No words were spoken when he walked into the den, and I didn’t even bother looking up. I shut my eyes tightly when I heard the belt sliding through theloops.
“Fuck.”
I bolted up in bed when I felt the belt hit me in the dream. I turned on the light and sat up in bed to gather mybearings.
It was just adream.
No, not a dream. A fuckingnightmare.
I could feel my body shake. Russell’s shirt that I had worn to bed, was soaked along the neckline and chest. My shorts were also damp. When I climbed out of bed, I saw that the pillow was drenchedtoo.
“Fuck,” I said under mybreath.
I went to the kitchen to get some water. I hadn’t realized how dry my throat was until the water hit my tongue. Guzzling the bottle of water did nothing to help my shaking. In fact, I seemed to shake more from the coldwater.
I walked around the living room and even went to my den. Mindlessly, I thumbed through an old notebook for a screenplay I had written years ago. From time to time, I had enjoyed writing screenplays, even just as a hobby. I read through a scene, hoping to shake the nightmare from my mind. But I still heard my mother’s cruel voice. And worse, I could still feel the belt from myfather.
Nothing could get that feeling out of my head. Russell’s strap had beendifferent.
Was that why I had the nightmare; because of the strap last night at Russell’sparty?
I went back to my room, feeling weak and depleted of all energy. I sat down on the cold sheets and picked up my cell phone. It was almost three in the morning. I hated to do it, but this seemed exactly like the kind of situation that he’d want me to call himabout.
But would I even be able to talk to him about this? Maybe tomorrow I could, but right now I didn’t think that I’d be able to say much. Hearing him would help. I decided to send him a text first. He probably wasn’tup.
Ryan: Hey, are youup?
I waited a moment and then started and stopped a text a few more times before I finally just hit send. I could lean onRussell.
Ryan: I had a fucked up dream and just needed to hear you. I don’t want to talk about it, but just need to hearyou.
I set the phone down next to me and started to pull my wet shirt off but stopped myself. As stupid as it sounded, it was my connection right now to Russell. My screen lit up with a text alert, and I grabbedit.
Russell: I’m going to call. I won’t ask you anything about the dream. Answer when Icall.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm down before I answered thephone.
“Russell,” I said quietly into thephone.
I was doing okay until I heard hisvoice.
“Hey, I’m right here,Ryan.”
I nodded and held my mouth tightly shut so he wouldn’t hear sounds that would indicate what a mess I was. I had been holding my breath trying to be still, and when I exhaled, my breath reverberated over themouthpiece.
“I’m right here, Ryan,” Russell remindedme.
“Iknow.”
This wasawkward.
“Thank you for calling me. Sorry it’s solate.”
“It’s ok, Ryan. That’s what I’m herefor.”
I laughed and wiped myeyes.
“No, it’s not. You’re not supposed to have to babysit myass.”
“Part of my need is to be there for you. I love you, Ryan. And if you want to get technical, you’re mine. I’ll take care ofyou.”
I was his. Somehow this thought that might seem demeaning or archaic to modern society mindsets gave me deepcomfort.
