that ice on your face.”

Dexter turned to leave, his feet slapping against the linoleum ground.

“Honey…”

“Yes, mom?” he turned to her, her face red with emotion.

“I’m glad you’re taking care of it. I’m proud of you.”

Dexter tried his own actor smile. “Thanks.”

***

I’m too scared, Dexter thought, finding the razors he’d been saving. He laughed slightly. Why did he buy such a big pack? Wouldn’t one do…?

He found himself reading the brand’s disclaimer, admiring that they put the ‘child choke hazard’ on the box. What stupid fucking kid would swallow a razor?

Thought the guy who was about to slit vein.

He threw the box of razors against the wall just below his My Chemical Romance poster which he thought made him edgy five years ago.

“I can’t fucking do it.” He punched himself in the head. It felt good so he did it again before falling face-first into the bed. “Why am I such a bitch?”

“Honey?” came his mom’s voice from the door. “Everything okay? I heard a noise...”

“I’m fine, mom!” he yelled through his mattress.

“Okay. Dinner will be ready in an hour! Keep the ice on your face! I love you.”

Dexter breathed through his nose. “I love you too.”

He realized then that the reason for him being too afraid to cut himself wasn’t just the pain… but his mom finding a red bathtub. Could he flush the blood before passing out? No… that’s stupid….

“Pills,” said Dexter, nodding his head on the bed. “Pills.”

Thank God mom has fibromyalgia, Jack thought but instantly felt his conscious creep up. It only did when involving his sweet mother. Sorry, God. I’m not happy she has fibromyalgia… I’m just happy she’s got the percs of pain.

Dexter opened his door, peeking his head out into the stained carpet hallway. He could smell peppered steak stir fry, his favorite. He rushed to the bathroom, closed the door quietly, and locked it using the metal hook.

The mirror needed to be opened in a certain way to keep from creaking. He’d been here before. He was the professional football player of medicine cabinet opening.

Oxycodone/Acetaminophen

QTY: 30

No Refills. Dr. Auth Only

Dexter grabbed the bottle. How many mg? 10… good.

He dumped half the bottle in his hand, shoving them into his pocket. His mouth already could taste the bitterness. Life only liveable by dopamine overdose. His bliss would be his blissful end. Easy, painless, fun.

What would make this more fun? he thought, unlocking the door with a flick of his finger on the metal hook thingy. Suddenly, it hit him. I’ll go see a movie.

“Honey?”

The words sent shivers down Dexter’s body as he stepped out of the bathroom. His mom stood on the carpet, her hands on her waist. On the walls were photo memories of happy Dexter and happy mom. What happened? Why did his happy machine not work? Why the despair?

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He’d been caught. Finally, she must have started counting the pills. His mouth trembled slightly as he tried to find the words.

“I told you to keep your ice pack on! Now come on, it’s time for dinner.”

Dexter tried to hide his relieved sigh.

“You okay, honey? Really, are you okay? We can find help and—”

Dexter rushed to his mom and hugged her as hard as he could. Warm tears dripped into her apron. He could feel her body shiver as she hugged him back.

“I found an organization, Dexter,” said his mom from above. She was taller than him. “Male mentors… I think they could help you.”

Dexter didn’t argue and moved away from his mom, wiping his own tears. It felt like a black hole moved through his chest sucking up all good feels leaving nothing but void… all except the warmth… his mom’s warmth.

“Yes,” he said. “Good idea.”

“Come on, dinner’s ready.”

“I’m going to see a movie.”

“What?” Mom’s head tilted. “But it’s Wednesday? I have dinner and—you know what? Yes, that will be good for you. Like I’ve always said, something magical about watching a movie during the week.”

“Right,” said Dexter, afraid more words might bring more tears.

“Want me to go with you?” Dexter shook his head, not looking at her. “Oh, I completely understand. You need alone time. Well… have a good time, honey. I’ll keep a plate for you.” She laughed, “Not like I can eat all that on my own anyway.”

“Thanks, mom. I’ll see you later.”

Much later.

“Be safe.” She smiled and turned weakly to walk back to the kitchen.

Dexter rushed to his room and wrote a note on the back of his Mythology/Religion homework. It was longer than he expected. She wouldn’t find this for a while.

***

With a backpack heavy of tequila, Dexter bought a ticket to a random adult film at the closest skinema. He couldn’t take the despair any longer. He needed to do this while there was still nerve in him.

No more days like this… please… Dexter…. do this.

One last time he tried to manifest a happy thought but was met with emptiness.

The greasy man with ingrown hairs on his chest gave Dexter his admission ticket without even looking up from his car magazine. He pointed to the door to the left.

“Thanks.”

The carpet felt sticky under his vans as he walked to screen two. Nothing special, just an insta model blonde getting booty rammed by some big-dicked black man.

How original.

Now, how much of this tequila should he drink? He put the pills in his mouth at two a time. He choked on his fourth swig, the Percocet getting stuck in his throat. He wiped his mouth, thinking this might be his subconscious clinging onto life.

“Not today,” he said to himself, and the person vibrating the back of his chair from behind shushed him. “Sorry.”

“SHHH!”

I hope he finishes after I go to sleepy time.

Dexter closed his eyes, not wanting the last thing that he saw to be ebony and blonde ass penetration. He downed the rest of the bottle like a champ. The good feelings came quickly, and he knew they would. Thoughts of regret crept up into his mind as happiness ensued.

It’s only temporary bliss, Dexter forced himself to remember. Only temporary. Enjoy it, Dexter. You deserve it.

The pain in his face and ear faded away as did the chair underneath him and the smell of musk in the air. Colors splashed in his dark vision as his lids began to twitch. His heartbeat lowered and he felt sleepy, so sleepy. What a nice feeling.

Suddenly, his theater chair jumped as if the entire world rocked. An immense heat hazed over Dexter’s face as if opening a wooden-sauna door to be greeted by men in towels. Was this a side effect of OD’ing?

He kept his eyes closed, grasping at the happy feels, but now he just felt normal. Normal and overly hot. He slipped his shirt off while his eyes remained closed.

Still hot.

“Why’s it so fucking hot!”

“SHHH!”

Dexter’s eyes opened. Red ridged walls surrounded him as if he now stood in a destroyed vaginal tunnel. Where was his chair? When had he risen?

He looked down at the rocky terrain and wondered if he were in a cave or something. He picked up a rock but quickly dropped the burning stone. Smoke drifted from the walls around him making him wonder how he was surviving in this oven.

A large rectangular sign with flashing yellow bulbs blinked at the end of the tunnel with a few of the lights having gone out and disrupting the sequence. In black letters were movie titles Dexter couldn’t read from this far away.

Under this sign stood an old-timey wooden movie theater kiosk with something lurking inside. Behind this kiosk resided two large doors with brass poles that would open to who knew where.

Dexter stepped forward, the heat increasing as he moved. The bottoms of his shoes were yet again sticky, but this time due to the rubber melting from his vans. Still, he kept walking.

A black shadow met him at the window of the kiosk.

“Is this hell?” Dexter asked it.

Two pearl-colored ram horns clicked against the glass, two red slit eyes opening and blinking a few times. Dexter couldn’t see the creature’s eyebrows, but he could tell by the opening of one eye that the creature was confused.

“Where am I?”

The thing tapped a button and one red ticket popped out from the counter. It ripped it out and slid it under the glass. Dexter looked at the ticket and slipped his hand in to grab it. The creature’s own clawed hand pounced on his making him gasp.

The two eyes levitated closer to the glass but still shadow covered the face. The hand felt hot and ragged, it’s calluses rubbing roughly over Dexter’s hand as the creature pulled back its hand, its claws scraping his knuckles slightly.

Dexter looked down at the admission ticket that felt heavier than any normal piece of paper.

Monster Moviehouse

1 Admission for ‘Violator Violated’.

“What is this?” asked Dexter feeling fear rise in his gut, but not nearly as much as he should have been experiencing.

The creature did not answer but moved away from the glass, gesturing for Dexter to walk towards the doors.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.” Curiosity moved his feet.

He wondered if the door handles would burn his skin as the rock did, but this turned out to be needless anxiety like all his other thoughts.

The doors opened for him, the smell of delicious buttery popcorn hitting his nose.