What happened in the dark had to stay there.

3

Manson

Present – 2 Years, 8 Months Later

I woke up feeling like the world was caving in around me.

My heart was pounding, adrenaline pumping through my veins. My fingertips were cold and tingling, but all these symptoms were familiar. Maybe a floorboard creaked, and it prodded an old memory, or perhaps one of the boys had raised their voice and my brain latched on to the potential danger. Whatever it was, the anxiety had wrenched me out of my sleep.

I’d been dreaming, and although I rarely remembered my dreams, this one was fresh in my mind. It was a memory really, dug up from the recesses of my brain and replayed like a shitty childhood VHS tape.

I’d dreamed I was sitting against the back wall of Wickeston High between the dumpsters. I could smell the stink of rotten food, and there was something sticky under my hand, squashed against the concrete. My abdomen ached, my diaphragm was spasming, my arm curled around my stomach as I held down the urge to vomit. Getting punched in the gut sucked no matter what, but Kyle could hit particularly hard, even in dreams.

But he and his friends faded into the background; their presence inconsequential to me. I didn’t care about them or the pain they caused me. I only cared about her.

Jessica stood over me, arms folded, her legs looking a million miles long in heels and a tight plaid skirt. Her blonde hair was so long it brushed her waist, and I imagined wrapping it around my hand to pull her head back and hear her moan.

Did she think Kyle was impressive because he could push me around? Did it turn her on? Did it thrill her? I wished I knew what was happening behind those bright green eyes.

In my dream, she stood over me with her hand leaning against the wall over my head. She whispered, “Don’t let the loser forget his place.”

Yeah. My place was here, on the ground, staring at the woman I couldn’t have. She was so fucking beautiful. Heartlessly perfect. The cruelest joke life had ever played on me.

I would have rather not woken up. I wanted to linger in that fantasy. All I had left of that woman was gut-wrenching memories and wild dreams.

With a heavy sigh, I sat up in bed, rubbing my face. The sun was a hazy glow through the metal blinds covering my window, and I picked up my phone, groaning when I saw the time. It was even later than I’d thought.

I brushed the used tissues from last night off my bedside table and grabbed the bottle of lotion to take back to the bathroom. But my real shame was the crumpled fabric next to the tissues — a lacey thong stiffened with cum because I’d jacked off with it, again.

It was Jessica’s. I’d wash it in the sink later, there was no way in hell I was putting it in the regular laundry and risking one of the boys finding it. I’d never get it back.